Page 51 of Hello, Listener
Like your stereotypical stalker, I’m sitting in my car with the bill of my black baseball cap covering half of my face. Thalia’s apartment window is in perfect view. Her amazing curves are barely hidden by the sheer curtains in her window. My vehicle is close enough to keep my eye on her magnificent form, but far enough away that she won’t be able to notice.
Normally, I would be more than happy to follow her on the short distance to where she works, only to make sure that she's staying safe. This time, though, I have an agenda.
My eyes zero in on her body as she walks cluelessly down the sidewalk.That’s how I need her to be–completely clueless.Her tight jeans frame her ass in just the right way that makes my mouth water. I wonder if she can feel when my eyes trail over her pale skin in the small space between her jacket and the waistband of her pants.
She clutches the handle of her umbrella with one hand and her phone with the other. Even from where I am parked, I can clearly make out the frown on her face as she looks down at the screen. I can imagine what she must be thinking. It had only been twodays since I took Jace to my storage unit and killed him, but two days without talking to your best friend can feel like a fucking lifetime, especially to Thalia. I hate seeing her like this, but I did what I had to do.
I’ve seen her talking to Jace constantly over texting or through several calls during the day.How can someone talk to another human being so much? I mean, hell, they even work together.She must be wondering why she hasn’t heard from him or why he isn’t replying to any of her messages. I’ve had his phone this whole time, and I hadn’t thought to reply. I can feel the tiniest pull on my cold heartstrings. It almost makes me feel bad for killing him.Jace was in the way. He would have put her at risk.
Once I notice her figure goes out of focus, I climb out of my seat, staring down at my blue jeans and plain gray shirt I bought from a local consignment shop. I adjust my black baseball cap on my unruly curls and shut the car door behind me.This is unlike the business casual I’m used to wearing, but it will have to do if I want to go unnoticed.I pop open my trunk and study at the large roll of carpet padding, which now contains Jace’s body tightly wound up in the center.
After a night of planning and glaring down at Jace’s lifeless body in my mostly empty storage unit, I came up with an idea to hide him in plain sight. It’s only temporary. Just until I can set him up in his final destination.
I taped Jace’s slender body in the middle of a large roll of carpet padding that I bought from a hardware store close to the storage unit I’d been renting. I made several even rows of duct tape across his body, starting by covering his eyes and ending at the tips of his black and white Vans. Making sure I smoothed out each pieceand that they were secure and stuck to the material. The last thing I wanted was his dead body sliding out of what would soon be compacted layers of tan flooring.
Taking one end of the mat, I slowly rolled up the heavy rug as if I were storing an old, unused tapestry. I was careful not to go too fast, knowing the duct tape around his body could tear and come off his lean form if I moved too quickly. I cautiously carried his carpeted coffin to my trunk, surprised that it fit snugly in the small space.
Today, I look down at the large piece of flooring, sighing and wondering how in the hell I’m going to carry it upstairs to Thalia’s apartment. Picking up the large roll, I cradle Jace’s dead weight in my arms as if he were a very large newborn.
“Need any help with that?” I hear from behind.Damn it.I take a deep breath and turn around to face the good samaritan. My mask of an award-winning smile falls over my face before I play the part of the apartment maintenance crew.
“All good here. Thank you.” I nod and peer down at the large amount of carpet in my arms.
“Oh, nonsense.” He grins and shuts the trunk of my car. “It seems like you’ve got your hands full.” He continues and states the obvious. “Are you taking that to the apartments?” He gestures with his pale, wrinkly fingers to Thalia’s building in front of us.
“Yeah. Just doing a carpet replacement in one of the units.” I shift my weight, hoping he notices.You think we could stop talking? I have a body to hide and my arms are fucking burning from the literal dead weight.
“Well…” He pauses. “It’s about time.” He huskily laughs.He must be one of Thalia’s elderly neighbors.“I’ll get the door for you.”He starts walking towards the building, managing to step in his white New Balance tennis shoes in every puddle we both come across. The tiny splashes hit the sides of my cheap carpenter jeans. He looks back every so often, and I paint the picture of a fake beam on my pale face.
With soggy shoes, we reach the brown metal door that leads to the white tiled stairs I’m all too familiar with. He heaves out a large groan and opens the door wide enough for both of us to walk through.
“There you go. That should do ya.” His wide smile stays plastered on his face as he walks past me up the narrow stairs.
“Thank you,” I say after him, nodding and grinning ear to ear when he looks at me and turns back around.
“No problem, young man. Don’t work too hard.” He continues to make his way up the stairs to the long hallway of rooms, sliding his hand along the smooth metal railing.The poor old man doesn’t realize he has just become my accomplice.
In a mild panic, I look around the small area, still holding on to Jace. Stuffing him into the small nook Thalia calls her closet seems unrealistic, but if it came down to it, I would do what I must. I imagine stuffing the large roll of carpet behind her long row of black shirts.The only way that plan would work out is if I propped Jace up with her black boots. I’m sure she’ll be needing those soon. That plan won’t do.
I continue to scan the small space, searching for anything to hide a large roll of flooring, and it is considered normal. Then I see it. Under the stairs, the door to the small closet with the sign reading “Maintenance” is like it’s standing out under a figurative spotlight.Fucking perfect.
I jiggle the door handle, and to my advantage, it’s unlocked.Does no one lock their doors anymore?I sidestep myself and Jace into another small room and notice a pile of dingy-looking carpet in the corner next to a variety of items. A small arrangement of extra door knobs, screws, paint cans, and a large toolbox.
A rush of relief goes through me.
I gently set him next to the other carpet remnants and slide the heavy paint cans next to the bottom near Jace’s feet to make sure the rug stays put.Don’t worry, Jace, I will be back for you. This is not your final haven.
Satisfied, I brush my hands against my pants and make my way out of the supply closet. I peek around the small hallway before stepping out. The heavy door squeaks as I pull it shut enough to hear a faint clicking sound. Imay not be able to lock it, but I will do everything I can to keep Jace secure and unnoticed.
Continuing to walk out of the apartment complex with my hands in the pockets of my death-soiled denim, I have a new feeling of confidence.This could work.I walk towards my car and start planning out the next item on my to-do list.
I think I should pay the police a visit.By now, they should have leads on Ashley’s disappearance. Everyone suspects the husband, so playing the part of the worried spouse will be a challenge,even for me.It’s what I have to do to keep them from getting suspicious.
The police station is busy today.It’s New York City, it’s always busy.I stare blankly at the detective while I sit in the black plastic seat across from himwith my arms folded across my chest. His chair groans loudly over the commotion of people outside the office I was kindly escorted to. Detective Myers sits uncomfortably at his desk in front of me, frantically going through the stack of papers on his desk.
“Detective Myers.” I read his nameplate on his desk aloud. He peers up from the pile of paperwork he has been scanning through.
“Mr. Jones.” His thick accent is noticeable in his mediocre office. His focus changes, moving to me and offers a kind smile. The nice gesture is unexpected when I see the dark circles under his eyes and the hot cup of coffee on his desk. From the workload I’m sure he’s been going through, it’s more than what I deserve.He doesn’t know that. As far as he knows, I am the worrying, doting husband.With a long sigh, he stops rummaging through the loose papers.
