Exit Read Free

kick in half the cash. Alex had the equipment, and would cover the other half of expenses. Where this endeavor would lead, the three didn't know. It was simply time to make a move.
    One, two, three…jump.
    In the meantime she waited tables at Voltage Café, after having quit her job at an advertising agency. She preferred working nights, a flexible schedule. Most of the wait staff were artists of various stripes, escapees from the nine-to-five. In her experience, a joyless job always felt like a small suit she’d be forced to squeeze into each morning. The suit, two sizes too small, would restrict her every move. Like a pinstriped straitjacket. Or a giant tourniquet. Too tight around the shoulders. Sleeves too short. The collar a hangman’s noose, prompting facial discoloration. No, thanks. She valued a whiff of freedom over the security of a fat paycheck. Never again would she sit amid the crew at the conference table and listen to her boss warble, “Rayne, you’re the only one here who isn’t smiling.” It was a miracle she had never gouged his eyes with a Sharpie and drove his head through the fifth floor windows. Whatever. If she got sick of Voltage, maybe she'd join Tim as a professional target, otherwise known as a substitute teacher for high school students.
    Two struggling screenwriters? Translation: a waitress and a sub.
    On that sunny afternoon on the pier, she and Tim looked like a handsome young couple whose future was wide open to possibilities, as vast and deep as the blue harbor behind them. She wore a long, chestnut-colored scarf that matched her straight hair cut below the shoulders. The scarf rippled in the wind behind her, animating the photo. Tim, steely blue eyes cast down on the water, looked so serious, as if seeing a shark under the pier. The sun highlighted his blond hair. His friends nicknamed him 'the yellow crow.' Both could be quite serious and somber. The idea of opposites attract did not apply to them. On a sunny afternoon on the pier, both could see the shadows.
    Tim. Where are you?
    Rayne leaned over the side of the couch to the end table, and pressed the play button on her home phone, and listened to the message for a third time:
    "…stopped at the movies…be back in a couple of hours…sorry for being such a pain in the ass…miss you."
    He had chosen to leave a message on the landline and not disturb her at work. It was unlike Tim to be late, this late, and not call her. That would be out of character. Moreover, he had an appointment with his eye surgeon early in the morning. So he should have returned by 10:30 or 11:00 p.m., certainly before midnight. She lost count of how many times she tried to reach him on his cell. Something had happened along the way; she was sure.
    She listened to the recording for a fourth time. She listened for location. Where was he? He habitually went to see a wide range of movies. Enjoyed many; loved some. Cambridge and Boston had many theaters.
    Rayne kept thinking it through. Tim had eye surgery and couldn't drive. So he walked or took the subway to a theater.
    Rayne didn't listen to the message, blocked it out as best she could. She focused on the recording, the ambient sounds, however vague, which required far more concentration. She hit the button again and again. She detected two sounds in the background, traffic notwithstanding. She looked at her window screen, saw her curtain lightly billow, and nodded to herself. The recording, she was fairly certain, caught the sound of trees stirred by the wind. Windblown leaves sounded like applause. Tiny clapping hands. She imagined a roomful of elves rising from their mini-chairs. A standing ovation.
    Tim had been standing on a street outside, near or beneath a tree.
    The other sound was harder to identify. Rayne hit the button a fifth time. Sixth, seventh. She looked into the security camera. The time: 2:03 a.m.
    That's when she deciphered the sound in the background: guitar, singing.
    Rayne processed the