“I know I hurt you,” she replied. “I’m not just crying for Lyle. I’ve been crying for you, too—and for us.”
“Well, I’m glad I figure somewhere in your grieving,” he muttered.
A car passed by with its windows open and rap music cranked up to full volume. Ben moved over to the picture window and glanced outside.
“This is really your fault, Ben,” she said.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t give Lyle his goddamn heart attack. In fact, when his widow told me about you and him, she said he had high cholesterol, problems with his weight, and he smoked—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jennifer hissed.
“Christ, if you had to cheat on me, why did you pick this guy? He sounds like a mess—”
“He paid attention to me, and you didn’t, goddamn it,” she replied, her voice cracking. “You were so busy trying to get ahead at work.”
“Do you know how much we owe on the house?” he countered. “Jennifer, I don’t give a crap about getting ahead at that place. I merely want to get out of debt. And that means focusing on the job, giving them what they want.”
“And do they want you in Seattle on a leave of absence without pay?” she argued. “How’s that going to get us out of debt, Ben?”
“You know why I left,” he said glumly.
From the window, Ben noticed a man coming up the street. He wore a bulky jacket with the collar turned up and a hood pulled down almost over his eyes. His hands were shoved in the pockets of that jacket.
He heard the call-waiting beep again. “Listen, Jennifer, that’s my other line,” he said. “I should—”
“It can’t be more important than what we’re discussing right now,” she interrupted. “Can it?”
Outside, the man with the hood stopped. He seemed to stare back at Ben with those shrouded eyes, almost as if he wanted a confrontation. There were guys like that, roaming the streets of this neighborhood, intent on stirring up trouble. Then again, maybe this one was merely looking at the building.
“Ben? Are you listening to me?”
He turned away from the window. “I hear you,” he said tiredly. “But I don’t know what’s left to discuss— unless you want to know about Rae. She’s the main reason I came out here, and you haven’t even asked about her yet.”
“All right, how is Rae?” she asked.
“I think she’s dead,” he answered soberly. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure someone murdered her.” Ben sighed, then glanced over his shoulder—out the window. The hooded man had moved on. The sidewalk was empty.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” she whispered. “I truly am. Isn’t that all the more reason for coming home? There’s nothing you can do for her now.”
“The police still show her as missing. I have no actual proof that she’s been murdered—”
“Let the police take care of it,” she said. “And let me take care of you. We’ve both lost someone dear to us. Come home, Ben. I know what you’re going through. We need each other right now.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, rubbing his forehead. He began to pace in front of the window. “Are you trying to draw a parallel here? You were screwing this guy behind my back for three months before he dropped dead of a heart attack. I’ve known Rae half my life. She was my friend.”
“She was still in love with you,” Jennifer argued.
“You had nothing to be jealous about, and you know it.”
“She made you feel important. I was jealous of that. Maybe if you’d made me feel a little important, I wouldn’t have needed Lyle.”
Ben watched a car slowly pull up the street. He sighed. “Maybe,” he granted, pacing again. “Listen, even if I wanted to come home right now, I couldn’t. The same thing that happened to Rae is now happening to someone else. And she’s all alone. I’ve got to do what I can to help her.”
“I’m all alone, too,” Jennifer whispered.
He said nothing.
“Is she pretty?” she asked.
Ben heard another call-waiting beep. At the same time, he noticed the car, a beat-up, red Subaru station wagon, had stopped in front of his building. He sighed. “Yeah, Jennifer, she’s very pretty,” he grumbled. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Ben? I’m really sorry about Rae. I’m sorry about everything. Okay?”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll talk to you in a couple of days. Take care.”
He hung up, and the phone immediately started ringing. “Oh, fuck off,” he muttered. “Goddamn telemarketers won’t give up.”
Ben decided to let the machine answer it. While his recorded greeting clicked on, he remained at the window, gazing out at that car. Someone on the passenger side slowly rolled down the window.
“Ben? Are you there?” Hannah asked urgently. “Ben? It rang more than once. You must be off the phone. Please, pick up!”
He reached for the phone on the edge of his desk.
“Ben, listen—”
“I’m listening,” he said into the phone. “What’s going on?”
“Are you by the front window? Are the drapes open?”
“Yeah. Why?” He moved toward the window. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Ben, don’t—”
He couldn’t see who was in the passenger seat of that old Subaru. But he noticed something pointing at him from the car window.
Hannah heard him on the other end of the line:
“Ben, what’s happening?” she cried. “Ben?”
The sound of the first shot made her jump. Hannah heard glass shattering, then another loud pop. There was a sudden thud on his end of the line, and she realized Ben must have dropped the phone. Helplessly, she listened to him cry out. His voice was muffled.
The gunshots came one after another, so close together. Each discharge made Hannah recoil. She clutched the phone to her ear. “Ben?” she cried.
There was another round of gunfire, and glass splintering. A hollow ping resonated, perhaps a bullet hitting one of the bars across his window.
Then silence.
Hannah thought she heard gasping. He sounded like he was dying. “Ben? Are you there?”
In the distance, she could make out some screeching wheels, maybe a car peeling down the street. A woman screamed. It seemed far off, maybe on the sidewalk outside Ben’s apartment.
The receiver on the other end of the line knocked against something. Hannah winced. Someone was moving the phone. “Ben? Is that you?”
“Hannah?” he said, his voice raspy. “I guess”—he took a breath—“you were trying to warn me, huh? You saw it coming?”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’ll survive,” he said, still breathing heavily. “I just got a little cut-up from flying glass. But I’m okay. So th— this was on a video?”
“Yes,
“Huh, I think saw that movie,” Ben muttered. “Yeah.”
“I just got the tape less than an hour ago. I was by your place once, looking for you. I—I remembered the front window.”
She could only hear his labored breathing on the other end, and far away, the sound of a police siren.
“Ben, are you still there?”
“Yeah, until the cops arrive,” he replied. “They’ll probably take me to the hospital first, then maybe the station house. I don’t know where I’ll end up tonight. This place is a wreck.”
