Vol. 4 - “Track One:” I Witnessed a Crime

“I guess the moon had had it out for us. And the night and the stars the same” Esther flipped the page, re-reading her favorite chapter for what she noted to herself, wholly embarrassed, must have been the sixth time. “Everything she touched turned to stone or died eventually. Or was never seen the same again.”  

Esther Kelly was a critic. A respected and important one at that. Her words either elevated careers, or destroyed them. 

There was no gray area with Esther Kelly. She said what she said, wrote what she wrote… and those who were less fortunate- those whose words she did not fall in love with, fell to her wrath. Following a rising star wasn’t new for Ms. Kelly. She’d been covering them for the last decade of her career. But never had she re-read an author’s work with such- hunger.

Or afterwards, in such shame.

The fact was, Esther had to stop herself most days from re-reading his beautiful book. But today, hidden beneath the cover of a beige umbrella on a sunny day, even with her porcelain face just half visible beneath her sizeable black sunglasses… each time she paused to let the trip seep into her bones… when it came down to where she’d come and why… Ms. Kelly wondered if she’d gone too far. 

It’s just for the work, she’d tell herself. But the truth is, it’s Iain Bowery’s novel that steered Esther to “join” the book tour well ahead of her paid and scheduled coverage in New York. There was something undeniable about this book that she couldn’t ignore, occasionally she attempted to, pressed to read other works for her job- but they were always mild attempts. And not often, to be fair. 

There was a magnet pulling her to him and his words, and rather than ignore it, Esther let herself follow the string of tour dates that would lead her up to her scheduled date with destiny. She attended reading after reading, but always made sure to stay tucked away in the back. She’d find a well-placed stack to lean against to hide her semi-famous face, in literary circles anyway, and let fate do the rest in each tiny town down the coast. If a meet-cute of sorts just happened to happened, she’d tell herself, then who am I to stop fate.

Which is how Esther arrived here, in this sleepy seaside Rhode Island tow- at another stop on his book tour. It’s how she found herself in this quaint little book shop… It’s how she came to find herself inside Lost Letters.

Inside, Esther made her rounds through the pillars of books and past the trinkets, eyeing any and everything this eclectic spot had to offer. To kill time, she’d pretend to weave toward the horror section, but never self-help. That was certainly not the place she’d allow her meet-cute with the Iain Bowery to happen. She’d venture toward the back to see what was tucked away in the nooks or the cracks of the forgotten sections… but it was all just to delay the inevitable. It was all just a way to keep her circling, to keep her from making a beeline straight to the table engulfed in Bowery’s debut novel. 

Esther, having held herself to wandering for all of nearly seven minutes, could feel an invisible track moving her feet toward Iain’s words when a girl no older than twenty, her skin a sunless white, approached Esther. 

“Can I help you find something?” 

Esther flinched. “No, dear, I’m just browsing. Thank you.” She preferred to treat all bookshops like libraries where speaking was prohibited.

“Well, I’m Genevieve. If you need anything, just holler.” The pale young girl went on her way and left Esther to her browsing. 

Once the girl had gone, Esther made her way toward’s Iain’s display but was thwarted yet again by the other shop girl who was setting out his excessively handsome photograph next to a stack of his books. 

His perfect book.

His spellbinding book. 

Pages and pages filled with his beguiling words. 

And words- after all, are Esther Kelly’s favorite things. So who is she to resist? Then the bell on the shop’s front door rang out and caused Esther to turn, and proceeded to have her heart lurch  into her throat. 

Iain Bowery had arrived at walked into Lost Letters. 

Esther slinked to the edge of a nearby rack, hovering as Iain approached his display and the pretty young shopgirl.

“How’s that one then, any good?” Iain asked. 

Esther watched as Iain finished his line with a smirk that slipped over his perfectly imperfect teeth. She remained close enough to hear him banter with the girl. His soft Scottish accent dripped from his mouth like honey. A trait, Esther had learned, that Iain knew how to dial up or down based on the conversation or speaking engagement he was performing for. And right now, it was the perfect thickness of warmth and charm. Not that he needed it.

Not with his perfect book.

His spellbinding book.

Those pages and pages filled with his beguiling words. 

His charms, like his words- it seems, can work on anyone. 

Intrusive as it was, Esther couldn’t turn her ear away from their conversation. 

“You wouldn’t want to go for a spot of tea at your shift change, would you? I don’t know anyone in town and-” Esther hung on his last words. He didn’t know anyone in town. She knew him. But he didn’t know her. Not yet. 

“I’d love to.” The girl’s smile beamed with hope as Esther’s heart dropped into the depths of her gut. This young beautiful girl in the book shop would be ending her day with Iain Bowery at a café, and Esther would be off alone in her musty, wallpaper adorned hotel room. Again.

Esther Kelly left Lost Letters with her heart still lodged somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was steps away, a mere few clicks of her heels from being at that table alongside the writer. She was moments away from what was now her stolen meet-cute. 

Outside in the fresh air, she let her lungs expel the breath she’d trapped inside them. Esther’s shoulders hung as heavy as her thoughts, her back slumped against the random rough brick wall that seemed so out of place in this quaint beige town she had no place being in. She stared across the street, shaking her head. What did she think was going to happen? That Iain would have- what? 

