one
Jake Pritchard was dead.
His body, still warm, lay on the floor just where the kitchenette met the living room, a halo of thick blood surrounding his shattered skull. He was still hot, but he was definitely deceased.
Ryan Pearce knelt in the sticky fluid oozing from Jake's terrible wounds. He had the cell phone in his right hand. In the left, he held a heavy glass object stained with blood.
Ryan was still on his knees, shaking and pale-faced, when EMTs burst through the front door. The technicians quickly realized that nothing could be done for the man on the ground, the man with glassy eyes and a split head. They turned their attention to Ryan.
Was he hurt? they asked him. What the hell had happened? When had he arrived? What had he seen, what had he heard? Had anyone else been in the house? Ryan shook his head at the paramedics' questions, but he didn't say anything. He seemed unable to speak, unable to take in what was happening to him.
The EMTs addressed him in low voices. Very carefully, one of them helped him to his feet while he removed the glass object that he was holding in his left hand and placed it in a plastic bag. The technician noticed that he had a text engraved on the base:
JAKE PRITCHARD,
BEST NOVEL SCREENWRITER, 2012
-Is he? the tech asked Ryan. Is this man Jake Pritchard?
Ryan nodded.
"Can you tell us something about him?" How did he know him?
Finally Ryan spoke.
"I never had any intention of harming you," he stammered. His teeth were chattering. I would never think of doing something like that. He is my best friend. He's my brother.
2
Edie had fallen asleep again.
Judging from the angle of the light entering the living room, as well as the deep quiet of the apartment, it must have been after nine. What luxury to lounge around on Ryan's large, comfortable sofa. What a pleasure to sleep as he had, without dreams or interruptions.
Here, in Ryan's small but cute one-bedroom apartment, Edie would fall asleep at night, lulled to sleep by the noise of the city: laughing teenagers and screaming drunks, sirens in the distance, and the soothing rumble of cars on the cobblestone street. The noises of the community. Nothing to do with the solitude of the house on the cliff, with its absolute silence except for the tortured cries of the seagulls and the incessant sound of the waves breaking on the rocks. She was embarrassed to admit it: she slept better on Ryan's couch than in her own double bed.
Emerging from the sleeping bag, Edie headed into the kitchen and popped a capsule into the coffee pot. Through the window she could see the tops of the beeches in the garden that fronted the park and Arthur's Seat Hill rising behind it. Her heart skipped a beat whenever she was there, surrounded by beauty and luxury. She was light years away from his dilapidated cliff house, from her money worries, from the slow-motion catastrophe that was her marriage.
Back on the sofa in the living room with a cup of coffee in hand, Edie checked her cell phone. She hadn't received any calls from Jake, nor any messages. She hadn't heard from him in over forty-eight hours. This silence was unusual, but—Edie realized with a pang of guilt—also welcome. They had been talking too much lately.
She drank her coffee and was on her way to the bathroom to take a shower when the intercom rang. It would be Ryan returning from his morning run, she guessed. She must have forgotten her keys. She pressed the button to open the front door and came out of the apartment to greet him.
"How fast!" he exclaimed up the stairs, hoping Ryan would appear. But it wasn't him who did it, it was someone else. Two, actually. Both of them were dressed in police uniform and wore a somber expression.
Edie's pulse quickened.
-What's going on? she asked, reaching out a hand to brace herself against the door frame.
"An incident," they replied. In the house on the cliff.
-What happened? -He wanted to know. She had a nauseous feeling, as if something elusive was stirring in her stomach. Has there been a fight?
The policemen looked at each other, surprised by his reaction.
They took her inside and closed the door behind them. They made her sit on the sofa and stood in front of her as they explained why they were there. Her husband, they told her, had been attacked in her home. He had suffered serious head injuries. Despite their efforts, the EMTs had been unable to save him. He had been declared dead on the spot. It was still unclear what had happened, but it seemed to be a robbery gone wrong.
For a moment, Edie said nothing. She just listened to the sound of voices as she expected to wake up any moment. She dug her nails into her palms, pinched the skin on the back of her hands, but the policemen were still there. She didn't bolt up, scared to death as she woke from a nightmare. She wasn't dreaming. This was real. This was happening.
"Where's Ryan?" Edie asked when she finally found her voice again. What happened to Ryan?
The policemen exchanged another of their looks.
"Ryan Pearce?" one of them said as a deep furrow formed in his brow. He is at the police station. Giving statement. He's the one who found the... who found Mr. Pritchard. He's the one who called the emergency room.
-Then it's okay? Eddie asked. Is Ryan okay?
3
Ever since Edie could remember, the three of them had been inseparable: Jake, Ryan, and Edie.
He had met them at school, in Sussex. She had just turned eleven when she moved with her family to be closer to the hospital where her little sister, Georgina, was being treated for a rare childhood cancer. When Edie thought of that time, the word that came to her mind was abandoned. Her parents were always somewhere else, consumed with concern for her helpless little sister, who soaked up all her love like a sponge. Since Georgina was weak, Edie had to be strong. She had to be brave. She had to fend for herself.
