Chapter One - The End - final

I don’t belong here, James thought as she opened the door to her apartment. Suddenly, I don’t fit. Beside the door, the tokens of her now-defunct passion still sat, reminding her of what drove her to the drastic measures she took.

Serena and Guy came in behind her, oblivious to her racing thoughts.

“You want something to eat?” Serena immediately headed to the kitchen.

“Not hungry.”

“Oh, c’mon. Two days on hospital food. You wanna order Chinese? Pizza?” James heard the fridge open. “God. Okay, how ‘bout I go shopping for you? When was the last time you went for groceries?”

James couldn’t remember. Something seemed to have shifted in her. She gazed around the apartment as if she was looking at it for the first time. Little trinkets that once were so precious now seemed silly and frivolous. The pale pastels on the walls, once so elegant and refined, now felt garish and loud. The place suddenly was too frilly, too girly, too silly.

“James?” Guy was standing beside her, looking into her eyes in that way he had. “You okay?” James just nodded. “Why don’t you sit for a minute?” Then Guy spotted the pile of stuff by the door. His face changed, vacillating between anger and sadness, expressions he did not often wear. “I’ll take those down to the dumpster for you.”

As he reached down to pick up the pile, James grabbed his hands and wrenched them away. Startled, Guy backed up a step.

“Leave them. I’ll…” James realized she didn’t know what she planned to do with them but there seemed to be something working in the back of her mind for the disposition of these goodies. “I’ll do it myself. It’ll be… therapeutic.”

Guy nodded, his eyes searching hers before he stepped away.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment burst open and a flurry of gauzy material and energy flew in. Maggie Temple, the missing best friend of the trio of best friends, grabbed James in a back-breaking hug, her eyes already streaming with tears.

“I just got back in town. Serena left me a message but I’ve been traveling and couldn’t call. Oh, my god, are you all right? You look great! That bastard! Did he ever come see you? Did he know you were there? Son of a bitch. You ought to…”

Maggie finally noticed the others watching her, trying not to laugh. “Fine. Laugh. I’m worried, I’m scared to death and you’re laughing at me. Fine.” Her lower lip trembled, a symbol of the emotion about to be released. James put a hand on her arm, stemming the tide of tears.

“I’m glad you’re here, Mags.” James awkwardly embraced her friend, triggering a very strange image in James’ head. A vision of Maggie and a man whose face she couldn’t see, who was standing tall over Maggie, menacing, yet Maggie completely unaware of the threat. James stepped back, shaking her head to try to dispel the image. “Did you meet someone in… where were you again?”

“Nepal. Tibetan research. What do you mean, did I meet someone? You mean like a man?” James nodded. “No. No one special. Couple of guys doing research like me that I hung out with but that’s about it. Why?”

“Nothing.” Suddenly, James was exhausted by all the attention, all the commotion, all the things she had endured over the past few days. She sank on to the sofa, which didn’t seem to fit anymore either. She looked up at her friends, wanting them to be gone more than anything in the world. Instead, they hovered, watching her, trying to pretend that they weren’t watching her. Finally, she decided she needed to say something.

“Look, I appreciate you all hanging around but…”

“It’s no big deal, James, we’re here for you.” Serena gestured for them all to sit, which they did, creating even more tension in the back of James’ neck.

“Look, what I really need is…”

“Food…” Serena sprang to her feet until James gestured her to sit again.

“What I really need is to be alone.” The three exchanged wary glances. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I just need some time by myself to… to adjust to things. To think about things.” She caught Guy’s glance. “I’m all right. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Just… just let me have some time.”

Guy was the first one to rise. “Whatever you need, James.” He leaned down and kissed her sweetly on the cheek. “You know I’m not far away, you need anything. I’ll call you later.” He gestured for the other two to follow him, which they did, reluctantly, with promises of calls and emails and delivery food, whether she wanted it or not.

When the door closed behind the trio, James collapsed against it, relieved by the silence of the apartment. The pile of goodies beside the door taunted her but she wasn’t quite ready to deal with them yet. Instead, she headed to the bedroom, planning to change her clothes.

Once there, James found herself staring at a closet of clothes that she suddenly hated. Things that she had loved when she bought them – dresses, skirts, blouses, silk things – now made her want to rend them into unrecognizable shreds. High-heeled shoes and strappy sandals sitting on the floor did nothing but piss her off.

Without being aware of it, she started pulling clothes off of the hangers, throwing them into piles on the floor. Shoes landed on top of the clothing, then she went to work on the underwear drawer. Hundreds of dollars spent at Victoria’s Secret joined the growing stack of unwanted garments.

James didn’t know how long she went at this. All she knew was that by the time she was done, her closet was threadbare and her drawers were all but empty. She had left herself with a handful of 501 jeans, something she only wore when working on the apartment or doing something that required sturdy clothing, a small collection of men’s shirts she had somehow gathered over the years, and one pair of old battered red cowboy boots that had been buried in the back of the closet. She remembered buying those boots when she was about 25, thinking they were sexy and cool. She didn’t know when she decided that Jimmy Cho’s were sexier than these. She slid her feet into the leather boots, appreciating the way the leather embraced her, almost feeling as though she was wearing nothing.

She looked in the mirror, seeing a woman that no longer looked like James Mercer. The James Mercer of old would have never donned the rumbled, embroidered man’s shirt, the slightly worn 501’s and the boots unless forced at knifepoint. But somehow, this outfit suited the new and improved James Mercer. Life after death, James thought to herself. This is what it is. Life after death. Although…

She went into the bathroom, grabbing a pair of scissors as she went. Once there, she flipped on the light and stood before the mirror, contemplating. She always liked her long hair. It now went to the middle of her back. It was a great color – auburny reddish with blonde shot through it. It was something most women tried to get out of a box but she was lucky enough to have been blessed with a weird mix of heritage that resulted in this wondrous color. Now, however, the length didn’t seem to go with her new look. Too flirty, too soft, too… too much what she had been.

Before she knew it, the bathroom floor was piled with clippings and her hair was cropped to her ears. She’d have to get someone to clean it up but it wasn’t too bad. Suited her much better now, her sleeker, leaner, meaner look, she thought.

She wandered back through her very feminine bedroom and sighed. Too much to do in order to make this space workable.

She went back out into the living room area, spotting her workspace, which took up a sizeable portion of the room. Her laptop, printer and reference books were the only thing in the apartment that still felt like her. Great, she thought, at least I can still write, maybe. She had made a modest living as a novelist, writing simple, straightforward tales about women she had known, slightly fictionalized, and the woman that she had been. She always drew from her life, as most novelists do. Now what would she write? About blackness and pinpoints of light and strange voices whispering to her in the dark? She’d have to think about that.

Serena had gathered her mail while she was in the hospital and it sat neatly on her desk. James flipped through it, mostly junk mail, then opened her bank statement. The numbers look good. She was never great at balancing her checkbook but that’s what she had an accountant for. That, and to manage her trust fund. While her parents had not been filthy rich, they had made some nice investments before their deaths, leaving her with enough money to do as she pleased. And writing pleased her and allowed her to let the trust fund just sit and build.

Contemplating the balance in the bank, James thought, I should move. I can afford it. She looked again to the stack of things at the door. Leave the memories behind. Start over again. This place just doesn’t fit anymore. Like my shoes, like my clothes, like my life.

Life after death, baby, that’s what it’s all about.