She's Not There

By M. Willow

Chapter Three

The blue skies of morning gave way to dark clouds. Thunder sounded almost continuously, competing with high winds that felled power lines, tore shingles off houses, and threw trees dangerously into the paths of unfortunate drivers still on the road. The lightening was almost beautiful in its intensity, filling the darkness with a spectacular light show. It was truly a dark and stormy night, and as Starsky sat across the table from a dead woman, the world seemed to have taken on a surreal quality.

Jenny Alexander had died over ten years ago. It had been his fault. The guilt he still carried transcended time. It was always there, slowly eating away at him. He had never discussed it with anyone, not even Hutch. The shame, the pain was too deep to talk about and nothing could bring her back.

Perhaps it was what made him a cop. He needed to make up for what he'd failed to do. Right now, if he could go back in time, there would have been a different outcome. He wouldn't have just sat there on the ground, listening to her screams.

But she was dead now. Imagining her still alive would only mean he was losing his mind. Yes, Susan bore an uncanny resemblance to Jenny, but she was nearly ten years younger. A different woman.

Jenny had died in a blazing inferno. Had she lived, she would have been horribly disfigured and nothing could have restored her beauty. That sort of thing happened in soap operas, victims, returning from the dead, their skin unmarred by fire. It was impossible in real life. He'd seen the pictures. Saw the horrific scars. Gazed into her cold, dead eyes, the only thing left of her.

He looked at Susan, hanging onto the way she spoke, the way she looked at him. Hanging onto the differences, seeing the similarities. She was talking about her aunt, the conversation turning suddenly serious.

"She hated me because I couldn't be her," she said.

Starsky crinkled his brow, he had been distracted, losing track of the conversation. They had just finished an incredible meal and were sitting on the sofa in his apartment, soft music and candlelight making her impossibly beautiful. He was embarrassed that he hadn't a clue as to what she was talking about, but Susan seemed to realize it.

"Her daughter. My cousin. She died a year before my parent's death. Anyhow, when I was ten, my parents died in a car accident. There was no one but my aunt, so I moved in with her. She was sort of eccentric. Had cut herself off from everybody since her daughter died of a drug overdose. She saw me as her second chance."

Starsky saw the pain flicker across Susan's face. He knew the answer before he even asked. "She hurt you?"

Susan shook her head. "Not in the physical sense. She used words as her weapon of choice. And isolation. No television. No radio. No friends. Just the people she hired to mold me into something I could never be"

"I'm sorry."

"Funny thing is I only met Lillah in pictures. It was sort of like seeing an actress you like on the silver screen. I had no idea what she was really like. I just knew she was so beautiful. I couldn't imagine her dead. She was vibrant, so alive. She wasn't plain like me, but we both had the same weird eyes."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're very beautiful."

Starsky had to remind himself that Susan had no other family. She'd told him that on their way home. It was just the girl and her aunt. And they lived in a suburb of Chicago. Had never been anywhere else.

Jenny was from Boston. No family anywhere else. And she certainly would have mentioned a look-a-like cousin. Still, Starsky had questioned Susan relentlessly: did your aunt have a brother? The answer was only my father.

How about a sister? No. And Susan's mother had been an only child. But everybody had someone who looked like them. Starsky could still recall the two guys who impersonated he and his partner a few years ago.

"Are you listening to me, David?" Susan asked, bringing his attention back.

"Yeah, 'course I am," he lied.

Susan blushed and Starsky was again reminded of the differences.

Jenny was a seductress. In bed, they were insatiable, the passion threatening to consume them. Starsky remembered long hours of making love, his body desperate for release. She would let her long red hair fall freely down her back and speak to him in low, seductive tones. And she would look at him with those incredible green-golden eyes and it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. She had literally brought him back to life

They could have been sisters, but Susan was wide-eyed innocence. A woman not quite aware of her beauty. She wore her hair in a conservative bun; nevertheless, the springy curls broke free, surrounding her delicate features in a mass of curls.

Both women had startling green eyes, a color almost golden. Jenny had once complained that they made her look sort of wild, like something about to attack, and Starsky had laughed it off. Of course at that time he was deeply in love. Saw only the best in her. A year later he would have agreed.