And he did. He pushed his sense of abandonment aside, pretended it didn't exist, and pulled forward. He went to school by bike. She made dinner herself when she got home. She sometimes she even tucked herself into bed.
When he turned twelve he began to go to a private school. Compared to her other students, Edie seemed older: she was serious, quiet, and reserved. The other girls in her class, however, did not see in her strength and independence, but boredom and presumptuousness. They teased her about her seriousness, and the more they teased her, the more distant Edie became from her. She treated them with disdain, like the grinning idiots they seemed to her. She soon found herself as alone in class as she felt at home.
Until one afternoon, when he was coming home from school at the end of the last term, before summer, he skidded down a hill and fell off his bike. She was sitting on the muddy ground, picking pebbles from the scratch on her knee, when two boys came rushing up from the top of the hill. She recognized them from school: they were in a higher class. They were two tall, dark-haired boys, and for some reason, the rest of the students stayed away from them. They both got off the bike and the taller one held out a hand to help her up.
-Are you okay? she asked.
The half smile caused a large, deep dimple to form on the right side of his face. He was the most handsome boy he had ever seen.
Edie accepted his hand.
"My name is Ryan," he said, effortlessly pulling her to her feet.
"I'm Jake," added the other boy quietly, who had knelt down to examine the wheel of his bike.
And in that instant, it was like being struck by an overwhelming bolt of lightning: Edie knew immediately that she and Jake were made for each other. From that day the three became inseparable and began to always go everywhere together.
Except now there were only two of them: Edie, curled up on the corner of the sofa, the floor around her littered with used tissues, and Ryan, who kept pacing back and forth in front of her, wearing down the carpet. His eyes were wild and he was too excited and nervous to sit next to her, too upset to do anything except go over and over the terrible scene of that morning and describe it to her:
“There was so much blood, Edie… There was nothing I could… do anymore. I've tried... I've tried to revive him, but it was useless. I mean, of course it was useless. He was already...dead. And there I was, sitting and covered in blood, and I told them that he was my brother. They have asked me why he was lying, and I have answered that he was not lying. He wasn't lying. Ryan shook his head. We used to say it all the time, didn't we? He's my brother. We're like brothers. I don't know why I said that. I don't know why I said it just then. My God, Edie, there was so much blood...
Edie sucked in a deep breath and clenched her fists.
"Ryan, please don't...
"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her for a moment. I am sorry. Him”—he was silent for about twenty seconds, maybe thirty, and then he started again—“I waited in the car for a couple of minutes before I got in. I stayed in the car reading on my cell phone, you know. Just reading… Doing nothing, really, just wasting time… Just wasting time…” Her voice cracked. She was going to say it again, she knew it. “I wish I had walked right in. I wish I'd kicked the door down instead of waiting, instead of going all the way around the house. I wish I wish I wish."
She'd told him her story what seemed like a dozen times: that she'd driven over to Jake's house to go running with him like they used to do every Thursday morning. That she had arrived early because the traffic was more fluid than usual and that she had decided to spend some time in the car reading on her cell phone. There had been no answer to the knock on the door, so she had walked around the house to the side that faced the cliff. She had seen that the sliding glass door was open, but that hadn't bothered her, since Jake usually left it that way.
As soon as he had entered the house, however, he had realized that something was wrong. One of the dining room chairs was thrown on the floor and there was a strange metallic smell in the air. Ryan had explained to Edie that he had found Jake facedown on the kitchen floor. He had managed to flip it over, but it had taken him a couple of tries.
"There was so much blood..." he said. Everything was a mess.
"Please," Edie asked again, holding out a hand to him. Her tears fell down her cheeks. Please no.
Ryan held out one of his hands to her as well, and as he touched her fingers, he seemed to regain his composure. He knelt before her and pulled her close. Edie caught the scent of her stale sweat on her under her cologne as he kissed the top of her head and her cheek and whispered:
"I'm so sorry, E... I'm so sorry..."
He held her like that for a few more minutes, then got up and went into the kitchen. He got a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, came back, sat down next to her and filled them.
"What are we going to do without him?" Ryan asked quietly.
Eddie shook her head.
-I don't understand. I don't understand how this could have happened. How would anyone... Why would anyone even be there? The house is miles from anywhere, and it's not like there's anything to steal...
Ryan also shook his head.
"I shouldn't have been alone," he said, and Edie cringed. No, she didn't mean to…” Hesitantly, she took his hand. I didn't mean to say that you had to have been there. I mean, I should have been. She should have arrived earlier. I hate the idea of him being alone... He and I have always been together, you know?
Edie bit her lip in response.
—Thank God you weren't there, E. Thank God, because if you weren't... I don't even want to think about what could have happened.
