Page 35 of The Book Doctor
Bobby Simmons lived in a nice house, though too big for just one person, if you ask me. A waste, but then, that pretty much sums him up.
It was dark out, a moonless sky buried in the clouds. It was hot and muggy. Restless kind of weather. The kind that makes you want to do terrible things.
Unfortunately, he had an alarm system. One of those fancy kinds, the kind that are not easily disabled. He was a paranoid fuck, through and through.
Gated, closed off, buttoned up, just like the owner, his house was practically a fortress. I know. I’d been given the grand tour. The panic room I did not see with my own two eyes. I heard about it secondhand.
Beside his bed rested a 9 mm and a dog that is essentially a pony, trained to attack on command. That’s the kind of guy he was. What she saw in him, I have no idea.
Preferably, if I had the time or the initiative, I wouldn’t have handled it like I did. I would have thoroughly enjoyed breaking and entering, sedating a small horse, and force-feeding pills down a man’s throat.
Alas, sometimes shortcuts are the way to go. Sometimes any pizza will do because you just want pizza. The end result will be the same. He knew a thing or two about that. She didn’t love him, anyhow. If she had, she wouldn’t have been sleeping with Nick Golding, cliff-jumper extraordinaire. Nor would she have been sleeping with me. His death will no doubt send her running back.
Ideally, I wouldn’t kill two people who can be tied together, but then, life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to. Personally, I blame six degrees of separation. I assure you, it makes it pretty hard. Harder still if the woman you’re in love with has a sex addiction and fucks anything that breathes.
But, like the weather, it is what it is.
At 5:02 a.m. on the dot, Bobby Simmons exited his front gate, headed east with his one hundred and eighty pound, four-legged running mate. I did not set out on foot. I remained in the comfort of my vehicle. Letting him get a running start, I watched the clock, counting down the minutes until my life improved.
At 5:04, I put the car into drive. By 5:05, I’d run him down. In the rearview mirror, he looked like I’d imagined, perfectly splayed out on the pavement, lifeless. Meanwhile, man’s best friend sniffed the roses in a neighboring yard.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam shows up for work the following morning whistling—I assume on account of the girl. If only I were feeling so chipper. The sound of his engine had me up a little before four this morning. It was sometime after six when he returned, emerging from his car with coffee and bagels. He brought them over with him when he came. His haul included several everything bagels, complete with cream cheese. Eve’s favorite. It makes me wonder how he could know this about her. How much has she told him?
She was up and about this morning and seems slightly more herself. Maybe the bagels helped. Whatever it is, I’m glad for the improvement. I could use a bit of a reprieve. It’s crunch time on the manuscript, and I’m going to have to make a run into town to pick up her medicine.
Her doctor advised me to ease off the sedatives a little, which I don’t have a choice on, considering I’m running low and he’s hesitant to refill the prescription without seeing her in his office. It would be a nightmare to get her there in this state. She’s been hardly coherent. And quite frankly, I don’t have the time to spare.
Unfortunately, mental illness does not care about deadlines or careers, or fitting into a neat little block on a calendar.
Instead, the doctor has another medication in mind that he thinks might help. It’s a new drug, but if it keeps Eve from killing herself or burning down the house, I’m game.
“What does she do in that room all day?” Liam asks, catching me off guard, pulling me back to the here and now.
“She watches her programs.”
“Programs?”
Sometimes I forget his age. “Her TV shows.”
“All day?”
“She has a schedule,” I say, which is the truth. What I don’t say is that she stares at the TV catatonically and most of the time, when she’s in a low place, cannot recount a single detail about what she’s seen.
His bottom lip juts out. “That’s wild.”
“After lunch,” I tell him, “I’m going to have to take a break and run into town.”
“Mind if I join you?”
I scan my inbox. I wonder if he’d like to handle my fan mail. There are hundreds of new emails; I simply cannot keep up. “It’s fine.”
“You don’t look like you’re going anywhere very fast with your foot that way.”
“I managed a walk around the grounds yesterday, didn’t I?”
He scoffs. “A very, very slow one.”