The Half That You See by Rebecca Rowland (best summer reads .TXT) 📕

Please go. Go! Get away from me! Inside, she was screaming, her fear of the young man in the starched blue uniform swelling in her throat, threatening to strangle her, but she managed to escape into her apartment without alerting the patrolman of her inner turmoil. For a while, she leaned against the door, straining to hear the sound of his footsteps over her own panting. Was he suspicious of her? Was he standing on the other side of the door, listening, waiting for the right moment to break in on her? Why wouldn’t he leave? She hadn’t done anything. She was innocent.

Finally, she heard the ding of the elevator down the hall, and she knew the patrolman had left. She was safe for the moment. Remembering the tranquillizers she had put aside when she had declared herself sane and stable, she headed for the bathroom medicine cabinet.

Gulping down three of the pills without water, she dialed March’s number, and waited.  There was no answer. She hung up, and dialed again. This time, after a minute or so, the ringing stopped, and she heard someone pick up the phone.

“March, it’s terrible! Zimmerman is dead,” she said, not waiting for a greeting.

“Mr. March isn’t here,” said a man with a raspy voice. “Who is this?”

“Who are you?” she countered, confused.

“This is the police,” said the voice.

Una slammed the phone down. They did suspect her! Why else would they be at March’s house? They were questioning him about her.

The phone rang. For a moment, she stared at it, unsure of what to do.  It continued to ring.  Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She buried the phone beneath the couch cushions, but still it continued to ring. She considered turning the ringer off, but then she wouldn’t know if they were still after her, hoping to trick her into saying something incriminating. The phone would not stop ringing. Finally, she could stand it no more. She answered the phone.

“Una? Are you all right?”

“March! Oh, thank God! You won’t believe what happened.”

“Just take it easy,” said March, his voice calm and paternal. “I know all about it.  I’m at the office right now, straightening everything out. It’s going to be all right.”

“I didn’t do anything. They think I killed him, but I didn’t do it.”

“It will be okay,” March said. “I talked to them. I’ve got everything handled. You just stay at home and rest.”

Una was calm by the time she hung up. For a while, she sat on the couch, thinking of nothing in particular, then realizing she was about to fall asleep, she remembered the pills. How many had she taken? She couldn’t remember.

She decided to count the pills left in the bottle, but realized on her way to the medicine cabinet she had no idea how many pills were in the bottle originally. Minutes later, she had forgotten about the pills and was trying to remember how she had ended up at the office earlier that morning. Daily! She had not called Mr. Daily. It was late, but if she didn’t call him, it might look suspicious. She dialed his number.

By the time Daily answered, she was only just able to follow what he was saying. Yes, the police had contacted him. No, he had not been able to get to the office yet. She heard herself tell him it was going to be all right because March was at the office. March would straighten it all out.

“March? The screwball from accounting? What’s he doing there?” she heard him ask.

“March is there,” she mumbled, as the phone slipped from her grasp. As she picked the phone up, she heard Daily say something about March having been fired, but the ability to comprehend was beyond her. She hung up the phone, and fell asleep.

Someone was calling her name. Una opened her eyes and looked around. She was alone.  Only slowly did she realize she held the receiver of her phone, and that there was a voice shouting from it. She stared at the phone for a moment, and then lifted it to her ear.

“Una! Are you all right?”

She nodded in affirmation before dropping the phone. Lost in deep, dreamless sleep, she did not hear the bell sound as the elevator doors opened on her floor, nor did she hear the sound of footfalls as someone approached her door. She did not hear the knob rattle or see it turn.  When she finally did open her eyes, awakened by her cat as it bounded off her legs to scurry across the room, she saw someone standing in the open doorway.  Her eyes could not quite focus, but she was sure there was someone there: a woman with long blonde hair, much like her own, was moving toward her.  For a moment, she thought she was being approached by herself.  The woman wore her coat, and, as the woman came closer, Una smelled her perfume. Yes, that was her perfume, but Una would never have worn so much. The odor was overpowering, nauseating.

Una blinked up at the intruder as the woman, this other Una, leaned over her. For a moment, Una drifted off, lulled back into sleep by the hot steady breath on her forehead. She was barely aware of the pressure on her throat, or the dull, deep drumbeat that grew increasingly louder. She was underwater. Down she floated, the drumbeat becoming louder and faster as she sank. Gasping for air, she at last opened her eyes, and looked into the face of her attacker.

“Eddie?” She had barely been able to whisper the name, but the effect upon the intruder was instantaneous. The expression on the face, mere inches above Una’s own, changed from rage to confusion. The hands loosened their grip. As Una gasped, she heard thunder, and the intruder fell upon her. For a moment, she lay there, choking on the stench of the perfume, the hair of the intruder’s blond wig covering her face. Then the body of