CHAPTER FIVE - Now and Then

October 15, 2005. Tricia's place. NYC. 05:37 pm.

3 days before disappearance.

Tricia hadn't managed to watch the news for days. She'd hardly had time to scan the newspaper headlines, let alone thoroughly read the articles. Last week had been crammed with work.

Tricia did not complain; as a newbie on the market, she was quite lucky to have so many jobs. She knew a number of people who had spent the first few months, sometimes even years, waiting for the job offers to come rolling in.

But the consequence was that she hardly had time for herself. The book she was reading had lain around on her nightstand for almost a week, and she did not even know when she had for the last time simply leaned back and watched a movie.

Or the news, for that matter.

Tricia leaned back on her sofa and pulled her feet under her body. She longed for a bath and for a cup of steaming hot tea, but at the moment all she was able to do was sit still and look at the TV screen.

She switched on CNN. The news had already begun, and the newscaster was just announcing a change of topic.

"New York City. The body that was found yesterday in the woods has meanwhile been identified as Mr. Garrett Chase, a salesman from Queens, who went missing six years ago. The police investigates the case. They suppose that Mr. Chase fell victim to a hit-and-run with a stolen car. Evidence strongly suggests that the car that was used was stolen on April 7, 1999 from a side street on the West Side. The car is a red Corvette, license plate ROY101, registered in New York State. It was found again two days later. The police calls on all citizens to report anything that might be connected to the car theft or Mr. Chase's death.

"New Orleans..."

Tricia's thoughts drifted. A red Corvette? That rang a bell in her memory. She associated something with that type of car.

Before she could get a firm grip on the memory, she was woken from her reverie when the phone started to ring. She pressed the mute button on her remote control and answered the phone.

Cordelia.

Suddenly Tricia remembered Morris Greek, and she all but gasped. Of course, how could she forget? Thanks to Morris Greek, she knew what a Corvette looked like. Little wonder that that type of car reminded her of him.

God, how long hadn't she thought of him.

Cordelia was telling her something about a new logo she was designing, and Tricia made an effort to listen. Of course, Cordelia noticed that she wasn't really paying attention, but Tricia just explained that she'd had a hard day and wanted nothing but a bath and a hot drink.

"Oh, I saw Alejandra Zapatero the other day," Cordelia said abruptly. "At least I'm pretty sure it was her. She looked horrible."

Tricia laughed. "Horrible? Our beauty queen?"

"Yes," Cordelia assured her. "She must have taken on a good twenty pounds, but she still dresses the way she did in high school. You can imagine what that looks like..."

"Ugh," Tricia commented.

"She looked like a whore, and a very cheap one, too." Cordelia's voice was flat with disgust. "But you know what? She deserves it."

"Don't be so bitchy," Tricia contradicted. "I never liked her, either, but you know people can change, don't you? Maybe something tragic happened to her and threw her off course."

"Trish, you're way too good-hearted," Cordelia sighed. "People like Alejandra I'm-the-queen-of-the-world Zapatero never change. Once a bitch, always a bitch."

"But some people really change," Tricia protested. "Look at Terry Williams, for instance. He's a stay-at-home dad, for God's sake; would you ever have thought that? Or Kilian O'Rourke; he used to make fun of me in quite a cruel way sometimes, but when I met him the other day we talked and got along really well, and there was no mockery or animosity whatsoever in his conduct. And that wasn't because of the fact I've lost quite a lot of weight since then," she added with an audible smirk.

"But those are different kinds," Cordelia said. "Terry was a rebel, and Kilian was an immature bully who probably grew up a little. But both were neither self-centered nor arrogant. And these are characteristics that stay. Alejandra, Macy, and the others will always look down on women who don't look as if they come from a photo shooting for Cosmopolitan."

"Do you think the same thing is true for boys?" Tricia asked.

"What, that they don't change?"

"That they always look down on the people they looked down on before."

Cordelia certainly shrugged; Tricia could almost see her. "I suppose so. Why are you asking?"

"I don't know," Tricia said, "I was just thinking of Morris."

"You were thinking of... Morris Greek?" Cordelia sounded incredolous. "That Morris?"

