Jessica Chase

"Where is she...Jessica Chase?" he said in a smooth voice.

Jessica Chase

 

I was walking on the road; more or less the ghost of me was walking. I was just moving my legs one by one and taking what was called a step.

As the hot afternoon sun beat down on me, my mind reeled back to yesterday night for the millionth time.

I was in the bath when I heard something that mild sound. Slipping into a robe, I quietly went into the living room and there lay my ceramic vase broken, its numerous pieces glistening in the faint light of the lamp, the fresh roses, which I put that day, strewn across the floor.

The balcony door was open and the white curtains wavered in the sharp wind.

Slowly my mind summed up the pieces.

“I just want to talk.” A foreign voice rang in my ear.

Involuntarily, my right hand balled into a fist, as I turned around and landed a punch on his nose. When my second hand raised itself, he caught it and twisted it painfully.

Before I knew what happened, he had me pinned against the wall.

It was then I noticed his handsome face with the dark hair and the hazel eyes with its shifting colors. His was the face and physique of a Greek God, the type women throw themselves at.

“I said that I just wanted to talk.” He said softly. His voice was music with a slight edge of sharpness to it.

“Where is she?” he asked impatiently. His face was inches from mine and I stared back into his eyes trying to comprehend what he was saying.

“Where is she?” he repeated more slowly, “Jessica Chase. Where is she?”

“I don’t know” I finally managed to whisper.

He didn’t seem to hear and repeated his question.

“Open the door” a loud voice yelled from outside, “It’s the police. Open the door, Miss Farlene”

He didn’t move and merely repeated the question again.

The door burst open and two men stood there with their guns pointed at him.

“Move away.” One said in a harsh voice.

My head started throbbing with the incessant move away from the two policemen.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, he moved away, taking a few steps back, his eyes still locked with mine.

The policemen seized their chance, handcuffing the man and pushing him away. It happened in less than a second.

I slid against the wall slowly, my hands massaging my head.

One of the policemen stayed back with me, his gaze somewhat pitiful and sympathetic.

“Your doorman saw him climbing into your balcony.” He offered.

“Thank you” I murmured

 “Do you know him?” I asked hesitantly.

Before the policeman could reply, a sharp screech rang out in the silence of the night.

The policeman stood there for a second, frozen in his place and almost immediately jumped up and ran away.

I rushed into the balcony. The air was suddenly filled with police sirens. It was too dark to see anything but in a distance, under the streetlight, there was lone figure of a man, lean and tall standing there, the gaze directed towards me.

At least that’s what I thought.

He stood there for a few seconds and then disappeared into the darkness.

 

My feet somehow took me to a café. I had never seen it before. It was a cute place painted in cheerful colors. Helene’s Café was written on the windows in dark red ink which for some reason reminded me of roses.

I took the table outside, under the shade of the pretty striped umbrella.

I ordered a cappuccino and a plate of grilled sandwich.

The streets were busy with people out for afternoon breaks, walking swiftly in their polished shoes and sharp suits.

“The weather is way too hot.” He said in the same musical voice.

I looked up startled as he simply took the seat opposite to me. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans.

“Hi” he said again.

“You escaped.” I said stupidly which I already knew when the policeman came back to tell me that he had escaped.

“I had to talk to you.” He said smiling slightly; a heart wrenching smile, I noted.

“What do you want?” I asked as the waitress appeared with the order and placed it in front of me, shooting a saucy look at the man opposite to me.

He winked at her.

“So what do you want?” I asked again.

“You” he simply said.

I feel color rush into cheeks. Something about the way he said.

“So, Jessica Chase?” he asked.

“My step sister.” I said dully.

“Even I know that.” He said resting his elbow on the table, “Tell me a little about her.”

“She ran away. She ran away nine years ago.” I said in the same monotonous voice.

“Hmm…so you never heard of her.”

“You expect?” I said.

He paused for a second. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He shook his head.

We fell silent for a minute.

“Apparently you’ve met her” I said carefully.

“I have.”

“And?”

“And well…she ran away again.” He said with a slight shrug.

I blinked at him. My mom had remarried and Jessica became my stepsister. I wasn’t very keen on a stepsister, but it wasn’t as if I had any choice.

She wasn’t the typical villainous stepsister though, in fact, she was too good. She was tall, beautiful and intelligent and exceptionally charismatic, jovial and true.

A very pretty face, with the intelligence and smartness to make anyone feel inferior to her, she got into Yale University.

And I was jealous. Very jealous.

She was the favorite child of my parents; she was the favorite cousin, the favorite niece, everything and soon I became overshadowed by her.

Somehow, I managed to show my affections because although I don’t like to think of it, Jessica was sweet to me and cared about me. And I hated that even more.

Nine years ago my step father was murdered. It was a week before Jessica left for college.

And when his will was opened, he wrote saying that he left all his assets and money to my mother.

And it became apparent to Jessica that my mother would also leave all the money to me or most of it to me.

There was a huge row over it. Jessica blamed me and my mother for deluding her father. My mother lost her cool and shouted that she wouldn’t send Jessica for college. It was only a result of annoyance and impatience for my mother, but it was enough to spark a raw emotion in Jessica.

She ran away immediately.

