Murder Bird

{ 1987 }

 

Kayla awoke to the sound of a motor running. The waking was gradual; at first the sound was there at the back of her consciousness as part of a dream, and then it seemed to grow louder and louder so that the dream itself was lost in a roar. Then she became aware of the fact that she was in bed and that the sound was not within her head at all but from someplace outside of herself.

She opened her eyes to find the room flooded with morning sunlight. Below her bedroom window the caretaker was cutting the grass with a power mower.

I slept, Kayla thought in amazement. How could I have slept so hard when Tom--

Just the thought of his name brought her to a sitting position. The KISS alarm clock on the bedside table showed ten-fifteen.

Why, the morning’s half over, Kayla thought incredulously. I’ve been asleep for over six hours!

It had been three in the morning when Tom had decided to leave. Tom’s mother, who had been seated in a chair opposite the front door, had sprung to her feet when Tom came rushing down the stairs, a leather handbag thudding against his legs.

“Hurry now, Tommy. It’s late.” Mrs. Keifer told him wearily.

“Please don’t go with her. Tom!” Kayla put out a hand to steady herself against the back of the couch. “Don’t believe a word she says about me! You know me better than that, Tom! Please, you can’t go with her. You can go tomorrow if you still don’t believe me.”

Mrs. Keifer and Tom had crossed to the foyer. Mrs. Keifer’s face was white and drawn, and for the first time since she had met her, Kayla thought the woman looked old.

“That’s it? You’re going home?” Kayla asked. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Yes. Tommy is exhausted. He’s been putting up with you for far too long and he’s finally had enough. You’ve manipulated him enough, and you’ve embarrassed him enough.” She turned to Fred, who had risen to stand at Kayla’s side. “This is all your fault. Tom wouldn’t have wasted his time with this girl if you had just--”

“Of course,” Fred said, cutting her off before she could even point a finger in his direction. “I let everyone down.” There was a spark in his eye that made Mrs. Keifer huff and turn her back. She opened the door, gestured to Tom for him to follow, and then they were gone.

“I won’t be able to sleep,” Kayla said, watching Tom through the window as he got into his car. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

But she had. The golden light of midmorning proved that. She had slept so hard that her body ached from having been so long in one position, and when she got out of bed her legs felt rubbery, as though they might give way at any moment.

The events of the night before rose in her mind with the odd, unfocused quality of a nightmare - the argument at The Empire, the drive home, the cold, sharp hatred in the eyes of Tom’s mother, who was waiting for them on the front porch.

“If she hadn’t been messing around with Fred,” she had cried. “If she hadn’t insisted on dragging out this affair--”

“But I didn’t!” Kayla had told her. “I didn’t!”

Mrs. Keifer had not heard her, or she had heard but not listened.

“I’m not blaming you any more than I’m blaming Fred.” Mrs. Keifer had said, but in fact she was blaming Kayla.

“I didn’t,” Kayla said aloud now, her voice coming strange in the empty apartment. “I didn’t have an affair. I have never even had the smallest feelings for Fred. I’ve never touched him! I’m a good girl.”

Why was Mrs. Keifer making up these lies? How could Tom believe any of them?

There was a rap at the door. Kayla snapped out of her reverie with a jolt.

“Who is it?”

“Freddie. Just checking to see how you got through the night.”

“Wait a minute, will you? I’m just getting up.” Hurriedly, Kayla went to the closet and got a robe. A glance in the mirror as she passed it caused her to stop to comb her hair. Fred might only be a friend, but he was, after all, a male friend that Kayla didn’t want to totally disgust.

The fact was reflected in his eyes when she opened the door to him.

“I was going to ask if you slept,” he said. “I thought you’d be haggard and baggy-eyed. I sure thought wrong.”

“I did sleep,” Kayla told him with a touch of apology in her voice. “I don’t know how I could, but I did. I’m just going to make breakfast. Would you like some?”

“I’ve already eaten, thanks. I’m on my way out to work. Have you called Tom yet?”

“No. He wouldn’t answer if I tried.”

“You’re probably right.” He hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets. “Maybe you could show up at the house.”

“I’m sure that Mrs. Keifer isn’t permitting visitors.”

“Okay, okay.” He reached out and gave her chin a tap. “Keep it up. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll see you after work.”

He was off, and Kayla pushed the door shut behind him. It clicked in place and she turned to walk away from it - then, slowly, she turned back and slid the bolt.

She went back into the bedroom. The sound of the lawn mower was dimmer now; the caretaker had moved a yard across the way. The sunlight had shifted slightly, and shafts of gold fell across the rumpled bed and reached over to touch the alarm clock on the dresser, Tom’s picture reigned supreme, surrounded by a jar of cold cream, a tube of lipstick, a pallet of eye-shadow.