WAITING FOR LOVE
Chapter 10
copyright 1999, 2004 crunkoid@aol.com
Daphne was at the top of the stairs, weakly hitting the door. “William, please talk to me. I’m starving. Can I have something to eat?”
It had been a day and a half since the candy bar.
She knew he was home. He had stomped in a few minutes ago.
“William, please.” She had been eating little dabs of toothpaste all day. For some reason he was merciful enough to provide a gallon of water a day, but that was it.
He walked back and forth, but did not answer.
* * * * *
Justin and Joey went out that day, shopping, not bothering to put on a disguise. They took a bodyguard and pampered every fan who recognized them, losing themselves in signing autographs, hugging them, thanking them for their support.
At night, they went clubbing again and danced their asses off. Very late that night they checked in with the FBI and found nothing new, so sat in the living room and stared uselessly around. Everyone else had gone to bed.
“Let’s watch a video,” Justin suggested.
“Okay. Something where someone evil gets the crap beaten out of him.”
“Die Hard,” Justin said.
About two hours later, as the villain fell off a high rise building, Justin said, “That kind of death would be too kind for William.”
“Don’t say his name, dude. He’s not worthy of a name.”
After the movie, Justin said, “Let’s go for a drive.”
“Dude, it’s too late.”
“Let’s sneak out.”
They snuck out, along with Chris, who had caught them as they went outside.
Justin drove up and down the main street.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Chris asked.
Justin looked out the window at the tiny mall to his right. There was a bed and bath shop in there. Something about it was nagging at him.
“You ever noticed a pattern about crimes?” He asked.
Chris said, “Yeah. They’re all committed by criminals.”
After a long silence he added, “That was supposed to be funny.”
Justin said, “I mean where the victims end up. They’re usually within a few miles of where they were kidnapped.”
“Yeah,” Joey said. “Like the criminals didn’t have the energy to go any further.”
“Daphne’s not far from here,” Justin said. He had made another circle, and was passing the bed and bath shop again. “I think it’s stupid to do this national search. She’s right around here somewhere.”
“What are we doing?” Joey said. “This is the fifth circle around this block.”
Justin said, “THE TOILETS!”
“What?” Chris said.
“The toilets! He’s gotta clean the toilets. Remember? He’s not in prison anymore! He doesn’t have to ORDER the cleaning supplies. He can go buy them himself. He’s gonna go out and buy something and I’m gonna nail him!”
Justin stepped on the gas and got them home in record time. He ran upstairs to his room and flipped through his stack of papers on William Smith. He found what he was looking for in a psychiatrist’s evaluation of Smith: “Smith has an obsession with toilets. He expresses a preference for Tidee-Toilet cleaning solution.”
He went to the phone book and looked up the closest grocery store. “Damn!” He said. “It’s too early.”
As soon as it was eight-thirty, he called the store. When they answered he said, “Do you sell Tidee-Toilet cleanser?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid we do not.”
He called a few more stores, getting the same answer, and realized this could take hours. He ran downstairs and looked through the cleaning supplies in the kitchen under the sink. Nothing there. He ran outside, searching for the housekeeper and janitor for the estate. They were in their respective cottages. Neither of them used the cleanser or knew where it could be purchased.
Justin walked slowly back to the main house, moping. Then he had an idea. “The Internet!” he said out loud. He got on the computer downstairs and searched by key words on the web.
One listing showed up: “Marin Industries, Inc.” The business was in New York state. Justin clicked on the link to the websites, but the page had only one picture of a large building, plus an address and phone number.
He called.
“Marin Industries, Louise speaking, how may I direct your call?”
“I would like to know where you sell Tidee-Toilet in Hawaii.”
“I will transfer you to our Pacific distributor. One moment please.”
“You’re a beautiful woman.”
There was a brief silence. Then, “Thank you, sir. One moment.” Then, “John Lawrence, Pacific division.”
“Mr. Lawrence, could you please tell me where you sell Tidee-Toilet in Hawaii.”
“One moment please.” Justin counted the seconds. It took only five. Lawrence came back on the line. “Do you have a pen, sir?”
Justin wrote down the names of only three stores in the Honolulu area. Only one was within his hypothetical thirty-mile radius. The other two were on the other side of the city. “Thank you very much, Mr. Lawrence.”
* * * * *
Exactly twenty-seven miles southeast of the estate, Daphne sat on the floor in front of the steps. She had given up on William again. He probably meant to starve her until she was delirious, and then do something unspeakable.
She didn’t really care anymore. She had come to believe this room was her destiny. If anything horrible happened, something good would come of it. Friends and family would bring flowers. Make some silly shrine. The flowers would plant seeds. The seeds would create a garden. The garden would spread. A few months from now, someone would buy the property and maybe build a new house, or add onto this one. Maybe a few years from now, someone else would buy the house and enter the garden in a garden show and win first prize. Maybe her destiny would encourage others to get new crime laws passed. Maybe it would encourage her new friends not to take anything for granted.
She smiled peacefully. She had forgiven everyone.
