Bequeathed

Today is the day Claire dies. She doesn’t know it yet, but she'll learn the truth very soon. Claire stares at her windshield and the rivulets racing down the glass; she traces a path with her index finger. The glass cools her fingertip. She can’t keep living like this. Everything is finally coming to a head. The PI knows who has been stalking her. After tonight, she’ll have proof that she’s not paranoid. Claire will be able to go to the police with a face, a name…something substantial. They’ll finally be able to issue a restraining order, do whatever they need to do so that Claire can exhale so that she will be able to walk without looking over her shoulders. She exits the car and immediately hugs herself. The night air wraps around her; intermittently, droplets of rain tap her head. Claire pulls up her coat collar. She should have worn a scarf. Claire slips her hands into her coat pockets. Where’s the Andrew? He should be here by now. Claire pulls out her phone, reads the message. Meet me in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse at 9. It’s...9:10. Claire is here. Where is he? Claire scans the parking lot; a tingling sensation swells across her head; she feels colder. Claire opens her car door. This has to end. “I can’t keep living like this.” She puts a leg in, dips to enter. “Claire?” Someone calls from the shadows. She plops onto the seat, slams her door. She reaches for her key in the ignition and slams her foot on the break. She meant to slam her foot against the gas pedal; she meant to start the car first. Claire places her shaky hands on the staring wheel. She needs to calm down. It has to be Andrew. The person in the shadows called her name; it has to be Andrew. She waits. Andrew strolls up to the window and taps the glass. Claire jumps despite being able to see that it’s him; that it was him who had called out to her from the shadows of the warehouse building. She puts her window down. “Is scaring your clients a part of the trade?” “I like to deal in stealth,” Andrew replies. “I’m getting tired of the cloak and dagger routine.” Claire slips her hands into her jacket pockets. “And I don’t understand why I had to leave my Joe?” “Joe? You’re on a first-name basis with your security detail? You’re too trusting Mrs. James.” Claire tenses at the sound of her new surname. She still hasn’t gotten used to it, or the marriage. William…Will is growing on her, but this isn’t the life she would have chosen for herself. Aunt Bev was meddlesome until the very end. If Claire wishes to continue enjoying her newfound wealth and the lifestyle it affords her, she will have to learn to love her name. She will have to learn to love William...Will. “What?” Claire asks. She hasn’t heard anything beyond Mrs. James. “Come, I have something to show you.” “Why didn’t you bring it here?” “It’s sensitive information.” “It’s information I paid for. Information I’ll need to take to the police. Why did you come without it?” “I have it in my car. If you’d come-” Claire swings her door open, slamming it into Andrew’s legs. He steps to the side without mounting a protest. Claire slams her door and hurries ahead of Andrew. Darkness folds in on her; the tingling returns to her head. “Where are you parked?” she asks Andrew. “Not much further.” Andrew smiles. His smile pushes the tingling from Claire’s head, down her spine. Claire stops. Andrew steps in front and beckons her forward. “Come. This will all be over soon.” Andrew’s car is parked at the far side of the warehouse building, parked to the side, underneath a busted streetlight. How long has Andrew been here? Has he been watching Claire? When he called out to her, his voice came from the direction of the building itself. Why didn’t he simply walk from his car to her? Why didn’t he park closer to her? Andrew nudges Claire towards his car; she approaches; the door opens. “You!” She takes in the face of the person who has exited the car. “You?” Claire turns to Andrew. Andrew nods. “This is why I never got married,” he says. “I’ve seen too much crazy shit.” “But why?” Claire faces William again. “Why?” William points a gun at Claire’s head. “What? William, what are you doing?” She looks to Andrew for help; he takes a step to the side, away from her. “Please, William…Will, don’t do this?” Nosey, meddlesome Aunt Bev didn’t factor this into her calculations of Claire’s life. She should have considered that the random man she’d selected might find it more prudent to kill Claire and reap the inheritance. “I’ll…I’ll give you anything you want? Is this about the money? I’ll give you twenty-five percent of everything.” William shakes his head, releases the safety on the gun. Andrew takes another large step away from Claire. “Okay. Okay. Half. I’ll give you half of everything.” William sighs. “You people are always making deals...I want all of it..” William’s finger moves to the trigger. His finger depresses the trigger in slow motion. Claire sees the weight of his finger pushing the trigger, back...back. It’s as if time has slowed. Claire turns, tries to outrun the bullet. The bullet catches her in the chest; she falls to the ground. Tap. Tap. Tap. Footsteps approach her. One set of footsteps. Claire crawls away from the rising sound. Her body grows weaker and weaker. She pulls herself across the wet, cold ground, digging her nails into the cracks of the asphalt, using the cracks like supports on a rock wall. The footsteps are closer, closer, closer. Andrew stoops next to Claire. “You should have paid me better.” “Please,” Claire begs. “Help me.” “And give up the money he’s promised me?” “I’ll…I’ll pay you more.” Claire coughs. “It’s too late for that.” Andrew stands. Claire digs in her nails in, pulls herself; her body doesn’t move. The pain in her chest has fanned out to her arms. They’re too weak to pull her any further. “You’re a lousy shot,” Andrew says. “She isn’t…” “No,” Andrew responds. “You do it,” William demands. “That wasn’t our deal,” Andrew says. “Our deal was I deliver you to a meeting with your wife. Whatever you choose to do to her is on you.” William curses. His tap, tap, tapping sounds hurried, angry. Claire pleads with her body, begs it to find the strength to run, to crawl, to escape. One, two, three; hot and piercing through her back. The pain is distinct, separate, then it flows into one. She’s mass of pain. The parking lot is growing darker. “Put that down,” Andrew says. His voice is muffled, far away; it’s like she’s hearing him through a wall or underneath water. “Put that damn gun away, William. You don’t-” Bang! Bang! Bang! A body falls to the ground behind Claire. “Not such a lousy shot after all,” William says. Tap. Tap. Tap. Footsteps departing. Darker. Darker. Claire is swallowed up by darkness. *** Claire jumps up. She’s in bed, panting, heaving. She feels the other side, searching for him. Her fingers find his warm, bare flesh. Claire withdraws her hand and screams. He jumps up, turns on the light. “Rob?” Claire examines her boyfriend. “Rob,” she sighs, throws her arms around him. “It was all a dream. It was all a terrible dream.” Claire squeezes Rob tighter, breathes in his neck, his hair. Claire scans the room. It’s her old room. It was all a dream. All of it was a dream. *** Claire wakes; she’s still in Rob’s arms. She kisses his chest before rolling over and retrieving her phone on the nightstand. “Hello.” Claire touches her forehead, slides her hand back and down through her hair. “Is this Ms. Claire White?” “Yes. This is she.” “Niece of one Bevelin White?” “Yes. What’s this about?” “Ms. White, are you aware that today will be the reading of your aunt’s will?” “What?” “The reading of the will is slated for ten this morning. I’m reaching out to ensure you’re on your way.”