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  I picked up my cell phone, which was charging on my nightstand, to set my alarm for the following morning, and starting to feel a sharp pang of guilt for the hardships Jackson’s actions were causing the Sanderson family. In my psychotic stupor I never once felt any remorse or concern for the families of my victims, or the well being of Jacob’s Bluff, but something about the bond I had developed with the Sanderson's caused the brief feelings of regret to creep into my conscious now and then, and they were becoming increasingly harder to ignore.

  When I saw I had one new voicemail on my phone it eradicated those thoughts that night. I punched in my password and listened to the robotic female voice tell me that I had one new message, then another female voice started to speak and my stomach did a funny little jiggle in an effort to show its disgust.

  "Hi Dan, it’s Jenna." I cringed a little. "I know you probably don’t want to talk to me since you never returned my other calls, but listen, we need to talk. I need to know about your next book--if there’s going to be one--and honestly," she paused, and sighed a little, "I’d be lying if said I wasn’t a little worried about you." She was silent for a beat and then, "I’m sorry. Call me, please." Then she hung up.

  I stood for a second, looking at my broken reflection in the window across the room, and then laughed.

  I’m sorry. As if that would bring my wife back from the dead.

  I bolted upright in bed, woken by a dream. I sat in the darkness and looked around in the black. My heart was beating fast, but yet I was calm. I was also slightly aroused. I smiled to the blackness as everything clicked into place in my mind. All of it had started with Jenna McMurray, yes, I thought I knew that for sure.

  And now I officially had my ending, the one that had been eluding me. The one I desperately needed.

  I went back to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  I got up early the next morning, wanting to be sure to have a full day of writing, and allowing enough time for distractions, if there would be any. Minnie was going to have to go to the grocery store eventually, and it surprised me that she hadn’t been begging me to take her down to her Beauty Parlor days ago in order to sit with her clan and catch each other up on any and every bit of information or misinformation they might have heard about the murders and the ongoing investigation.

  I brushed my teeth and went to head down the steps. Ralph and Minnie’s bedroom door was still shut which meant Minnie was still in bed--she had been sleeping later and later--and I figured this to mean that Ralph hadn’t made things any better between them. When I glanced in the living room on my way to the kitchen I saw Ralph’s empty beer bottle still on the coffee table and the blanket that Minnie kept in a basket in the corner bunched up on the seat of the recliner. Looked like Ralph had never even made it up the stairs. That was sure to put Minnie in a wonderful mood. I wondered if anybody had ever OD’ed on Little Debbie cakes?

  I picked up the beer bottle and the blanket, tossing it back in the basket and threw the bottle away. I had a quick and simple breakfast, opting only for oatmeal even though I was certainly hungry enough for my usual helping of eggs, washed my dishes and then went to take a shower. I thought about my book as I washed myself and by the time I was shutting off the water and drying myself off I could hardly contain my eagerness to get to the keyboard. That’s one thing I think is true of any real writer; when they have something really good cooking, they absolutely cannot rest until they get the words on the page. That’s the way it always was for me anyway, although as I write this the feeling is a little different, but I suppose that’s a given, considering the circumstances.

  Once I was dry and dressed I tucked my laptop under my arm and headed down to the kitchen table. I took a deep breath, readying myself for the task ahead, and then started to type.

  I had my ending, yes, and oh how satisfying it was going to be, but I wasn’t that far into my story yet. I had to get Jackson to the point I needed him to be in his own life before I could let him take action in mine. Everything had to be in sync. Everything was going to be perfect.

  I worked hard for two days, drinking lots of coffee and managing to wear off the "J" on my keyboard. I saw little of Minnie, and although I felt pity for her situation, I welcomed her distancing herself from me--if not the rest of the world.

  When I typed in the final period on the last sentence I planned to write until my big finale, I sat back with a somber look and thought ahead to the future. I thought for a long time.

  It has to be done.

  Yeah, I did. I took my computer upstairs and picked up my cell phone. Jenna’s number was still number three on my Speed Dial. I pressed the key and held it, then there was ringing in my ear.

  Chapter 36

  The phone rang four times, time enough for me to look at the clock and see that it was approaching 8:00 PM, and think that maybe I was calling too late. Then I realized what a bullshit idea that was when I thought back to all of Jenna and mine’s late night conversations and also that fact that Jenna had left her voicemail for me a few days ago at a little after eleven.

  It rang a fifth time and as Jenna’s voicemail greeting started to play, instructing me to leave a message and causing me to contemplate whether or not I should, there was a beep in my ear and I pressed the button to swap over to the other call.

  "Dan Dawkins," I answered.

  "Hi."

  It was her, and even with the one short word she had spoken I could hear the apprehension and uncertainty in her speech. She was feeling guilty, she almost sounded afraid.

  I couldn’t have that. Not yet.

  "Well hey there," I said, sounding as cheerful as I could without sounding like Barney the big purple dinosaur. "I was just about to leave you a message, figured you were working hard on all your other important clients." I had actually decided not to leave a message.

