Chapter Eighteen
Marcie was slow to enter the
apartment, almost as if she was committing some cardinal sin by
accepting Michael's offer.
"Go ahead and uh... make yourself comfortable." Al
said. "I think I can manage to find something for you to
wear."
"Thanks." Marcie said softly as Al went into the next
room. She walked around the room, soaking in her environment.
There wasn't much that would go to show that she was
standing in Michael McBain's apartment. No diploma, no
photographs. The walls were pretty bare.
"Here you go," Al returned, handing her a cotton tee
shirt and a pair of sweatpants. "They might be a little
long..."
"That's... OK" She took the clothing from him,
sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"I've got... everything you need. You can just... help
yourself. Shower, fridge..." Marcie nodded. "You're
uncomfortable."
"Oh... no." she said "No it's just... I don't
know, I feel like I'm intruding."
"You're not," AL said. "Not at all. All I do
on my nights off is sit around here and so nothing."
"You never have company?" Marcie crossed her legs atop
the bed, leaning forward. "Your brother..." she shook
her head. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm just
being nosey."
"Not at all... that's OK" AL paused. "Me and
John... we're not really all that tight. Been that way for a
long time."
"Well what happened?" Marcie asked. Al sighed, feeling
Michael taking over, his memories flooding his mind. "I'm
doing it again, huh?" Marcie said.
Al sat down beside her. "I was just a kid." he said.
"John was... older. He was always close with our mom...
dad... That's why he became a cop."
"Your dad's a police officer?" Marcie cocked her
head to the side, looking at him.
"He... was..." AL said. Marcie's shoulders fell.
"Oh... Michael, I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to..."
"It's OK" Al said. "My dad... he loved his
job, ya know. He was all about the badge and when he got shot...
the doctor...the guy was so drunk he couldn't even stand.
And we stood there as he killed our father."
Tears streamed down Marcie's cheeks. "Oh God," she
said "Michael..."
"John had to grow up real fast," he said. "And
me... I swore to God I'd never let that happen to another
person. We were pretty much broke. Mom had a nightly gig at a
club in AC, but it was hardly enough to support me and John. So I
went to boarding school. Worked my tail off to keep my
scholarship, got into college and never once did I... I'd
even spend holidays studying... nose was always in the
books."
"And you and John lost touch."
Al nodded. "And my mom. John was always closer to her
anyway. The last time I saw my mom was on an album cover."
"McBain," Marcie said softly. "Not Eve
McBain." Al nodded. "She's your mom? She's
wonderful. I have her album, she's... wow."
Al drifted back to self. "Well I hear... you have a pretty
dynamite voice yourself."
Marcie laughed, standing from the bed with the tee shirt and
sweatpants., heading for the bathroom. "Who told you that?
Al?"
"Well yeah," he smiled as she shut the door, leaving it
open just slightly to continue the conversation.
"Well I hate to break it to you" Marcie giggled.
"but Al was just a little bit biased."
"Don't you think you're being a little
modest?" Al smiled as Marcie stepped out of the bathroom.
The tee shirt was down almost to her knees and the pants slipped
below the soles of her feet.
"You've never heard me sing" she informed him as
he stood from the bed.
"I'd like to"
Marcie got on the bed. "You sure about that, Michael?"
she giggled gathering the covers around her.
Al took a seat in the chair. "If you're half as good as
I've heard, you'll still be amazing."
Marcie smiled. Al settled himself in the chair. "I feel
horrible making you sleep in that chair."
"Oh no. I'm fine." Al said.
Marcie sighed. "If I move over to one side... the bed's
big enough. I trust you."
Al's heart leaped. She trusted him. OK, Holden, you're
doing something right. Don't screw this up.'
"Michael..." Marcie motioned him over. Al paused a
moment before standing and approaching her, settling himself at
the far right of the bed. He laid back. Marcie rolled onto her
right side cuddling into the blankets. "Goodnight,
Michael."
He rolled over, eyes falling on her back. He smiled just to lie
beside her again. "Goodnight, Marcie."
Outside there was complete and utter darkness as he made his way
to the upstairs bedroom. Gaining entry to the home was
surprisingly simple, which did shock him. He saw her lying there,
peaceful, seemingly angelic, her blonde hair falling over her
face. His gloved hands emerged, the red leotard wrapped around
them. He was quiet, crouching down beside the bed. He extended
his arms, waiting for her to roll over, catching the fabric
around her neck.
Her eyes shot open and her hands flew up to his. She gasped for
air, clawing pointlessly at him, attempting to whimper, but
unable to produce a sound. She couldn't keep her eyes open.
The crushing pain was intense. She weakly continued to scratch at
the gloves, her hands slowly falling, her body going limp.
He stood back, putting down the tiny music box, looking at her
momentarily before slipping out the window. He remained outside,
looking up at her window. Another name now joined his list of
victims.