Tricia felt her face go red and was glad that Cordelia could not see her through the phone wire. "Yeah, that Morris," she replied. "I suddenly had to think of him. Don't know why," she lied.

"People like Morris Greek, my dear Tricia, are the worst kind," Cordelia said in her best imitation of a kindergarten teacher. "They're bound to stay the same simply because they never noticed how arrogant they are. I mean, when Morris talked to you back in high school, remember? I bet he really thought he was doing something good and unselfish. He probably told himself that it was the best thing he could do for you. But I doubt very much that he ever noticed how arrogant this was. I mean, hello? For him, something that should actually be an ordinary thing - conversation - turned into something very special as soon as it involved himself."

"But the weird thing is that it actually was the best thing he could do," Tricia said. "I mean, you know the way I was back then. The way we all were. When you're in high school, all that counts is your image. And you can say whatever you like, but Morris did help me improve my image. So whatever his motives were, the thing is that it worked out. Alejandra and the others stopped picking on me."

"Alright," Cordelia conceded, "I see your point. But what I'm saying is that he's most certainly still the same. Arrogant and self-centered. Of course, he can be nice," she added quickly, sensing that Tricia wanted to interrupt her. "He could be quite charming, especially after he'd had a few beers. Being self-centered doesn't mean you never say a friendly word to anyone..."

"He was friendly to me in the end," Tricia said musingly. "I guess that sort of helped me to get over him. Weird, isn't it? The better I knew him, the less I loved him."

"Because you began to see the person, not just the good-looking hero," Cordelia agreed. "And he had a good reason to be nice to you; after all you'd saved his ass."

Tricia was shocked for a moment. She'd never told anyone about the car! Then it dawned on her that Cordelia probably referred to Morris's Spanish exams.

Her guilty conscience weighed heavy on her. Of course, it could be a mere coincidence. Who said that the red Corvette that had been mentioned by the police was the one that morris had stolen back then? She didn't even know on which day that had been.

On the other hand... it must have been in or around April. And it had been a side street on the West Side. And Morris had said he'd return the car.

Too many coincidences.

No, she told herself, Morris wouldn't have done such a thing. He might be arrogant, superficial and self-centered, but he's always been honest. Even back in school, he was never downright cruel. Impossible... Morris is not a murderer!

"Tri-ish! Are you listening?" Cordelia sounded exasperated, and Tricia's mind snapped back to the present.

"Sorry," she said hastily. "I sort of drifted. Look, I'm really tired. Can we talk another day?"

"Sure." Cordelia sounded only slightly offended, and Tricia laughed.

"Next week I'll pick you up at work and treat you to a coffee," she offered. "Compensation. But I really don't think I'm a good listener tonight."

"Sure," Cordelia repeated, but this time she seemed to mean it. "I understand. Ben's coming over in a few, anyway."

"Tell him I said hi."

"He'll be delighted. We should go out some time soon, the three of us. Ben says he's been missing you."

"And you didn't dump him for that?"

Cordelia laughed, and Tricia joined in.

"Are you really sure you're alright? You seem so... absent-minded," Cordelia asked again after they'd calmed down.

"Yes, I am. Just tired, as I said." Tricia bit her lip. She did not want to lie to her friend, but this time, she had no other choice.

They said goodbye, and then Tricia hung up and stared blankly at the TV screen, lost in thought once more.

Should she tell the police what she'd seen? Break the promise she'd given Morris?

But th situation was different now, was it? Back then, it had only been about a car that would be returned later. Now it was about murder, or at least manslaughter, and concealment of the said offense. Wasn't it her duty as a responsible citizen to help clear the matter up?

xxx

The knock on the door startled her.

It was already dark outside, and Tricia had indeed taken a long bath. She'd read almost sixty pages of her novel until her soaked skin had reminded her of the fact that even the longest bath must come to an end. She'd dressed in a night blue silk nightgown with a matching kimono - a gift from Cordelia when she'd passed the final exams - and made a large pot of vanilla flavored tea. Then she'd settled in front of the TV and had gotten about halfway through The Return of the King when the aforementioned knock on the door interrupted Billy Boyd's heartbreaking rendition of The Edge of Night.

