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They call in a crime scene investigator to take pictures. They look for fingerprints on the note, the knife, and the gas can. There’s no sign of tire tracks or anything that shows how they arrived or left or how many people it may have been. Both Calli and I are interviewed together and separately. This time I give them all the information I know on Chris Handleman, including that he’s on the run from parole.
In the meantime, there isn’t much they can do. They suggest security cameras—which I already have if we could get our damn internet access back—and advise us to install motion lights. They promise to keep us updated.
“I can’t imagine it’ll take long,” Calli remarks after they’ve left, while we’re in her car on our way to the hardware store. “Bank accounts aren’t anonymous. Surely, they’ll be able to see whose account that is.”
“We’re definitely not dealing with a criminal mastermind,” I agree as she parks. “But that doesn’t make them less dangerous. I want you right by my side every second until they’re caught.” When she doesn’t respond, I look at her and add, “Do you hear me, Calliope?”
She blinks at me a couple of times. “I’ll keep close for the next couple of days but if this drags out, I’m not going to live like a prisoner. I’ll stay with you, but I’m not locking myself away.”
“I need you to be safe.”
“I know. I need the same for you.”
We pick up the security lights and hardware we need. There’s just enough daylight left for us to get them installed around my house and her cabin. They’re motion triggered, and I adjust the sensitivity where they’ll hopefully pick up a person but not every squirrel.
“Okay, I’m blind,” Calli giggles when we test them out. They illuminate the place like a football field. Nobody is sneaking up here at night without us knowing.
An icy wind cuts through my clothes, tossing around a few wispy snow flurries. “Let’s get inside and warm up.”
After dinner, I build a fire in the living room fireplace. I waited for us to get the necessary things finished today, but once Calli curls up on the opposite end of the couch, I ask her about her mother’s boyfriend and her suspicions.
“I told you that my mom was a horrible person. Her boyfriend is no different. It’s amazing really, how those type of people seem to find each other.”
I’m already on alert, my muscles tensed, afraid she’s getting ready to reveal abuse by the asshole boyfriend as well.
“Anyway, like I said before, I left them as soon as I could. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I was close to homeless, sleeping on a friend’s couch before finding another place. With only a high school education, my choices were limited, and minimum wage doesn’t pay rent. Mom and her boyfriend, Carl, left me alone mostly. They’d turn up every few months—and sometimes even a year or two would go by between—just to harass me, remind me that I was a piece of shit.”
“What did they want from you?”
“Nothing. It was what Mom liked to do when she was bored. I watched her do the same to other people most of my life. She would start shit because it excited her. She said once it was the only time she felt alive.”
“She sounds crazy,” I remark, not really meaning to say the words aloud, but Calli nods.
“I used to think she was. Or that she had some sort of mental illness, you know? Until I met people who dealt with mental illnesses that affected their behavior. I noticed a big difference. Afterward, when they were stable again, they regretted thethings they’d done when they couldn’t help themselves. She was proud of it.
She had so many stories about things she’d done, like how she trashed a grocery store because the worker asked her to avoid the wet floor, or how she’d poisoned her neighbor’s cat when it wouldn’t stay off her porch. One of the worst examples she used to brag about was bullying a woman who lived in the apartment under ours, someone who actually had a mental illness. I’m not sure if she was bipolar or schizophrenic or what, but she was delicate. I remember when I was around twelve years old Mom being so thrilled because she had dumped bleach in all the plants on her balcony and it was the last straw after months of such behavior. It led to the woman trying to kill herself and ending up institutionalized.” Calli shakes her head. “Mom kept giggling and saying, “Bet she won’t give me another dirty look.’”
“Jesus.”
“She wasn’t crazy. She was mean, hateful. I have a hundred examples like that, but I’m getting off subject. I just want you to understand this wasn’t a typical mother daughter disagreement or me not liking her boyfriend. I couldn’t give a shit about him.”
“I get it.”
“Over the years, I’d have to deal with them showing up to park outside my house and yell insults or threats, but they never did anything violent. Or if she found out where I worked, she’d show up there starting trouble hoping to get me fired. I don’t know if she found someone new to torture or just got bored of me, but it eventually stopped. Life was still a struggle. I was working multiple jobs trying to keep a roof over my head, but I’d made some friends and things were getting better. At least I thought so.
“I ended up in a similar situation as Silver did. I was dating Zach, one of the guys that was in my friend group, and when hecheated on me with another of our friends, the group sided with them. I kicked Zach out and cut all ties to them. After I threw all his stuff out, I walked to the liquor store across the street to get something to help me forget. On a whim, I bought a lottery ticket while I was there.”
She looks over at me, tucking her legs beneath her. “The next day I woke up with a massive hangover and nine million dollars richer.”
Holy shit. “You hit the lottery?”
“I did. A little over fourteen million, but I got about nine after taxes. I almost had a heart attack when I found out. The downside was that you can’t claim the winnings anonymously in Indiana. It was on the news and part of the public record. Before I even had the money deposited, Mom and Carl were stalking my house, demanding a cut. It got ugly and the cops removed them a couple of times, though they were never arrested.
“I moved to the other side of Indianapolis without any forwarding address, into a little rental house. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do yet and my worst fear was squandering the money. I’ve heard how often that happens to poor people who suddenly come into money. Nine million is way more than enough to live very comfortably my whole life but it’s also not so much that it couldn’t be blown through. Anyway, my plan was to stay there while I figured out what I wanted to do.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “It took them less than a month to find me and start in again. I’d always been able to count on them to eventually get bored and give up, but not this time. They were there every day. The police wouldn’t do anything because parking on a public street and screaming threats apparently isn’t against the law. I knew I’d have to move again, and I hired a lawyer to help me really disappear, starting by changing my last name. I found a luxury apartment located in Cincinnati that had a doorman and good security. On my last night inIndianapolis…” She pauses with a bitter smile and mumbles, “I swear it was like they knew it was their last chance.”
“To scream at you?”