Befriend her? 

Appreciate her? 

Fall for her? 

Had she not felt like such a fool, she’d be inclined to laugh at herself for going on this road trip. It’s what she would have done were it anyone else. But today, because it’s here, she only felt stung by her embarrassment, so she was not so inclined to find this funny yet.

Esther knew it was time to go home to New York before she embarrassed her soul any further,  and so she looked up, plotting which way to escape from her current round of missteps when a shiver went down her spine. 

Across the street, Esther found her eyes locked onto a handsome young man. Not because of his stature or the strong cut of his jaw, but there was something in his eyes… even from where she stood, she could see he wasn’t right.

Esther shot upright, her mortified slouch all but disappeared. 

His glassy eyes were trance-like, staring at the storefront window of Lost Letters. He wasn’t pacing, but his shoulders were rolled forward, chest moving up and down- he was breathing heavy. Esther shivered, smoothing out the skin of her goose-flesh. She tried to warm herself up but something about him made her skin crawl, and her toes instinctively shifted her feet in the opposite direction.  She couldn’t shake the building sensation of dread. 

Esther hurried away from the bookstore and the boy with dead eyes as quickly as she could. 

Esther hadn’t moved that fast in years. Before this, her cardio was spent in a race to hail cabs outside her brownstone. But right now, her feet were moving swiftly down the street, the heels of her wedges punishing the balls of her feet against the uneven cobblestone. 

The packing up of her hotel room was just as breakneck. Whatever she felt outside of Lost Letters wasn’t letting her go, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that hung over her, thick as morning fog off the ocean. Between her shame of following Iain here, to the ice the young man had in his stare sent down her spine, Esther had no desire to remain in the cool breeze of this seaside town for a moment longer than she had to.

In the lobby, Esther paid her bill as quickly as she could. 

With her sunglasses on she darted across the marble of the hotel entrance; that’s when she spotted him out of the corner of her eye. At the bar sat Iain, sipping on an old-fashioned. That’s what he was always drinking when she’d find herself at the same bar as him following one of his readings. Esther stopped, and the echo of her heels ceased along with her walk. 

One drink before she left town couldn’t hurt.

At the bar, a mere few seats away, Esther ordered a whiskey ginger from the server; both the whiskey and the ginger were meant to steady the nerves that were firing in her stomach. But when Iain pulled out his pen and his notebook, there was no controlling her mind. From her side-eye, she watched Iain as he scribbled- his beautiful gold and black pen setting ink to paper, no doubt brandishing it with something beautiful and evocative… it was killing Esther that she couldn’t know what Iain Bowery was creating mere feet from her stool. 

It took everything in her not to ask what he was working on, to not strike up a casual conversation. 

Then Iain looked at his watch and left. He was off to meet the shop girl, no doubt. And Esther was filled with a familiar sense of silliness again. This time with the slight buzz of alcohol mixed with sugar.  Iain left the bar, and then, so did Esther. 

In her cab, on the way to the train station, Esther stared out the window, longing for this trip to be over, mourning the trip she wished it could be.

At the next stoplight, Esther found herself placed back in front of Lost Letters as if to taunt her ridiculous excursion one final time. The light, stagnant in its purpose to turn from red to green and free her of this town gave Esther’s eyes too much time to wander. 

Across the street, the scuffed plastic walls of the bus stop gleamed in the setting sun, casting a glare on Esther’s eyes strong enough she needed to drop her sunglasses over her eyes again. But when she looked back, Esther found that mysterious icy boy from the bus stop crossing the street right in front of her cab. But this time, he wasn’t stagnant, he was moving fast- with purpose. 

And by the time her eyes caught up to where the boy was going, it was too late. 

Esther watched the boy with strange eyes scurry down the sidewalk. Through the glass of her sealed-up window, she saw words leave his lips; directed at Iain. 

Iain- cowered against the bricks.

Her heart raced; none of it was right.

But her cab was inching forward now; she could feel her chance slipping as the rubber of the tire tread crinkled over the pavement. Then, in an instant, the opportunity to intervene slipped away. The cab was nearly through the the intersection. As her driver pulled past the alley… she saw it all in slow motion…

The boy with the icy stare cornering Iain.

Iain still plastered with a charming grin. 

Iain’s gold and black pen crashing off the pavement.

She could ask the cab to stop. Esther could phone 911… She eyed her cell, wondered what she would say she was doing in town? And so close to Iain. She turned back one last time, he was twisted in a pile on the ground- and she felt her heart start to crack, as if pieces of it were flaking apart inside of her.

His perfect book.

Pages and pages filled with his beguiling words. 

His spellbinding book- 

The man with no soul in his eyes, as if a spell was cast over him- that’s what it was, Esther thought, words so perfect it broke the young man.  Esther’s cell was still in the palm of her hand. What could she say if she called? What would people say if it got out? That’s when Ms. Kelly pocketed her phone back into a slot in her purse and turned her eyes back to the road the cab was set on. 

Esther had been on a lot of book tours. But never one that ended like this. 

And on the drive home, she thought to herself, I think I witnessed a crime. 

*Inspired by The Horrible Crowe’s “I Witnessed a Crime.”