Chapter 18
After about four hours, I woke up hungry. I realized that all I had had to eat that day was some vanilla wafers. It was teatime, and I decided to make coffee and a salmon salad sandwich. I had just started the coffee brewing when Rachel knocked at my door, and I let her in.
“I just put a pot of coffee on. Would you like some?”
“Sure.”
“I’m about to make myself a salmon salad sandwich. Would you like one?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Did Caite get settled back at her house?” I asked as I made the sandwiches.
“Yes, she’s back at home and my hide-a-bed is a couch again. To tell you the truth, my apartment feels a little empty now.”
“Caite seems like she would be a good house guest.”
“Actually, she was. She’s very considerate, and although she doesn’t talk a lot, it was nice to have another woman around. I don’t get to see my friends too much these days.”
“Why don’t you see your friends much?” I asked.
“Since I quit hanging out at our favorite bar, I don’t run into them without actively looking for them. I was just thinking that I might go down to the bar this evening.”
“Do you need someone to talk to?”
“Yeah, but this magic case is different; none of my friends would understand.”
“You could talk to me,” I said as I set her coffee and sandwich in front of her on the kitchen table.
“You’re not exactly a girlfriend, Professor.”
“No, but I understand your situation, and I’m a good listener.”
“Have you ever killed anyone, Professor?”
“No, but I’ll bet none of your friends have either.”
“Actually, you’re wrong about that. I have a friend who accidentally killed a cop with her car and served time for it, but she’s in L.A.”
“And I’m here, Rachel.”
“I appreciate that, Professor. Sometimes just showing up is eighty percent of the job.”
“I’m good at showing up and listening.”
“I killed two men last night.”
“Two evil men who were trying to kill both of us. You saved my life as well as your own.”
“Still, I’ve never killed before. Now I can’t say that I’ve never killed anyone. It’s one of those things that changes you, Professor.”
“I know. You really had no choice.”
“And I know that, too, but it’s still a big deal. I’ve always thought of myself as a good, moral person, and now I’ve killed two people. How do I look myself in the mirror, Professor?”
“You are a warrior, Rachel. You fight for justice for those who are weaker than you. Sometimes a warrior has to fight to the death to defend those who depend on her. When fighting to the death, it’s the warrior’s job to make sure it’s not her own death. It’s a tough but noble job, Rachel, and not everyone can do it, but I know that you can. I know that you’ve made a sacrifice by killing to defend me and yourself. It’s something that you can’t undo, and yes, it will change you. But you’re strong, and, as Nietzsche said ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger.’ You will be stronger, Rachel. Not many people have to face the danger and take the actions you have taken. You have seen combat and had to kill or be killed. Life is harder for the warrior, and her choices are harder with greater consequences. Believe me, Rachel, you are a moral person with the capacity to do more and make harder choices than the rest of us. What you did was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. I know that it was hard to do, but you can’t second-guess yourself. You know in your heart that you did the right thing.”
Rachel started to cry softly, and I handed her my handkerchief. “Thanks, Professor. I knew you would understand. You’re right; I’ll get through this. If Caite can get past the murder of her lover, I can certainly overcome this.”
“Yes you can, but it will take time, so don’t be too hard on yourself or too impatient.”
“How did a geek like you get to be such a good shoulder to cry on?”
“I read a lot.”
“This is good coffee, Professor. It’s fortifying,” Rachel said as she dabbed at her eyes.
“I guess we have Starbucks to thank for that. How’s the sandwich?”
“It was great, Professor. Do you have a Ziploc I can put this last half in?”
“Sure, I’ll get you one,” I said as I got up to get one from the kitchen drawer.
“I need some exercise,” Rachel said. “Do you want to go for a run?”
“Sure. It isn’t raining at the moment; we should take advantage of it.”
“Great!” Rachel said as she zipped her half sandwich into the Ziploc. “I’ll meet you on the front porch in five minutes,” and she slipped out the door.
I put on some running pants, a tee shirt, zip-up sweatshirt, crew socks and Nikes. When I met Rachel on the porch, she was wearing shorts over some sort of calf-length shiny tights, a zip-up hoodie over a tee shirt, ankle socks and cross trainers.
We walked out to the street and started out at a slow run for a few blocks. Then Rachel picked up the pace a little. I don’t usually run. I prefer swimming or walking, but my legs are longer than hers, and I didn’t have too much trouble staying beside her. I was using some muscles that I didn’t ordinarily exercise; they would be sore in the morning. She correctly judged my capability, and we never sped up into a sprint. We ran in silence for about half an hour on a route that circled around and brought us back to the Goose. We walked the last block while our heart rates returned to normal.
“Thanks for the run, Professor. I feel much better now.”
“So do I.”
“See you later,” Rachel said as we went inside, and she headed toward her apartment.
“Later,” I said as I went upstairs.
I took a shower, put on my lounging clothes, and settled in for a quiet night. I read a little, watched a little TV, and went to bed early.