Page 37 of Kill For Me Kill For You
The fact that Naomi had not reached out to her since that night led her to believe Naomi was embarrassed by their conversation. It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now Amanda could see that it was probably just a fantasy for Naomi – just the alcohol talking. It’s easy to imagine what you could do to someone when you’ve got a bellyful of strong liquor. Maybe it was for the best. Amanda wasn’t so sure she could kill a man she didn’t know – even if he was a monster.
Now, it didn’t look as if she’d have that problem. Naomi had gone quiet, and Amanda resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to kill Crone on her own, when the time was right.
Amanda had sent Naomi a text that morning to ask if she was going to group tonight and got a simple thumbs-up emoji in response.
She checked her watch. It was five minutes past the hour. Matt was about to begin the session. She took out her phone to text Naomi and found a new message from her, waiting to be read.
Are you at the group session?
Amanda texted back.
Yeah, I saved you a seat.
A reply slammed back fast.
Sorry, can’t make it. Something has come up. I’ll call you tomorrow x
Amanda sighed, put her phone away. She hoped she hadn’t ruined what could’ve been a good friendship with Naomi. The thought was soon lost as Matt opened the meeting, and introduced someone new to the group. The rest of the parents looked at Betty. Amanda could tell she was psyched, ready to tell her redemption story to a new listener.
Amanda left the group at nine, went home and spent another restless night in bed. The dream again – cast adrift on a raging black sea, a bonfire on the beach in the distance.
Two figures on that beach holding hands in the firelight.
Luis and Jess.
The dream ended with the boat capsizing again.
Amanda knew she would never beat those waves.
She would never get to that beach.
Her alarm woke her at six a.m. Time to go and put in a shift watching Crone. She showered, dressed and made it out the door with the thoughts of her first coffee of the day.
A half hour later, Amanda blew a cloud of vapor off the top of her latte. The little deli on the corner of 96thStreet was always busy this time of the morning. Guys in khaki pants and sweaters getting hot sandwiches, women in business suits and heels getting croissants and fruit, and the little tables outside were regularly full, with standing room only around the heater. This morning, the heater wasn’t working, so she had some space.
She watched the 96thStreet station entrance, keeping an eye out for Crone. She was looking forward to seeing him. Anticipating the bitter sight of him, walking free. It was something to fill the nothing. Until she could figure out a way to kill him.
People walked by, some went into the station and some kept on going.
Amanda took another sip of her latte to keep out the cold, then checked the clock on the Miller Lite banner in the deli window.
Seven twenty-five.
That couldn’t be right.
She had been watching the entrance to the 96thStreet station diligently. And Crone had not entered the station. He was never this late. Amanda thought she was being stupid. That there was obviously a reason she’d missed him. Maybe she hadn’t been paying attention and he’d slipped by.
That had almost happened yesterday. She’d stood in the same spot. Same coffee, from the same deli. And just caught sight of him with his back to her as he disappeared inside.
‘Fuck this,’ said Amanda.
She made her way past the station, one more time. It was seven thirty. No sign of him. She must have missed him in the crowd. It was his appointment day today. She could go to Starbucks this afternoon, watch from the window. She wouldn’t miss him from that vantage point. She needed her fix. Needed to feel the hate. Needed to know that some day she would wipe him from the face of the earth.
Amanda went home, put on the news for the first time in weeks and sat in front of the TV for a few mindless hours. Time moved on, but some things stayed the same: Celebrities got caught up in sex scandals, kids were shot in school, the president was still making an ass of himself at press conferences or whenever he happened to open his mouth – the world was still in conflict. The difference was that Amanda felt as if she wasn’t a part of it any longer.
She checked her watch, put on her coat and took the subway.
There was one seat left at the window in her Starbucks. It was coming up to one p.m. Amanda held her black coffee in her hands as she gazed across the street.