  My pleasantness immediately started to thaw the ice. "Well if by important clients you mean the ones that I’ve actually spoken to in the last four months, then yeah, I’m pretty busy with them." I said nothing, then she continued, "Too bad none of them sell near the amount you did. You were easy."

  There was a joke there, but I left it alone.

  "Lucky," I said. "I think I was lucky more than anything else."

  "Talent and luck are two different things."

  "Can a guy have a little of both."

  "You were talent. Hands down."

  "Good to know."

  "But maybe you did get a little lucky."

  Another joke left on the table.

  "Well, I guess I can’t complain either way."

  "With that advance you got I’m sure not complaining."

  We both laughed then, almost sounding like old times, but there was still the unspoken truth lingering in the air, hovering over both of us. Before anything could progress, I had to clear it up. Shine the flashlights into our closets.

  After the laugh I waited to see if she had anything else to say and when she didn’t I went ahead and started.

  "Ok Jenna, look. I just--"

  "Dan--"

  "Don’t interrupt me!" I lashed out, didn’t mean to, but what I was doing was hard enough and I didn’t need that bitch interrupting. I quickly tried to smooth things.

  "Oh my God," I said. "Jenna I’m so sorry."

  "Maybe we should talk another time."

  "No, it’s just… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’ve just got some things I need to say to you."

  She was silent for a beat, deciding if she should let me continue. "Ok. Go ahead. I won’t say a word."

  Good girl.

  "Ok… Where to start?" I said with an unseen smile.

  That night was the first of a string of conversations Jenna and I had, all building up to the moment I needed. I started out gently, being blunt but compassionate. I explained to her that I greatly appreciated her taking me on as a writer, the hard work she did for me, and helping me to launch my career. I told her that I thought that the relationship
we had was special, because of our similar personalities and how well we were able to communicate freely with each other. We had developed a great business relationship, and an even better friendship I told her.

  I then wanted to make sure that I shifted blame away from her, hoping to ease any burden she might have been carrying around after what happened, and allowing her to open up to me again, feel close to as comfortable as she once was with me.

  I told her that the whole incident was entirely my fault. She spoke for the first time since my outburst then, immediately telling me that I was crazy and that she was just as much to blame. I quieted her down and insisted that she did nothing wrong.

  "I was in control of myself that night, Jenna, wine or no wine. And I was the one who was married. You were just an attractive, single woman, eating dinner and drinking a little too much with a married man who in the end had a very simple decision to make. I just made the wrong choice, and thus suffered the consequences, as uncharacteristic and supersized as they were."

  In reality I don’t remember much of what happened that night other than the drinking at dinner and then waking up naked beside Jenna in hotel room and then hot footing it back to Virginia. Regardless of how things really went down, the slut was every damn bit as much to blame for what happened. She knew I was married, she should have kept her hands to herself and her panties around her waist. And if for some reason I was the only one out of the two of us who drank enough to black out the memory of the evening, then Jenna should have been responsible enough to get me up to my room and in the door without so much as a pat on the ass.

  It took a little more convincing, but eventually, whether deep down in her heart or not, Jenna accepted my admission of guilt and we were able to move on to me catching her up to speed with the rest of my story.

  I quickly skimmed through, although trying to draw as much sympathy as possible, my falling apart back in Hillston after Amy and Dillon’s death and my unwillingness to spend another night in that house or day in that town. I told her about my drive across the country, detailing every stop along the way, and eventually we arrived in Jacob’s Bluff and I told her about the Sanderson Homestead, the Bed and Breakfast where I landed.

  If I hadn’t managed to draw the sympathetic edge yet in my story, the tale of my sink into extreme depression and suicide attempt did the trick. By the end of that part of the story I thought I heard a little sniffle on the other end of the line, perhaps Jenna fighting back some tears, meaning my story was doing what I intended for it to do, and also probably evidence of the residue of guilt that was still sticking to her walls. Now not only because of Amy and Dillon’s death, but because of my attempt to end my own life.

  I told her about my stint in the Jacob’s Bluff Community Hospital and explained to her how I came to the decision that the town would be a good place for me to try and get myself together. I told her about my conversation with Ralph, and how he and Minnie so graciously welcomed me into their home and how they had been like parents to me through the whole ordeal. Jenna made a comment about how she didn’t think that kind of hospitality existed in the good ole U.S. of A. anymore and I told her that I didn’t either and that somebody must have been smiling down on me after all.

  And this is where my story veered off path from the truth and started to venture into the land of lies. I kept most of the facts--the working out, the helping around the house, the chess games with Ralph--but instead of informing Jenna that secretly I had been developing an alternate identity and murdering women in the night, I told her that I found a great Psychiatrist in Larendale and was going twice a week for therapy. I told her that the talks were very liberating, and slowly but surely--and by complete surprise to me--I had started to come out of my funk. I was able to accept the things that had happened, acknowledging the tragedy and paying it the respect it deserved, but also realizing that I still had a life to live and that it was time to start moving on. One step at a time, no matter how small.

  "So that’s really why I finally was able to call you back, Jenna," I said. "You’re one of my steps I want to take. We had a good thing going before… it all happened, and I would like to try and go back to that. You were a good friend, and a good agent. I’m willing to try and forget--ok maybe not forget--but move on from the past if you are. You were a positive part of my life and I need to start bringing those things back. So what do you say?"

