Just as the police led the man across the street away in handcuffs, a coroner’s van drew up. Beside me, Deborah sucked in her breath.
“So he killed poor Kim. I told you I thought he was abusing her.”
So she had. For some reason, it irritated me. “Hindsight is twenty twenty. Besides, we don’t really know what happened over there.”
She stared at me, and when she spoke, shock made her voice shrill. “You’re not defending him, are you? It’s pretty obvious he must have killed her.”
Weeks of confinement together had frayed my nerves. Something dark and violent inside me craved validation. “These are difficult times. We don’t know what happened, or why.”
She sighed. “No, I suppose we don’t know the exact reason. Does it matter, though? He’s alive, and she’s dead. That has to tell you something.”
Did it? I considered my answer. As I thought about what to say, I watched the fear grow in her eyes. They were fixed on me, as if she was trying to read my thoughts. Seeing her so nervous made me feel powerful, in control. She took a step back from me. It was exciting, knowing I could have such an effect on her.
Even as I spoke, I knew I was destroying everything we had together. At that moment, it didn’t matter. With all the tension which had built up inside me, I couldn’t help myself. Swallowing against the sour taste in the back of my throat, I said the words.
“I blame the quarantine.”
–Ray Beere Johnson II, Woonsocket, I am legally blind and on the autism spectrum – although not diagnosed until well into adulthood – so I am a bit out of the ordinary, even under better circumstances.