Susan snuggled against him, her silky hair tickling his chin, her body molded against his as if it belonged there. The mood was romantic with soft music and candlelight and totally distracting. Soon he found the tension melting, and a new sensation taking over. He was dangerously close to kissing her. But, Susan was just a nice girl who resembled a woman he once loved. She had momentarily erased the guilt, brought Jenny back to life, but seducing her wouldn't be right. If he let his feeling go, he would be no better than her aunt who wanted to make the girl into her dead daughter. Susan's life had been horrific because of it. He wouldn't add to that horror by pursuing her now.

He pushed himself away. Stood up. "Going to get coffee. Want some?"

Susan shook her head, capturing him with her eyes, taking his breath away. In the orange glow of the candlelight, they had somehow been transformed, the green eyes now nearly golden. Jenny's eyes. He quickly made his way to the kitchen and prepared the bitterest coffee he could imagine. When he returned, he'd manage to convince his body that he didn't want Susan. At least he hoped so.

He sat down just a little further away from her. He put a calmness he didn't feel in his voice. "Ever tried to leave your aunt? You know, when it got real bad?"

"Only once. I know. I'm twenty-five years old, but I didn't know how. I'm weak. There was a whole world out there I was afraid to face. I had spent over half of my life locked away. Everything done for me. Tutors, servants, at my beck and call. You have no idea how dependent you can become. I lived in isolation, a world created by my aunt."

"She locked you up often?" Starsky's voice was incredulous.

"Yes. She wanted a second chance. She believed that Lillah had been tainted by the world. That if she'd been a better mother. Had kept her away from outside influences, Lillah would have never tried drugs and wouldn't have died of an overdose."

Susan fell silent. The wind was pushing against the window, the howl competing with the silence of the room. Then she spoke, "I allowed her to imprison me for years. When I was eighteen, I realized it wasn't normal to live that way, but I just couldn't leave. Maybe, in a way, I felt safe there. Maybe it was the money. Either way, I was still a prisoner till she died. In many ways I'm still a prisoner." Susan dropped her head.

"No. You were a victim, Susan." Starsky moved forward, cupping her chin till she looked up at him. "It wasn't your fault."

Susan looked at him with such sad eyes that he nearly forgot it wasn't Jenny.

"I had a friend when I was sixteen," she said as Starsky dropped his hand. "He had been sent to teach me how to play the violin."

Susan's eyes took on a misty look. "I remember sitting by the fire in the parlor, watching him for hours. He was beautiful. I thought he could rescue me. Take care of me. I suppose that's all I ever wanted."

"You loved him?" His voice was low.

"Yes. At least I thought it was love. We made plans to run away. He wanted to marry me. I was way too young and he was nearly twenty-five, but somehow I convinced myself that love would find a way."

Susan dropped her eyes and Starsky clutched her hand, sensing what was to come.

"On the night we were to leave, he…he…never showed up. I sat there, waiting, waiting with my beautiful white dress on. The dress we were to be married in, but he never came. Looking back I could see that it was impossible for us. It was illegal for us to marry. And maybe he was just a little perverted even, but at sixteen I was too naive to know that. Later my aunt revealed that she had paid him off. It still hurts to this day."

Tears were falling down Susan's face and Starsky wiped them away with his hand.

"He never wanted me. My aunt told me no man ever would."

"That's not true, Susan. You're a beautiful, desirable woman. Any man would be lucky to have you."

Starsky could see she didn't believe him. "Wasn't there anyone you could have gone to for help?"

"You have to know that you can do that first. I'm twenty-five years old and have never lived."

Starsky felt anger rise. Anger at the aunt and all those who saw what was happening, but did nothing to stop it. He pushed the soft curls from her face. Looked into her sad eyes. He spoke without thinking, "I won't ever let anything happen to you, Susan. I promise."

Even as Starsky said the words he couldn't figure out why. But perhaps there was a part of him that wanted to keep a promise to another woman he knew so long ago. Perhaps Susan was his second chance.

"Can I trust you, David? Can I trust that you will never hurt me?"

"You're safe with me."

They stared into each other's eyes, and Starsky felt like he was being swept along by a wave, incapable of breaking free, just riding the crest, hoping to find himself on dry land.

Susan broke the connection. "Maybe I should be turning in. I mean…it's getting late."