  She was quiet for a long time. I finally had to ask, "Jenna?"

  "Yeah, I’m here," she said quietly. "Its just… I don’t have any problem continuing to represent you, no problem at all there, but do you think that we really can go back to being friends? After all the pain I’ve caused you?"

  "Jenna, I told you. You weren’t responsi--"

  "I cost you your wife and nephew, and then you almost killed yourself. All because of me!"

  I took a deep breath. Actually two deep breaths. I was losing patience with her and I couldn’t let that show. "Jenna, we just went over this. No matter what happened in the past, and no matter how much blame you’re going to continue to try and shoulder for this, I am still alive. I’m still waking up every single morning, and with a little help from some good friends and an expensive doctor, I’m trying to find the bright things to focus on. I want you to be one of those things." Then I dropped the bomb. "And honestly, if you’re going to beat yourself up over this then I think you at least owe me that much."

  The conversation had grown much more somber than I had ultimately hoped for, but in the end I got what I wanted. Jenna and I chatted a few more minutes after that and both of our moods picked up after moving the talk away from our blemished past. I asked her about work and the publishing world and she perked right up, spewing on and on with humorous tales of clients, editors and marketing departments. We talked cheerfully for another thirty minutes and I knew I had her primed. When I felt that the conversation had gone on long enough, I told her I needed to get to bed, that I was getting up early to go to the gym, and then promised I’d call her the next night to talk about my new book.

  It was the first time I had mentioned it and she could hardly contain her excitement.

  Chapter 37

  The next day I did exactly as planned. I got up early and worked out and then came back and cooked myself breakfast, Minnie still MIA from the kitchen. I showered and then with no writing to do--at least until I was able to create my last bit of inspiration--I realized that I had the day free. Minnie wasn’t going anywhere; from my bedroom I heard her finally head down the stairs at almost eleven. Plus Ralph was likely not to step foot through the door until close to midnight per the usual. With nothing immediately to do, and the thought of much to do in the next week or so, I decided to try and spend some time doing something I loved and hadn’t had a chance to in a long time.

  Ralph and Minnie had a pretty good collection of books sitting on a mid-sized bookshelf on the far wall of the living room and I did give it a quick scan first. However, it was mostly full of nonfiction history--Ralph--and sappy romance--Minnie--so I headed out towards the library.

  The fall air was starting to make that sharp turn into downright cold, even with the sun out, so I decided against walking and got in my jeep. I had seen the library in town dozens of times--almost every trip in to town took you by it at some point--and although it seemed unimpressive on the outside I had no doubt that inside it would have all that mattered; at least one good book to catch my eye.

  And that it did.

  I parked in the parking lot of the bank across the street and then crossed and entered to search and find what type of literary treasures might be waiting inside the Jacob’s Bluff Public Library.

  I had always liked libraries, even before I developed my love of reading. My mother used to take me with her once every other week or so when she would return the two or three books she had finished reading and pick up a few more. Libraries were always set at what seemed like the perfect temperature, and to me were the only place on earth where you
could actually "hear" silence. Some of you know what I’m talking about, but for the rest of you… you’ll just have to figure it out on your own.

  I walked over to the fiction section and started up and down the rows of shelves, pulling out a book here and there and giving it a once over. I finally settled on a book by… Well actually, I don’t remember what book I picked up. Oh well, I guess I couldn’t remember every little detail of this story. Sue me.

  Anyway, I picked a book and was headed to the counter in order to get a card and check out when something drew my attention. There was a smaller bookshelf set up close to the entry doors and I had somehow managed to walk right by them without a glance. Above the shelf hung a sign reading MOST POPULAR, and like most every person who probably read that sign I thought, Hey, might be something good over there. I walked around to the front of the shelf and froze.

  Sitting on the second shelf from the top, first in line, was a book I knew very well. I recognized the picture on the cover, I recognized the type-face of the title, and I definitely recognized the author’s name. The Teachers’ Lounge was apparently a popular read in Jacob’s Bluff. Either that or the Library had it in its best interest to use the New York Times Bestseller list to help determine just what really was the MOST POPULAR. Of course I had no idea until the night before that my book was even still on the list until Jenna had mentioned it during our phone call. I had honestly forgotten the book, as a whole, all together. I was only concerned with Jackson.

  As I thought these things a woman who looked like she was close to Minnie in age and far from her in meals per day, walked up and stood next to me. We stood side by side for a few moments and then she did the last thing on earth I wanted her to do. She reached out with a wrinkled and liver-spotted hand and picked up the copy of my book. My heart was thundering in my chest and yet I stayed absolutely motionless, not wanting to cause any reason whatsoever for the woman to look my direction. I watched as she ran her hand over the front cover--cover feeling apparently part of her decision routine--and then opened to the front inside Jacket to read the flap. I was crossing my fingers, crossing my toes--hell I would have crossed my testicles if possible--that she wouldn’t look at the back of the book and see my picture. Read the flap, shit, read the first damn story for all I care, just don’t look anywhere near the back please.