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By Root 339 0

’t switch off the camera. Milo watched them cascade down her cheeks and splash somewhere off screen. She was weeping now. Just pouring out tears and staring past the camera, at some place in the distance. Milo wanted to take this moment, this break in dialogue, to jot down a few notes, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman on the screen. His mind was screaming with details, from Mira’s last name (Singh) to Freckles’s occupation (horse trainer). All of these thoughts flooded his mind, yet he held them off, consumed by the desire to make things better for Freckles, to assure her that her friend’s death was an accident. He wanted to tell her that life is full of those what if moments, and that we have no control over them. That it’s okay to take a day off. People stay out late. Friends cover shifts. Bad things happen. More than anything, Milo wanted to reach out and take Freckles by the shoulders, stare into her blue eyes, and say, “Listen to me. It’s not your fault, damn it,” throwing in the damn it because he knew it’s how Freckles would’ve said it. Then he would pull her close and let her cry until she could cry no more, even if it took until morning.

Unable to do all these things, he sat in the dim light of his car and watched her weep.

Finally, Freckles reached up, releasing the camera from her grasp and momentarily shifting it off her face in order to wipe her eyes again and take a few deep breaths. In that moment, Milo could see that she was in her bedroom. The quick blur of a bureau topped with a mirror, a chair strewn with clothing, and a partially opened closet door reminded Milo to refocus on the task at hand. The still frames of that five-second glimpse into her bedroom might provide clues to Freckles’s identity. As the camera returned to her face, Milo noted the tape number and time on his legal pad, finishing just as Freckles started speaking again.

Thank God I have someone to talk to. Honestly, I’ve had my doubts, and more than once, I’ve thought about quitting this whole damn thing. Starting a video diary on the day that your best friend dies seemed a little crazy at the time, but talking about things has helped. It sounds crazy … there’s no way I’ll be posting this online now, but still, it’s as if someone has been listening. Constant Listener. Always there when I press record.

The screen went blue and Milo pressed pause, leaving him with the remarkable feeling that Freckles had been speaking directly to him. He knew it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t have known that someone would ever find and watch her tapes, but still, it was as if she had been addressing him, as if he were her Constant Listener.

Before resuming the tape, Milo took a moment to check the house again. Thick-Neck Phil’s Jeep was still in the same place, and the downstairs lights remained on. No shadows moved within the home and there was still no sign of his wife. Content as he could be that things remained status quo, he returned his gaze to the camera and pressed play.

When Freckles returned to the screen, she was no longer on the bed. She was in the bed. Monkey pajamas, hair pulled back, pillows set behind her, a single lamp providing a shadow-filled illumination of the bed. She had assumed a similar pose one time before, when relating the story of Sherry Ferroni. This made Milo hopeful that she was about to share something equally important.

He was not disappointed.

chapter 16

I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Tess.

Tess Bryson.

Freckles released the camera for a moment, dipping the lens into a pillow, and when she retrieved it, she was sitting up straighter, with an indefinable purpose to her posture, as if she was readying herself for something important. Something official.

Tess Bryson. I think about her a lot, usually more than once a day, but ever since Mira died, she’s been on my mind constantly. I’ve never told anyone about Tess. Not one single person. Not her parents. Not my friends. Not the police. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about her out loud.

God. Tess Bryson.

Me and Tess were in