Grumbling with disapproval, Tricia wrapped her kimono tighter around her body and shoved her stockinged feet into a pair of slippers. Whoever it was, the timing was very bad.

She turned the key, removed the chain and opened the door.

It took her at least ten seconds to recognize the handsome young man who was standing outside. Then something clicked, and Tricia's jaw almost dropped down in surprise.

"Now what the..." She trailed off, swallowed and started anew. "What are you doing here!"

Morris Greek, who looked almost as surprised as she did, made a visible effort not to stare at her. "I, uh, was in the building and saw your name on the mailbox downstairs," he explained. "Thought I'd say hi." His face broke into the brilliant, charming smile that Tricia remembered so well now. She noticed that his gaze kept returning to her hips and waist, clearly outlined under the kimono, as if he was wondering where the rest of her was. Oh yes, you just stare, she thought. Who would've thought that fat little Tricia Quinlan would lose weight like that?

"You look great," Morris said after an awkward pause.

"Thank you." Tricia forced herself not to blush. "Uhm, so do you."

They fell silent for a moment. Then Tricia pulled herself together. "Come in," she said, opening the door a little wider and stepping aside to let him pass. "Sorry I was a little stunned at first, but I'd never have thought that you'd show up at my door just like that."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Morris said, as if he'd only just remembered that his visit might not be convenient.

Tricia had to suppress a smile. This was so much like the Morris Greek she knew that it was almost ridiculous. "Just a little," she said with a smirk, closing the door behind her. "You caught me on my first relaxed evening in more than a week."

"Working hard, are you?" Morris looked around in her apartment and settled down on the sofa without waiting for her to offer him the seat.

"I am, but it's fun," Tricia replied. Her mind was settling down after the surprise and she began to think clearly once again. Excusing herself, she snuck into her bedroom, quickly dressed again in blue jeans and a tank top and emerged into the living room just in time to see Morris look through her CDs.

He really had not changed much; no matter where he was, he always made himself at home very quickly. She remembered what Cordelia had said earlier today: They're bound to stay the same simply because they never noticed how arrogant they are. And that natural arrogance still radiated off Morris Greek. When Tricia looked at him now, she wondered why on earth she had been so madly in love with him. True, he was extremely good-looking and could be very charming when he wanted to, but like Dorian Gray, his flawless appearance did not reflect his character. Tricia was glad that she'd noticed that in time. Now she could look at Morris Greek without having her belly flip with excitement every time their eyes met. She was pleased to see him again, but the pleasure had nothing to do with the feelings she'd once had for him. He was simply an old classmate, and seeing him again meant to wax nostalgic for a while, exchange information about how their respective lives had been since high school, and then part again with no ulterior motives in mind.

Good plan, Tricia, she told herself.

"Found something you like?" she asked, referring to the CDs Morris was still scrutinizing.

He turned around, not in the least embarrassed that she'd caught him sneaking around. "I had no idea you liked heavy metal," he said.

"Heavy met... oh, I see." Tricia grinned. He had discovered her collection of Metallica CDs. "I'm not really into heavy metal," she explained, "but I absolutely love Metallica and Creed."

"I never knew," Morris repeated, and Tricia laughed.

"You never asked," she retorted.

"Touché." Morris picked Creed's Human Clay and put it into the CD player.

"Want a beer?" Tricia offered.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"I take that as a yes," Tricia replied wryly. She went into the kitched and got two cans of cooled Heinecken. "Here, catch!"

Morris caught the can elegantly with his left hand.

Tricia settled down on the opposite end of the sofa and they stayed silent for a moment. Then Morris asked, "So, what are you doing?"

This was such an obvious attempt at small talk that Tricia suppressed the urge to laugh. Nevertheless the question was justified, and she duly answered.

"Interpreter, huh?" Morris repeated. "Should've thought you'd do something with languages."

"And you?" Tricia asked. "Last I heard was you couldn't choose between lawyer and journalist..."

Morris gaped at her. "What, you still remember that? I'm impressed!"

"I've a good memory," Tricia said casually.