Ryan downed his whiskey and poured himself another. Leaning down to refill Edie's glass as well, his expression was unreadable. There was pain, but also guilt. Ryan took a drink from his glass.
"I feel like I've betrayed him," she said. She did so without looking at her, but Edie knew what she was thinking. She was thinking of all the time they had spent together since she had left Jake two weeks ago. Together, just the two of them, sitting next to each other on the couch night after night, drinking wine and laughing at some nonsense on TV, their legs touching and their gazes meeting from time to time, she with a lump in her stomach and so was he, no doubt. Nothing needed to be said, they both knew it was only a matter of time.
"We haven't done anything wrong," Edie said.
Ryan poured some more whiskey. She wanted to hold his hand, but she was afraid it would bother him. Maybe he even blamed her for what they were both feeling right now. Tears came to her eyes again and now they weren't just for Jake, but for her and Ryan as well. She kept thinking that Jake's ghost would always come between them from now on. His absence would be a constant accusation.
Edie woke up with a start. She felt palpitations in her head and her mouth was dry. It took her a second to remember everything and for her horror to wash over her again. Jake was dead. Her husband was dead. And she had been left with the memory of all the horrible things she had said to him before she left him and walked away.
It had happened almost two weeks ago. She and Jake were in the kitchen of her cliff house, she making dinner and Jake rereading one of her books on screenwriting. They had opened a bottle of wine and were downing it at a rapid rate. Both were already on their second drink.
As Edie stirred the sauce, she heard her cell phone buzz. She glanced over her shoulder: the device was on the kitchen island, a foot or so from Jake's elbow, a little too far away for him to read the message that had appeared on the screen. Edie saw her take a quick look at him before returning to her book. About thirty seconds later the cell phone emitted another buzz. Edie quickly reached out to grab it.
As she read the messages she could feel Jake's eyes on her.
-Who? he asked, his eyes fixed on the book.
Edie turned her back on him and went back to working on the sauce. She took a moment before answering:
—Lara.
-Oh yeah? She said in a nonchalant tone. What does he want?
Again Edie took a while to reply.
—He's thinking about doing that ultramarathon you mentioned. You know, the Great Glen or whatever it's called. She turned to him-. She asks me if I will train with her.
Jake looked up from the book.
"She wants to know if you'll be training with her for the Great Glen 'or whatever it's called' ultramarathon?" Is that what she says in her message?
Edie heaved a huge sigh.
"She called it 'the race.' We had already talked about the subject. I do not remember his name. For the love of God! Do you want to read the message? Is that what you want, Jake? Edie held up her hand that held the cell phone as she bit her lower lip. She hoped against all odds that Jake would just roll his eyes and continue reading his book. She hoped that he would feel too embarrassed and that her pride would prevent him from picking up his cell phone, looking at the messages and verifying that they were not from Lara. That they were from Ryan, that she had written to ask how she was doing and if she wanted to meet him that weekend for coffee.
But Jake wasn't ashamed, and he had lost all his pride. He reached out for the cell phone.
"Okay," he said. Let's take a look.
Edie jerked her arm away as if it had been burned.
-For the love of God! he exclaimed. She couldn't tell him the truth under any circumstances. That she had lied because she knew that he would overreact to the fact that she had received messages from Ryan, because lately he always overreacted to anything. That he had only lied because he wanted to spend a quiet evening. Attack was his only defense now. This is ridiculous, Jake! You are paranoid! Now do you want to read my messages? Yours is amazing!
"You offered it to me!" he yelled.
"I just wanted to emphasize how irrational you are being!" I would never ask you to let me read your messages! She stuffed her cell phone into her back pocket, turned around, and began violently stirring the sauce. Can you get an idea of what it's like to live with someone who doesn't trust you?
She heard the sound behind her of the stool Jake had knocked to the floor as he jumped to his feet.
—And you, can you get an idea of what it's like to feel that the person you love cheats on you all the time? he replied in a dangerously low tone. See his face every time he receives a message, aware that he is hiding something from you? Never knowing where he's been or what he's been up to...?
—My goodness! Edie turned to him, wooden ladle in hand, splattering tomato sauce on the floor. This is unbearable. I'm almost a prisoner in this damn house, and you complain about not knowing where I am twenty-four hours a day? May I know what's wrong with you? Where do you get these insane ideas?
The discussion went further and followed the usual course. It was similar to the ones they had had the last few months. Only this one was worse. He accused her of lying to him and betraying him. She, furiously defensive and still cursing him, told him all the horrible things he thought in his worst, least pleasant moments, the things he should never have said: that he was being paranoid and selfishly insane. . That he was a failure. That she regretted spending the last few years supporting him while she wrote. That he hated the house on the cliff and that he wished he had never moved into it. That all he wanted was to get out of there.
"Then why don't you go, Edie?" Why don't you pick up and leave at once? Let's go! Run into Ryan's arms like you always do! -He said.
And that's what he did.