* * * * *
Daphne had stretched out on the floor and was about to fall asleep when the door opened and William came downstairs. He sat on the bottom step and said, “Hi, honey. I’m home.”
“Hey,” she said. Her voice was beginning to sound raspy.
“So. You’re hungry.”
“Yeah.”
“So what are you going to do for me?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Tell me about him. What’s it like to kiss him?”
“Uhhh ... it feels good.” Daphne decided to lie.
“That’s all? What’s he taste like?”
She closed her eyes, gathering patience. “I don’t know. He tastes like Justin.”
“I bet he tastes like vanilla.”
Her mouth watered. She could drink a whole bottle of vanilla extract. Anything. She had been dreaming about food for the last twelve hours.
“William, he really doesn’t have a taste, okay? If it makes you feel any better, he tastes … masculine.”
“Cool.” He closed his eyes and thought about this for a long time ... for so long that she wanted to scream, “You’re a pervert!” But she stayed quiet.
He finally spoke. “What do you want for dinner?”
She carefully watched him. “That’s not a joke, is it?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Could I have some fried chicken?”
“Mmmmm. Good idea. I think I’ll have some too. What else?” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote on his hand.
“Mashed potatoes?”
“Uh huh.”
“Biscuits?”
“Anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
Daphne suppressed a nervous giggle, realizing she might be requesting her last meal.
William stood up and put his pen away. As he turned toward the stairs, his dark eyes met hers. She looked into his soul, and felt a flash of recognition ... something heartbreaking ... some odd recollection of being reminded to love others.
William seemed to be conscious of the moment. He looked at her a little bit longer than usual.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No, thank you. Now be good and get back on that mattress while I go get some Kentucky Fried Chicken.”
“Okay.”
* * * * *
Justin, Joey and Chris sat outside the store.
“We’ve been here all day and all night,” Joey whined. “The store is closed. Let’s come back tomorrow.”
Justin frowned. “Okay.”
They cruised for a while.
“This sucks,” Justin said.
Chris sighed.
“We can go back tomorrow,” Joey said.
“I think we should tell the agents what we’re doing,” Chris said.
Justin said, “No. We could always call them if we discover something. And maybe they already know. They’re not stupid.”
They drove past a Kentucky Fried Chicken that had a sign up: “Open till midnight every day.”
Chris absently looked at the restaurant. A clerk handed a bag of food to someone in a green car.
“Look at that moron,” Chris said. “Who orders food this late at night?”
The others ignored him. Joey snored; Justin focused on the road.
Chris answered himself, “Probably someone who’s hungry.”
He yawned and closed his eyes and took a short nap as they made their way home.
* * * * *
Daphne ate slowly, so as not to overload her system.
William munched as he sat at the base of the stairs. He was in a chatty, hyper mood.
“I’ve stolen ten cars since I’ve been here,” he said. “A white one, a grey one, a green one, a blue one ... and ....” He scrunched up his face. “And six more.”
“You’re pretty slick,” Daphne said.
“I’m a good car stealer.”
Their gazes met again, but William looked away. Daphne felt that flash of recognition again, and a sense of what William must have been like as a child. In fact, maybe she was talking to the child now.
“What else are you good at?” She asked.
A little smile crossed his face. His usually dark, serious eyes were open and trusting. His face was relaxed. With his big forehead and huge eyes and thin cheeks and chin, he looked like a dark-haired alien who was reliving his childhood.
“I can draw,” he said. “I always wanted to be an artist.”
“What else?”
His face changed and the smile went away.
He sat there for a while, just frowning at the floor, then said, “Goodnight,” and went upstairs and locked the cellar door.
* * * * *
During the night, Daphne felt sick. She dragged herself to the toilet, did what she needed to do, then went back to bed.
* * * * *
She woke up late. The sunlight filtering through the tiny window over the toilet was way too bright. She had missed William’s morning toilet cleaning.
She saw a note on the seat: “Had to get more cleanser. Be back later. Love, William.”
So today is the day, she thought. Love William, my ass. He might as well have said, you’re history, baby.
She went back to sleep.
* * * * *
Justin sat at his stakeout spot with Chris and Lance. It was eight-thirty.
“You need to call the FBI,” Chris said. “This is dangerous work. What if he does show up?”
Justin ignored him.
At nine, he seriously considered what Chris had suggested. But he wanted to be the one who nailed William Smith.
At ten, Justin said in a low, deadly voice, “That’s him.”
A tall, very thin man walked east on the sidewalk. He went inside the store.
Justin called the FBI.
* * * * *
“You two stay here,” said the agent who had interviewed all of them a few days ago. “We’ll let you know what’s going on down there.”
They had tracked William to a secluded residence within Justin’s imaginary circumference around the city.
They all stood near Justin’s car and the agent’s car near a dirt road that winded through thick trees and shrubbery.
“Down there is a small house on the edge of a cliff,” said the agent. “We’re going in. No matter what you hear, stay away until we contact you.”
He and the other agents disappeared.
Justin, Chris and Lance took one look at each other and followed the agents.
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