We both assumed that she would return by evening, but she never did.

My mom filed cases in the police, there were people looking for her in the whole country, but she was lost to us.

Two years after, my mother and I organized a funeral for her but we both believed that she was still alive; that there was still a flicker of hope somewhere.

My mother blamed herself for Jessica’s disappearance till the time she died six years ago.

And I was left alone in this world.

“Ellie” the man brought me back into reality, “Didn’t Jessica ever contact you, after that, ever?”

“No” I snapped.

“And aren’t you least curious to find out what she was doing the last nine years?”

“No” I said again. It was true. I did not want to know what she was doing.

He looked at me and it unnerved me.

“You seem to have a lot of repressed emotions in you, Ellie.”

“You know my name” I whispered.

“Jessica used to talk about you.” he said.

I touched the edge of the cup, “Were you two…?” I asked.

“Were we two-what?” he asked with a slight smirk.

“Nothing. Leave it.” I shrugged.

Silence. There was nothing more to be said.

“I should go then.” The man finally said placing a card on the table.

There was only a number written on it.

“In case you have any information on her, let me know.” He got up, gave a quick smile and turned around.

“What your name?” I asked him after a moment’s hesitation.

“You can call me ‘St Clair’ for now.”

And he walked away. I watched him for a long time till he disappeared.

I wondered whether he knew I was lying, then decided he simply couldn’t have. After all, I am a lawyer and I really know how to lie.

 

Later that night, I carefully laid out the stack of papers on the bed. They were neatly kept with a blue ribbon tightly tied to keep them together.

I opened the ribbon and all the letters fell down.

There were lots of them and all the other stacks were tied up and pushed inside a bag under the bed.

I took out the latest note from my bag, which I had received two days ago.

I carefully flattened it out and read.

Dearest Ellie,

The lifestyle at the Hamptons is high. I love it here. I am living in one of my friends place. I am glad I am here. I wish you could be here too. But you have to work at your firm and help me remain dead in front of St. Clair. 

My name here is Emilia Hart.

Dearest Ellie.

Yours lovingly,

J. C

They were always like this; short and very informative. I could have easily handed it to the seductively beautiful St Clair.

But I won’t.

These letters started right after a month Jessica ran away. As much as I was jealous of her, I loved her. I loved her a lot. And I couldn’t show it to my mum.

When the first letter arrived, it said that she was in living in some shelter in the outskirts of NY. I went there alone and found that there weren’t anything there. Just bare landmasses.

It was as if she was testing me then.

Suddenly as if the longing inside me sparkled, I took out the bag and took out the first stack.

The second letter.

Dearest Ellie,

I see that you haven’t leaked it to Patricia. I am glad. I knew I can count on you. But it will take longer than that to gain my trust. Do not tell Patricia.

Ellie remember, this is between you and me.

I am working in a sales department. There they don’t require a degree. I am however collecting money to at least get a diploma.

Dearest Ellie,

Yours lovingly,

J.C

I took out another from the stack.

Dearest Ellie,

My father was in the CIA. I found it out. He died in some mission. He lied to me. He said he owned a flower shop. I hate him more than ever.

Right now, I am at Boston, right at the place where the gun fire took place. I have started learning a little bit of forgery and now go by the name Belinda Nolan.

Dearest Ellie,

Yours lovingly,

J.C

I had numbered all the stacks and reverently, took out the fourth stack and the only long letter she had so far given me.

Dearest Ellie,

I am doing some bad things. I am not proud of myself. I feel bad. I got talked into by a person called St. Clair. He found me. He recognized me and threatened that he would reveal me to the police. I went with him. He was beautiful, Ellie, he was so breathtaking.

I was working with him and I never felt guilty.

He had turned me into a murderer.

Ellie, I am sorry. I cannot help it. I have become so hard and emotionless. I do not feel anything when I kill someone; when I shoot someone or crush someone’s wind pipe.

 But I do get lots of money. I can live anywhere in the world.

I can run away from this world again. But I cannot.

I am in love with St Clair. I have found out his real name, Emilio Scott. He is half French. Imagine Ellie, we were both in love with Frenchmen and I’ve have found him.

I think he likes me too. I think he likes me that I am dedicated and sincere and. I love him a lot and because of him, I am rich today.

I want to send you some money, but I cannot.

I know you’re in Harvard Law School and I know you’ll do well in life.

Dearest Ellie,

Yours lovingly,

J.C

I took out the last stack and the first letter.

Ellie,

I ran away. I cannot do this anymore. St Clair does not love me. I hate him. He only used me. And then threw me away. I am going to take revenge on him.

I am in Florida, working at a Hotel called Helena on Homeland Street. I am trying to pick up a little bit of hotel Management. My name here is: Susan Castro.

J.C

 

I loved her; I loved Jessica too much and no matter what circumstances they put me into, I would never reveal it to them. To the Cosa Nostra. So I simply proceeded to do what was best.

I took all the letters and threw them into the fireplace. Then I lit the fire. Slowly I watched the flames engulf the stacks of sheets and eat away through them.

Later I called the post office and asked them to direct all my letters to that abundant shack a few miles from here.

I wasn’t having any of Jessica’s letters anymore.

___________________________________________________________________

 

Pixie Holt