Love Me Not (27 page)

I looked around the crowd. “Someone call an ambulance.”

A man in a suit pulled out a cell phone.

I reached out to touch Elizabeth with a shaking hand and moved her hair off her face.

“Elizabeth,” I murmured. “Please.”

She was perfectly still.

“Elizabeth.” My voice shook.

Her eyes fluttered and then barely opened.

I leaned closer, hands on the pavement. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so sorry.”

A sound came from her throat.

“Just be still. Help is coming.”

Her voice barely made sound. “You left.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was better for you.”

“No,” she whispered.

“We don’t have to talk about it now. Just relax.”

A few seconds passed. Her eyelids fluttered again.

“Stay awake,” I said. “Stay with me.”

“Heath,” she rasped out.

I leaned closer, my ear at her lips.

“Take care of Rachel for me.”

I looked at her, ready to argue. And then the last flicker of life in her eyes cooled. There was nothing left.

Oh God, my friend…

Elizabeth was dead.

Sirens and flashing lights. People shuffled all around me. I only stared at her blank face.

Someone kneeled on the other side of her and felt her pulse. “Sir, I’m going to need you to step back.”

“She’s gone,” I murmured.

“Sir, please step back.”

“It was my fault. I was trying to protect her.”

Someone pulled me back, away from my friend.

I sat there on the pavement and pulled my hands through my hair. I rocked back and forth while I watched them try to save her.

Then they stopped.

They took their time putting their equipment away. They lifted her onto a gurney, covered her with a sheet, and loaded her into the ambulance.

My friend was dead. I’d killed her.

“Sir,” someone said. The voice sounded far away.

Someone squatted in front of me. “Sir, does she have any family?”

I focused on the woman in front of me. I recognized her. I screwed her once.

Her eyes widened a little before she went on. “Um, do you know her?”

I looked at the pavement. “She has a daughter at UF. Rachel Holt.”

“I’m going to need you to come with me. We need to get you off the road.”

“Where are they taking her?” I said.

“Memorial.”

I looked around and registered the crowd and mass of cars stopped all over the road. I stood and started walking.

“Just wait over there,” the officer said as she pointed at the Steak and Ale parking lot.

I walked in that direction. Then I glanced back to make sure no one was paying attention—and I ran, full-out sprint. I needed to be out of sight before anyone realized I was running. I made it to Collins and then ran through the complexes.

My building came into view. I took the steps three at a time and slammed my door shut.

I knew what to do, exactly what I needed to do, what I should’ve done a long time ago—as soon as I found Cassie dead on the floor.

The thought of a note flickered through my mind, only a flicker. I didn’t have to right to try to apologize to anyone.

I did need to write one thing, though. She’d asked me to take care of Rachel. There was only one thing I could do. I ripped a piece of paper out of the notebook I used as a journal.

“I, Heath Kalman, leave $500,000 to Rachel Holt. The remainder of my estate will go to Kimber West, with the exception of $10,000 to go to Penny Kalman.” Penny did very well with her shop and wasn’t in need of money, but I wanted to leave her something. I signed the paper at the bottom.

In the middle of my little dining table, I set the note.

Now to decide the details. I wondered why I hadn’t thought about this already—perhaps I never would’ve gone through with my one-year plan.

I didn’t have any pills, not even aspirin. I didn’t want to do it publicly, no spectacles. I would not jump off a building or some shit. I wanted it to be quiet and quick—alone. No pills, no gun, but I did have a knife. I wasn’t sure how to aim it with the stomach or even the chest, what would make it quick and ensure success.

The wrists. That’s how Cassie had done it. It was simple and easy. And whoever found me wouldn’t have to deal with too bad a mess, just blood, no vomit from an overdose or the horror of brain matter on the wall from a shot to the head.

Then I figured I should make sure someone found me before the smell made the landlord investigate. It was bad enough that someone would have to find me without adding the stench of decay to it. My neighbor was the only one I could think of.

I could hear through the wall that his video game fest had already started. He’d be busy for a while, long enough for me to get this done.

From the same notebook, I took another piece of paper.

“I’m sorry you’re the one who has to find me, but there’s no one else.”

I folded it, wrote his name at the bottom, and then slid it under my door so just his name would be visible from the hall.

The kitchen would do for the place of my last act. I resisted the urge to write something to Kimber or Penny or Rachel. Knowing how I really felt wouldn’t help them. The only thing I could do for them was the money.

I took a knife from the drawer, the little smooth one that I used to cut up apples. I’d just sharpened it. I sat on the floor against the wall

I closed my eyes, my first and only prayer.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better person, and I don’t expect you to take me with you. I only ask that you take care of the people I love. I failed at that. I’m begging you to do what I didn’t.”

My eyes open, I gripped the knife tighter.

I took a breath. I felt no fear, only calm that I was finally doing the right thing.

With the back of my hand against my bent knee, I steadied it so the knife would go deep enough.

I pressed the blade into my skin and slit down toward my elbow. Blood gushed.

My hand shook as I switched and cut the other wrist.

The knife fell and clattered on the linoleum.

I stared at the cabinets in front of me. Everything started to go fuzzy and dark.

“I love you, Kimber.”

The world was cold and black.

Chapter 50

Chad

Chad opened the door for the pizza delivery guy. He handed him cash and took the pizzas. The delivery guy walked away, back down the stairs.

Did I look that goofy in the uniform when I delivered pizzas in high school?

He looked away from the delivery guy and turned back toward his apartment. Then something caught his eye—a slip of paper sticking out from under his neighbor’s door. He looked closer.

It had his name on it.

What the hell?
He hadn’t thought his neighbor even knew his name. That guy was weird—and a jerk.

Chad went back into his apartment and closed the door. His friends ripped the pizzas out of his hands.