She looked at Morris just in time to see something close to panic flicker in his eyes. But an instant later, that expression was gone and was replaced by amusement, so she blamed the beer and did not dwell on the notion.

"I'm indeed a journalist," Morris said, a little belated. "Freelancer, too. Always chasing The Story, you know, with a capital S."

"Successfully?" Tricia asked.

"Haven't won the Pulitzer yet, if that's what you mean," Morris joked. "But it's a living."

"Quite a good one, I suppose," Tricia said, casting a meaningful glance at his D&G shirt and Prada shoes.

For some inexplicable reason, Morris blushed slightly and quickly changed the topic.

"Are you still in touch with someone from high school?" he asked.

"Very few people," Tricia replied. "Cordelia Downs, of course, and technically Terry Williams, too, though I haven't seen him for years. He's got two kids, you know," she added as an explanation.

"He must be out of his mind," Morris commented.

"He's ravished," Tricia contradicted. "He's very proud of his boys."

"Well, what do they say, there's no accounting for taste." Morris sighed. "I don't think I'm ever gonna have children," he remarked.

"Truth be told, I, too, find it rather hard to imagine you as a dad," Tricia said, only half joking. "But I guess such things always depend on your partner. Who knows, maybe one day you'll see a woman and tell yourself, She's gonna have my babies..."

"So you don't think I've already found the love of my life?" His intense gaze held hers until Tricia looked away, slightly confused.

"How the hell should I know?" she answered. "I haven't seen you for six years or so. Your private life is none of my business."

"But once it was, back then, wasn't it?" Morris was still looking at her, and although Tricia was no longer seventeen, it made her nervous.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Tricia. We both know very well what I mean." Was she imagining things or had he moved a little closer? Tricia did not know whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable.

"Perhaps," she replied cautiously. "But as you said, that was back then. The here and now is slightly different."

"Slightly different?" She certainly did not hallucinate; Morris was indeed moving closer.

"Don't be so meticulous. You're a journalist; don't you recognize irony when it jumps right in your face?" Her answer sounded bolder than she felt. Yet she did not shrink away when Morris's hand touched her leg. She was not quite clear about her own emotions. She was over Morris Greek, but although she knew exactly where they were heading she did not protest. Feeling oddly detached, she watched as Morris took the can of beer from her hand, put it on the table, covered the last remaining distance between them and touched the side of her face.

"You look really great," he whispered.

"Do I?" she wanted to reply, but his lips were already on hers. Soft at first, like a breath of air, but with increasing determination. He gently forced her lips apart and she did not protest as his tongue slid into her mouth. Almost unconsciously she kissed him back.

So that's what it feels like to be kissed by Morris Greek, she thought, her mind oddly analytic. And then, with a very slight pang of regret, Too bad it's too late for that. If I was seventeen again, this would be a dream come true...

She did not retreat at once, however; regardless of her now inexistent feelings for Morris, it felt good to be kissed by such a handsome man, especially one for whom she had longed more than a year. Besides, it had been a while since Tricia had last been kissed, and for once, she allowed herself to take and savor without thinking of the consequences.

The kiss deepened even more, and Morris was gently pressing her back down on the sofa. One of his hands stroked the side of her body from shoulder to hip. When he moved back up, his hand slid under her tank top, caressing the bare skin underneath. She shivered; only once before had she been touched like that. Her body arched slightly against his, and she ran her fingers through his curly hair.

Then his lips were on her neck and his hand reached her breast, cupping it, and Tricia snapped back to reality. A little bit of snootching was alright, but nothing more. Not with a man she did not love.

She turned her head away from him and plucked his hand from her breast.

"Time's up, Casanova." She scrambled out from underneath him and sat up straight.

Morris gaped at her. Open-mouthed and disheveled as he was, he looked more ridiculous than seductive.

"Wha... what do you mean?" he finally asked, completely astonished.

"You heard me," Tricia replied. "I've given you the brush-off."

"Ouch, Tricia."

"You'll live," she said wryly and handed him his abandoned can of beer. "Here, drown the shock. I suppose that doesn't happen to you very often?"

Morris, still stunned, downed the rest of the lukewarm beer at once. "Why?" he asked.

