Episode 17: Sweetheart

*Click. The murmuring of airflow and rumble of an airplane beneath the whirring of the recording*

Luca: Ok, it’s recording, it will be a little messy with the background noise, but I’ve cleaned it up as much as I can.

Voncid: I assumed that would be unavoidable, but I am certain the woman sitting in seat C1 is in need of our assistance.

Luca: The crying woman?

Voncid: That’s the one.

Luca: Not because she’s crying right?

Voncid: No, not because she’s crying. We don’t provide emotional assistance.

Luca: Not even on Valentine’s day?

Voncid: What is that?

Luca: Honestly I'm not totally sure.  Ok, here. I made this carrying satchel for the recorder, a bit less conspicuous.

Voncid: Very well, just a moment.

*We hear some jostling of the recorder as he walks into the aisle and approaches the woman. Christine is sniffling*

Voncid: Excuse me…

Christine Rothwell: *Christine jumps and makes very startled sounds. Quietlyr* 

Oh… oh my god you scared the hell out of me.

Voncid: I do apologize.

Christine: No, it’s not your fault.  I’m just…

*she decides not to* 

I’m just having a bad day… *realizes* Did you need something?

Voncid: No, but I think you do.  I want to help you.

Christine: I… what umm… you’re not trying to convert me are you?  I swear to… I don’t fff *decides not to swear* Fricken need this right now.

Voncid: Nothing like that.  The man who’s been harassing you, following you?  

Christine: *surprised sound, doesn’t know what to say.*

Voncid: I know that you were… surprised to hear from him again, yes?

Christine: Yes, very.  You aren’t involved in-

Voncid: *interrupting* No, I'm not part of it, I’m with an organization that handles matters like this.

Christine: You are?

Voncid: I am - I can see I am getting a dire look from our air steward so I'll be brief, would it be alright if I look at your palm please?

Christine: *slight hesitation* I suppose.

Teddy Cowell: *In a faint, echoing voice* Mine.  Don’t touch her.  Mine.  Mine. Christine.

Voncid: *in pain* Ah, yes, I see. 

Christine: No no no no…*Christine begins crying again*

Voncid: Try to remain calm Christine, your fear and anger only feed it.

Christine: You could hear it?

Voncid: Yes, and I can help you.  Wait for me when we disembark… Yes, my apologies, I am returning to my seat.

*We hear the recorder microphone popping as it batters against the side of the satchel.  Voncid returns to his seat.*

Luca: Are you ok?  You look even paler than usual.

Voncid: *groans slightly* fine.  

Will you please inform the dig team that we will be detained slightly.  There is a disembodied dead man following that woman and he is most certainly going to kill her soon.

Luca: Oh shit what happened to your arm.

Voncid: I let my guard down, stupid, stupid, I was intimidated by the air steward and I lost focus.

Luca: flight attendant.

Voncid: right. Is the spare flesh in one of the carry ons?

Luca: let me check

*Click*

Christine: This is all so fricken strange.

Voncid: you said that before, frick’en, what is that?

Luca: it’s a more polite version of “fuck”.

Christine: I swear a lot, my niece, my sister’s daughter, who I’m running to hide in the home of, she takes swearing personally and uses it as an opportunity to extort money for the swear jar, which I’m pretty sure she just spends out of… not that any of this matters. I can’t go to them now, not if this *choosing her words carefully in public* situation is following me.  I can’t put them in danger… it just keeps getting worse.

Voncid: I am sorry, it is ill luck to run afoul of such a… situation. 

Luca: But you are lucky to have run into us.  We were on our way to another case at the last minute.

Darlene the Waitress: Sorry for the wait.  Can I get you - 

*shocked at Voncid’s appearance she clears her throat and says quietly to Christine*

-You okay hun?

Christine: No not really, but that’s not their fault.

Darlene: Well, all right then.

Luca: I’ll have coffee.

Voncid: As will I, with lots of cinnamon, if you please.  And oatmeal, also with lots of cinnamon.

Christine: Screw it, bring me as many waffles as you think are safe and more whip cream than seems reasonable.

Luca: I will also have a waffle.  One should be fine.

Darlene: Sure thing.  It’ll be ok sweetheart.

Luca: Is something the matter?

Christine: I just hate being called sweetheart now.

Voncid:  Tell us about your experiences and we will devise a way to help you.

Christine: where should I start?

Voncid: How did you meet him?

Christine:  Well… ok… After a horrific series of relationships in my early to mid twenties I decided that the internet was off limits.  The exact skills that made someone an effective salesman of themself via an online profile, or effective to me at least, seemed to be the set of traits that turned just awful further down the road. 

All the men who have ever said it was women who play games are projecting like crazy.

Luca: *laughs* Tell me about it.

Christine: So I decided the whole app scene was too game-ified to start with. So no more of that, I told myself, prince charming has to find me in person or he isn’t finding me.  Of course, this led to me dating a literal monster, so I don’t know who that recording is for but no one should be taking any dating advice from me. 