“You got plates?” Pete said, already with a mouthful of pizza.

“I think there are some clean ones in the cabinet. If not, try the dishwasher.”

Terry kept his gaze focused on the screen—he was about to enter the cave to fight the demon. “And if not the dishwasher, try the sink.”

“What, you don’t do dishes for us?” Pete said, mouth still full.

“I bought the pizzas.” Chad liked that he could do stuff—he’d finally gotten his raise, after five years of fixing every flipping computer in the place, even when they should’ve been beyond repair.

Pete grinned.

Chad glanced back at his door. Why in the world would the guy next door leave a note for him? It had to be a prank or something, like the football players used to do to him in high school.

He sighed. He was too curious to let it go.

Back out in the hall, he bent over to pick up the paper. Nothing else was on the outside, just his name. He unfolded it.

“I’m sorry you’re the one who has to find me, but there’s no one else.”

Chad’s face contorted in confusion.
Find him? What in the world does that mean?

Yeah, it had to be a prank. He turned.

But the guy didn’t strike him as the type. He was a jerk, but not like the football players. The jocks liked getting a rise out of people, embarrassing them. Their pranks were always public. But this guy acted like he wanted nothing to do with anyone else. He’d even seen him ignore that hot chick who worked in the rental office flirting with him.

He still didn’t know what the note meant though.
Find him?
Did he mean to go into his apartment?

Chad looked at the knob.

He knew it was probably smarter to walk away—but he was too curious.

He turned the knob, expecting it to be locked.

The door opened.

“Hello?” he called.

Nothing.

He walked in. “Hey, man, what’s this note about?”

The place was silent. He looked around. There was a notebook and a piece of paper on the table, and on the coffee table was one of the new iPads—he resisted the urge to take a look. No TV. That was weird. What did he do in here by himself all the time? He had some theories about what the guy did to make money, each one more ludicrous than the last. His favorite theory was that the guy was a gigolo.

“Hello,” Chad called again.

He saw nothing through the open bedroom door or the bathroom. He walked a little farther.

He turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Oh my God.” He stumbled back.

Blood everywhere. His neighbor was on the floor, leaned against the wall. Blood oozed from his wrists down his arms and onto the floor. He was perfectly still and pale, and a paring knife lay on the floor next to him.

He bolted toward his apartment. “Call 911,” he yelled.

Chapter 51

Blood On The Floor

The girl from the leasing office opened the door, and Penny walked in. She still wasn’t sure how the police had found her, maybe just because their last names were the same. She was sure Heath had allowed no other links between them.

The girl stood to the side and said nothing.

Penny turned to look around and wiped her eyes again. The furniture was nice but sparse, just like he seemed to like things.

“Have the police been through?” Penny said while still turned away.

“One officer. He said, um, they didn’t need to investigate any more. It was pretty clear there was no foul play.”

Penny nodded and walked over to the table. She held her breath to keep from breaking down.

She picked up the paper off the table.

Her voice shook. “This is the only note they found?”

“I don’t think the officer looked real hard…”

Penny smeared the tears off her cheeks. She could barely see through the moisture. The note was only about money, instructions on how to divvy it up. Nothing else. Nothing about how he felt, why he did it.

She felt like shit because she didn’t understand. She hadn’t understood him for a long time. She thought sleeping around was all he wanted, the only thing he gained pleasure from. But then he left. She’d done everything she could think to do for him—for his whole life. And then he left her.

And now he’d decided to leave for good—without even an explanation.

She covered her mouth to muffle the sob.

He was her family, the only person besides their mother she’d ever loved. She’d counted on him always to be there.

She set the note down. He may as well have left a damn balance sheet for all the emotion that went into the note. She didn’t want his money.

She took another step, farther into the apartment.

“No,” the girl warned, “it hasn’t been cleaned yet.”

As the girl spoke, Penny turned the corner into the kitchen. “Oh God,” she screeched. The blood was everywhere, her brother’s blood, puddles covering the floor. She could see the outline where Heath had been sitting.

Mouth covered with her hand, she turned away.

The girl took her arm to guide her to sit at the table. “I’m sorry. Our maintenance man refused to clean it. We’re trying to find a company that specializes in…”

Penny stared at the tabletop. Her voice barely made sound. “How could he do this?”

The girl said nothing.

Penny focused on breathing, on keeping herself in one piece. She had to get through this on her own. She had no one to lean on.

She looked at the note, more a handwritten will than a suicide note. He couldn’t give her a
clue
as to why he’d done it? He hadn’t talked to her about anything that really mattered in years. He couldn’t at least leave a decent suicide note?

She wanted to understand him. Things had been so easy between them when he was little. She read him stories at night, and he kissed her cheek when he left for school every morning. He was affectionate, sweet. She was surprised at first—after he’d been tossed around foster homes. Then one day out of the blue, he thanked her for taking care of him.

After Cassie died, Penny tried to get him to talk to her. He never would. He spent time with women, lots of women, but no time with his sister. Penny did what she had to do.

She set the paper back down on the table. There was a notebook on the table too, half off the edge, as if he’d tossed it to the side, nothing of importance, only scratch paper. He used to write in notebooks all the time in high school. He never let her read anything he wrote. She only got to read what everyone else did, the articles he sold to newspapers and magazines. They were beautifully written—but never about him. She had everything he’d ever published. What she really wanted to read was all the things he hadn’t published, the pages upon pages he filled. She wondered why he never tried to publish his fiction.

The notebook taunted her, sitting there begging to be opened.

She’d always abided by his wishes. That didn’t matter anymore, though, did it? Shouldn’t she look around to find out why he’d done this? Isn’t that why she’d come?

She pulled the notebook to her, and the metal spiral binding scraped the table. She opened the book to a random page. Her own name jumped out at her.