Tricia sighed. "'Cause this is the here and now and not the back then, my dear Morris," she said. "Your timing is bad. Six years ago this would've ended differently, but now I'm over you. Com-plete-ly." She stressed every syllable by stabbing her finger on his chest.

"Six years ago we'd never have gotten so far," Morris countered, not exactly tactfully. "But at least you admit that you had a crush on me?"

"Why not? It's in the past. I was young and stupid."

"What, you think it was stupid to fall in love with me?" It was hard to tell whether Morris felt genuinely offended.

"I think it was stupid to fall in love with you without even knowing what kind of person you were," Tricia corrected. "As you might remember, we didn't officially meet until later."

Morris's face momentarily froze, and Tricia felt little icicles trickle down her spine. This was the second time that he reacted strangely when she referred to memory. It did not take much to draw the necessary conclusions - something in the past made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Something that involved him and her - and there was only one thing that really connected them.

What she had feared all day seemed to become reality.

"Why are you really here, Morris?" she asked abruptly.

He avoided her gaze. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know very well what I mean," Tricia insisted. "You sought me out, didn't you? You came here on purpose, but you preferred to make it look like a coincidence. Why, Morris? It has something to do with that car, doesn't it?"

Morris did not have to reply. His shocked expression spoke volumes.

"So it's true?" Tricia whispered. "It was you? You ran that man over and buried him?"

"No!" Morris protested. "It wasn't like that..."

"You killed a man, Morris!"

"It was an accident!"

"I'm sure it was, but this is not funny anymore, Morris. You've got to tell the police."

"Are you mad? I can't tell the police!"

Tricia looked at him. "If you don't, then I will. I never told anyone, Morris; I kept my promise, just like you did. But this is more than we bargained for. I thought it was simply a case of car theft, but now it's homicide! I want no part in this."

"Don't tell anyone, please, Tricia!" Morris implored, and Tricia had a strong feeling of déjà vu. She had heard him speak exactly these words to her before. Back then, she had done what he'd asked.

But now...

"Morris, you've got to confess," she said again.

"And if I don't, then you're gonna tell on me?" Suddenly there was steel in Morris's voice. All charms and flirtation had disappeared from his conduct; all of a sudden, he seemed damn serious, almost dangerous. He bowed to her until their faces were only inches apart. His gray eyes seemed to pierce right through her. "I'll see to it that you won't." His voice was barely more than a whisper. His hand closed around her wrist, and Tricia clenched her teeth as a searing pain shot up her arm.

But with the pain came anger.

"Are you completely out of your mind?" she hissed. Shaking his hand off, she jumped up and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What makes you think you could intimidate me with threats? I'm not afraid of you, Morris Greek, so don't make a fool of yourself!"

"You're not afraid of me, eh? Maybe you should." Morris barked a short, humorless laugh. "After all, I killed a man. Your words."

"But you're not a murderer," Tricia said, still more irritated. "Don't be ridiculous. Stop threatening me. Who do you think you are?"

"You shouldn't feel so secure," Morris said.

"You can't frighten me, I know you too well," Tricia shouted at him. "And now get out of here!"

"You won't tell," Morris reiterated.

"I'll give you a few days' time to think about it," Tricia replied. "But when these days are over, one of us will tell the police what happened back then. And I'd be very glad if you were the one." Her voice suddenly dropped down and assumed another tone, a calm and confident tone. It was the voice she employed when she worked. "It's not gonna be so bad," she said. "You were a minor when it happened, and I'm sure they'll understand it was an accident. It'll make a good impression if you surrender."

"I won't do any such thing."

"Then I can't help you," Tricia said coolly. "And now get out of my apartment!"

Morris seemed to sense that there was no way he could possibly persuade her to change her mind. "You'll hear from me," he warned her.

"Wrong, loverboy. You'll hear from me," Tricia retorted. "I'll give you one last warning before I go to the police. But I'd prefer you not to need that warning."

"We'll see," Morris spat out. His eyes were blazing, but rage mingled with fear.

He left her apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Tricia was left behind. She was on the verge of tears. Morris had admitted that he had been guilty of Garrett Chase's death.

For six years she had covered for a killer.