"Yeah, maybe we should go to bed." He corrected himself. "I mean. You go to my bed and. No…I don't mean my bed. I mean my bed, but I won't go to it…I…"

Susan laughed then kissed him on the cheek. "You're sweet." She stood. "Goodnight, David." She headed for the bedroom, turning just as she reached it. "And thanks for rescuing me."

--

Susan had been so close. He wanted her, but was too much of a gentleman to take her then and there. She shouldn't have been so proper. A slut could easily get him in bed, but then she wanted so much more from him then a roll in the hay. Now she would have to wait for another opportunity and a way to discreetly throw herself at him. Not an easy feat considering her current persona.

On the floor, next to the bed, sat three suitcases and a night bag. Susan reached over and took the largest of the three, sitting it on the bed. She reached into the hem of her skirt and retrieved a small golden key. She used it to open the luggage. Several blouses and a few nightgowns lay on top. She pushed those aside until she was staring at the bare bottom. Feeling around the sides, she pressed down and was rewarded with a clicking sound. The bottom then opened to reveal several leather notebooks and two manila envelopes. Beneath them lay three-hundred-thousand in cash. The other two suitcases carried even more cash. It would be a long time before she had to touch her Swiss bank account, she reasoned.

Susan took out one of the manila envelopes titled Kenneth Hutchinson. She flipped through it quickly, refreshing her memory about her nemesis life. Her contact had been thorough, reporting on everything from his move to Bay City to the intimate details of his life.

Susan put away the folder, briefly glancing at the one labeled David Starsky. She removed one of the leather notebooks, putting it to her chest for just a second, before returning it to the suitcase.

Next she picked up a small overnight bag and opened it. Inside was her secret weapon—a small gold vial of her favorite perfume. She opened the top, taking a sniff of the delicious flower aroma. It made her dizzy for an instant, so she lay down on the bed, clutching the covers to her, remembering how they use to be.

It was a chilly day in New York and he was a man literally teetering on the edge. He was standing on the pier, eyes staring at the rapidly moving water. He didn't seem to care that one wrong move could send him spiraling to a horrible death.

Susan had come to this deserted part of the river to be alone and was disappointed to find him there. But then she was touched by his sadness, the way he stood against the wind, hair blowing in an array of springy curls that reminded her of her own soft curls.

He wore a thin jacket, too thin for the cooling temperatures, but it displayed a man who'd suffered. His body was extremely thin, but he was ruggedly handsome, the chocolate brown curls lending him an air of vulnerability. She knew from his age and demeanor that he was most likely a Vietnam vet and that he had probably been a POW. She'd seen many over the years: the walking dead. Men who had been taken prisoner and somehow survived, eventually returning to a world that didn't know what to do with them.

And so she had stood protectively by, waiting to save him should he throw himself into the river. Eventually she had come closer, until she was standing next to him, feeling the cold breeze sweep over her. They did not speak, both satisfied to remain in the pain of their own world. And then he had simply turned, fixed her with sad ocean-blue eyes, and walked away. He never said a word.

Over the next two weeks, she returned to the pier and waited for him in vain, but three weeks would pass before that happened.

On that warm spring day, she'd been looking at the river when he suddenly appeared next to her. He apologized for his earlier rudeness and asked for a date. It was a beginning. They were inseparable after that, sharing hopes and dreams, walking along moonlit beaches, slowly, inexplicably falling in love.

He told her that he'd returned home without his family's knowledge. That he needed to heal before seeing them. He told her about being a POW and some of the things they had done to him. He told her how his father had died when he was just a boy and how his mother had sent him away. He told her how much it had hurt him to be separated from his mother so soon after his father's death.

In turn, Susan told him about her life and the isolation she felt as an only child. She'd come from money, every whim, every desire catered to, but what she really wanted was love. Later, he promised never to leave her.

Together they were sad souls, each suffering, somehow finding peace in each other.

But David Starsky had things he didn't talk about. He never told her about his life in California. It was a closed chapter. She never pushed him on it either. It was enough that he was there now. It never occurred to her that he would leave.

Susan felt the sting behind her eye and forced her mind back to the present. Things had ended for them tragically, but they had another chance. She was back!

TBC