Luca: It’s crap all over.

Christine:  We should all just date ourselves and if someone else wants to get involved, well, fine.

I had just committed to that when he showed up.  We joked later that we met because of mangos. *laughing* Mangos!  I had some on one of the dates I took myself on to a Thai place and I became immediately obsessed.  I was going to get some fresh ones, but I realized I had no idea how to tell which ones were ripe or close to ripe?  I asked this woman next to me, but she just shrugged and walked on.

Then I hear this baritone over my shoulder, *affecting a deep, slow voice*  “Squeeze gently. A ripe mango will give slightly, indicating soft flesh inside.”

Saying it out loud now… fuck.  

Luca: Wow.

Christine: I turned around and this guy was looking down at his phone.  He said that he’d googled it and that’s what it said. I said I officially no longer trusted the internet after it told me I was a match with the last few guys I dated.

He reached out and squeezed a mango.  “You’re right,” he said.  “We should learn to trust ourselves.”  It wasn’t much, but the way he moved, the way he said that… it did it for me.  Then of course I realized how stunningly good looking he was.

They always say when you stop looking for love, it finds you.  Now I’m wondering what the “it” in that sentence is actually referring to.

The relationship was fine at first. The sex was amazing, he was funny, and smart, and successful and all my friends loved him, but, when the red flags started showing up, and they did pretty quickly, they weren’t like any red flags I’d ever experienced.  Sometimes it was stuff I would tell people about and they’d say how romantic it was.

He would send flowers all the time but it was always red roses, even after I told him I didn’t really like them, that I liked natural flowers and he shouldn’t spend all that money on something that just died so quickly anyways.

“Everything dies,” he said, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Sure,” I said back, “but how about just on special occasions from now on?”

I got roses twice that same week.

He-he got me candies, which sure that’s nice.  They were those awful,  god awful little Valentine's day candies.  I didn’t even know where he had gotten those, Valentine’s day wasn’t for months.

He said Valentine’s day was really special to him, it had always been his favorite holiday.

Darlene: Valentine’s day is not a proper favorite holiday.

Christine: I know!  Exactly *looks for name tag* Darlene.  Big red flag!  No one’s favorite holiday should be Valentine’s day!  Halloween, Christmas, Hanukkah, Lunar New year, one of the ones with presents or special food or something.

Darlene: Here’s your coffee and the oatmeal. *quiet clank of the plate on the table* Just a minute on the waffles.

Christine: So as I pour the candies into a big bowl, they are pretty I guess but it’s not like I was going to eat them. 

That’s probably why it took me a while to notice. 

They sat out for two days before, as I walked by the bowl, I realized they were uniform, they all said the same thing:  “My Sweetheart.”  

So I took a few out and looked them over and they were hand. Painted.  This crazy image of him sitting there with a jewelers loupe and a fine point paint brush to write “My Sweetheart” on these candies kinda chilled me.  

He called me “My Sweetheart” all the time.  There were hundreds and hundreds of these candies.  It must have taken forever… So, I get this creepy feeling that he didn’t start calling me that and then make these candies, but that he’s calling me that because he has these candies.

I should have listened to my gut, but it’s genuinely difficult to convince yourself that someone is a creep based on candy.  When someone says and does the right thing ninety nine percent of the time, how can you break it off based on one percent?  Even if the one percent is creepy.

One night I woke up and I was laying face down, which I never do, and I felt this tickle in the middle of my back.  I opened my eyes and he was there laying next to me, running his fingers over my skin, which seemed, I don’t know, romantic at first.  It felt like he was drawing something on me with his fingertip and it felt nice, but the way the moonlight caught his eyes, it was like he was looking at something he… I don’t really know how to describe what I felt, but it wasn’t good.

When he caught me looking at him his expression changed so quickly it made my heart jump.  The way his frozen, full tooth smile changed to a genuine one, the way his eyes closed just a little so you couldn’t see the whites all the way around them… 

I broke it off the next day.

All he said was “But it’s almost Valentine’s day.”

I felt totally vindicated.  The way he said it… It didn’t even sound like he was upset, or like he, saying “how can you break up with me so close to the love holiday.”

It was more like breaking up with him before Valentine’s day was… an inconvenience? 

Darlene: Waffles up. *the clank of dishes*  One for you and all these for you.

Christine: Thank you.

Voncid: Could I please have some more cinnamon?  

Darlene: Sure thing, is that an irresponsible enough amount of whip cream?

Christine: plenty.

Darlene: Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.

Christine: *shudders*

Luca: Ok, makes sense now.

Christine: You don’t realize how common the expression “sweetheart” is until someone really scary uses it as your pet name.  He sent me dozens of valentines, red hearts, glitter, the whole works.  My house, my work, my friends' houses had roses delivered multiple times a day, which must have cost a fortune.

I found these “take me back” tokens of his affection in my car, I don’t know how he got in.  My parents got them, he’d never met them, I’d never told him where they lived, it was nuts.

