Deeply.
Consciously.
I leaned against the door frame and closed my eyes, willing myself to relax. I reached up and rubbed my neck muscles. I continued to breathe, continued to fight the panic.
And then, after seemingly an eternity, it happened. A sense of peace and joy began in my solar plexus and spread slowly in a wave of warmth to all my extremities. My mind buzzed with happiness, pure unabated happiness, and with it the unbridled potential of the coming night. It was a natural high. Or perhaps an unnatural high. I opened my eyes and looked out the window. The sun was gone.
As I knew it would be.
* * *
The kids were with Mary Lou and her family at Chuck E. Cheese's. I owed Mary Lou big. Danny was working late, preparing for his big court date. So what else was new?
I had not yet realized just how much my life was unraveling. It occurred to me then, as I was driving south along the 57 Freeway, that I might have to give up detecting if Danny was going to continue working so late. In the past, he would be home with the kids. Now, he rarely got home in time to see them off to bed.
The thought of not working horrified me. Like they say, idle hands are the devil's tools. By keeping myself busy, I was able to forget some of what I had become, and to keep the nightmare of my reality at bay.
But something had to give here, and it wasn't going to be Danny. He had made it clear long ago that this was my problem.
My windows were down. The spring evening was warm and dry. I couldn't remember the last time we had rain. I liked the rain. Perhaps I liked the rain because I lived in Southern California. Rain here was like the elusive lover who keeps you begging for more. Perhaps if I lived up north I would not like the rain so much. I didn't know. I'd never lived anywhere else.
I took the 22 East and headed toward the city of Orange. At Main Street I exited and drove past the big mall, and turned left onto Parker Avenue and into the parking lot of the biggest building in the area.
I took the elevator to the seventh floor. In the lobby, I was greeted by a pretty brunette receptionist. Greeted might have been too generous. Frankly, she didn't look very much like a happy camper. She was a young girl of about twenty-five, with straight brown hair that seemed to shine like silk. My hair once shone like silk; now it hung limply. Her pink sweater knit dress was snug and form-fitting, highlighting unnaturally large breasts. Did nothing for me, but then again, I am not a man. I sensed much animosity coming from her. Waves of it. I think I knew why. She was working late, and I was part of the reason she was working late.
I gave her my most winning smile. Easy on the teeth. The nameplate on her desk read: Sara Benson.
"Hi, Sara. I'm Samantha Moon, here to see Mr. Fulcrum."