The police talked to him and it stopped after that. I don’t know why I thought that would be the end of it.

*Beat*

He broke in on Valentine’s day.  As it was happening… It was so surreal.  It was like a nightmare where you know what's going to happen before it happens.  I’d been paranoid all week that he might do something.  I changed my locks in case he’d made a copy of my key, I locked my bedroom door telling myself I was paranoid… I heard the song first, *music begins*  he had it playing loud on his phone.  He was wearing a tuxedo.  He had a teddy bear and a ring and champagne.

He just kept saying “Be Mine, Sweetheart” over and over. *The phrase continues repeating*

I ran for my life.  As I shoved him and tripped him he looked so surprised.  He chased me down into the parking garage yelling that phrase at me over and over again.  His voice was… it was happy, optimistic?

What happened next… I’ve never told anyone the truth.  I said he jumped in front of my car…

*beat*

The truth is… I …I swerved.  To hit him.

I just wanted it to be over.  I was scared and angry and I just wanted it to be over.  I wanted him gone.

*beat*

I wasn’t going that fast, but he fell under the wheels…

The whole experience, the night, the police, the press, it was just unreal, but it should have been over.  It should have been a hideous horrible thing and then it should have stopped.

But it didn’t.

A year later, on Valentine's day… Some friends and I were going to have a “popcorn, pizza and deep denial of our trauma” night.  I headed down to my parking garage, I was in a different building by then, and when I got in there with all the cars, I got this horrible feeling that someone was watching me.  I shook it off as just being triggered.  The day, the parking garage… it made sense.  

But it got worse as I headed for my car.  Then I heard the footsteps even though no one had come down in the elevator with me and the steps were walking away from the stairs and-  I carried a little gun at the time, and this sudden scared feeling wouldn’t stop then. And then, that song.

*We hear the romantic song playing from a distance*

There was a car in the parking garage playing that song he loved. I reached into my purse to get my gun, just to have it ready, when I felt this sharp pain in my hand.

I dropped my purse.

It was full of roses, but the roses had something taped all over their sides.

The roses were covered in razor blades.

I dug for the gun in a panic whirled around feeling like he was there, even though I knew he was dead, I’d seen his neck… *the music ends abruptly* The song had gone, the feeling was gone.

I needed stitches.  The police thought it might be a disgruntled relative, but they couldn’t find any.  Some sick sort of joke was the best theory.  

And that was it… until the next Valentines day.

That time, it didn’t seem possible it was a prank.  I woke up on Valentine’s day morning with this awful taste in my mouth.  My best friend and her husband had spent the night because the day had become this crazy trigger for me now of course and I smelled that they had made waffles.  I like waffles.

I went to the kitchen, said hello to them, but when I took a bite of waffles, I spit them out.

They tasted like chalk. Or rather, chalky candy.

I took a big drink of milk to wash it out.

The milk tasted like those little heart shaped candies, too.

I thought I was going crazy.

On the way to the hospital every song on the radio was that song.

My friends thought I was going crazy.

The doctor’s thought so too, but they were polite about it.  Trauma induced psychosomatic something or other.  

It went away at midnight.  At the stroke of midnight.  The instant it wasn’t Valentine’s day anymore food went back to normal.  I had this feeling that would be the case, so I drank a glass of water right at midnight.  Mid gulp it flipped back.

I couldn’t sleep the night before.  I laid awake just terrified about what might happen next.  I practically jumped out of bed when I felt fingers running along the small of my back.

A few hours later that spot was burning, stinging… like I was being stung by hundreds of bees… by the time I got to the hospital, it hurt a bit less, but I was laying face down with the doctor looking at the small of my back…

“Looks like you are just having a bad reaction,” he said.

“Bad reaction to what,” but it was like he didn’t hear me.

Then he just said: “Next year, My Sweetheart”

I… *laughing ruefully* I reacted badly, I panicked.  I knocked the doctor down and stepped on him.  The police report said I was yelling “what did you say to me?” at him, *still chuckling* I don’t really remember.

I realized later he had just been reading the new tattoo that had marked itself into my back right where Teddy had touched my back all those years ago.

“Next year, My Sweetheart.”

Next year is this year.

I’ve heard him whispering to me since this morning.  I see him in mirrors standing behind me.  I was trying to run again, I got a flight last minute, I’m going to my sister’s… I thought maybe distance would help, that I could get away again, but I still feel like he’s here.

*Rushing of magic*

Darlene: I am here, Sweetheart.

*The song begins playing*

Voncid: No one move.

Darlene: I am here.  I couldn’t leave you.  

*Darlene’s voice is split with Teddy’s and becoming louder and more filled with supernatural malice*

Darlene/Teddy:  You couldn’t leave me.  We are meant to be.  You are meant to BE MINE. 

Christine: Fuck you! 

*We hear Christine attack Darlene/Teddy.  Plates crash, there are sounds of a scuffle*

Voncid: No!

Christine: Fuck you, I’ll fucking kill you again you motherfucker.

Voncid: Stop!

*Click*