Three
Joan's car sat in the driveway. The lights were on in the house. It was clear she was home, Vera thought as she pulled up. She tried calling once more and was again immediately sent to voicemail.
“Well, I suppose I'm going in”she muttered, praying this was the right course of action.
She swallowed thickly as she approached the house, knocking loudly and waiting for a response. After a few minutes, she knocked again but was met with silence. Sighing, she tried the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked. She felt her heart sink as she found it open.
Joan never left the door unlocked.
She entered the house quietly. It remained as pristine as ever; to anyone else, it would seem that nothing was wrong, but the way Joan's work shoes sat discarded as if she'd just kicked them off and not lined up on the mat with her usual military precision told Vera that something was indeed wrong.
“Joan?” her voice almost echoed in the large, sparse room.
She walked through the living room into the kitchen. A plate and cutlery sat in the sink, waiting to be washed, but there was no sign of the older woman.
“Joan? It's me. I know you're here,” she called out.
The silence was deafening.
Vera climbed the stairs to the second floor. Despite their relationship, she'd only been up here a handful of times. She’d stayed overnight once before, in the guest room but that was they’d both drank too much to drive. They'd yet to be intimate in that way. With Vera's inexperience and Joan's issues with any kind of vulnerability, coupled with the fact that neither had been in what was considered a conventional relationship, they had agreed to go slow.
“Joan? It's Vera. I'm sorry to barge in, but I'm really worried about you… Please, I just need to know you're okay, and I’ll leave.”
She moved towards the bedroom door, opening it quietly. The bedroom was in disarray. The bed sheets were wrinkled and half tossed on the floor, and the lamp that had once been on the nightstand was shattered at her feet. As she walked further into the room she found Joan’s phone on the ground, the screen shattered, she hadn’t turned it off she’d broken it, by the looks of it she’d tossed it hard, a phone sized dent in the wall beside the window all but confirmed this.
“Joan?”
she heard a muffled voice coming from the large walk-in closet, the door was ajar.
“Joan are you in there?”
There was a weak sob followed by muffled mumbling. Vera quickly made her way into the closet. What she saw shocked her.
The formidable Joan Ferguson sat in the corner of her closet, knees drawn to her chest, hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face from closed eyes. Though it was hard to make out, Vera heard words that made her blood run cold.
I'm Worthless, I'm pointless, I'm nothing.
Joan was repeating it over and over the same way Jodi Spiteri had.
“Oh, Joan.” She murmured
Deep down, she suspected the rumour was true, but this, as far as she was concerned, was proof. She couldn't pretend to know why the taller woman had done it; she wished she hadn't, and it frightened her to know what her girlfriend was capable of, but hell, Vera had killed her own mother, she could hardly talk.
They will address it later, together she thought, Now was not the time. Right now, Joan needed comfort, not a confrontation.
She cautiously approached the distraught woman.
“Joan?” the mumbling continued as if she hadn't heard. “Joan?” she tried, louder this time.
Vera kneeled near her and gently placed a hand on the woman's silk pyjama clad knee
The reaction was immediate; Joan's head snapped up wide-eyed as she lurched away from the touch, slamming her back against the wall and making herself and Vera wince; her already bruised ribs screamed in protest.
“It's okay, it's okay! " Vera spoke softly as if to a frightening animal. “It's just me, just Vera.” Raising her hands to show she meant no harm.
The dark eyes flooded with more tears, and Joan’s bottom lip trembled
“Vera?” her voice was so small. Her eyes flitted from the smaller woman before her to the closet door and to the bedroom beyond. “You-you shouldn't be here.”
“Joan, you're scaring me. You wouldn't talk to me, and you wouldn't answer my calls! I didn't know what else to do!”
Joan was staring off behind her deputy; Vera looked back and saw nothing.
“Hey,” she said softly, placing a hand on a pale cheek. Joan flinched but didn't pull away; her dark eyes found Veras blue. “what's going on? You said something came up. What was it? What's going on, Joan?”
“I can't.” The dark-haired woman shook her head screwing her eyes shut, She looked torn, like part of her wanted to talk, but the other couldn’t or wouldn't let her.
She stroked Joan's pale cheek and felt her lean into it. A tanned thumb brushed a few tears away as they streaked down her face.
“Look at me, Joan, you can tell me anything. Anything. I care about you so much! Nothing you say could change that.”
Joan let out a choked keening sound as she shook her head fervently.
“You won't believe me.” she gasped
“Try me,” Vera implored, her worry growing by the minute.
“No, no, no… I can't... I can't,” she pulled her face away and hid it in her knees. Veras's hand moved to her shoulder, stroking it, trying to provide some measure of comfort.
The room was quiet for a moment, the only sounds were Joan's panicked breathing and sniffles.
“You'll think I'm a freak,” Joan spoke at last, her voice muffled in her knees
“Never. You know that. I'd never think you're a freak, Joan, I promise. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know what's happening. Please, you can tell me anything.” she stroked the thick dark hair.
Another long silence stretched across the room.
“He wouldn't shut up.”
“Who?”
Joan shook her head again, still hiding her face
“Who wouldn't shut up, Joan?”
“M-my father”
It was so quiet Vera barely heard it. She froze, her brow furrowed. Joan's father was dead; Joan herself had told her that, and as far as Vera was concerned, it was no big loss; from the small amount she had heard about Ivan Ferguson, he was an abusive asshole who had tormented his daughter.
Joan's father was not here; she was certain of that. But Vera had promised to believe Joan; and dead or not, she'd seen the man and was in considerable distress.
“I believe you, " was the first thing she said.
Joan looked up in shock, wiping her face with the back of her silk pyjama shirt. Her nose and eyes were red from all the crying.
“Y-you believe me?” she asked in wonder. “B-but he's… dead,” she whispered, eyes darting around, worried he might appear again just by talking about him.
“I know. I'm glad you know that too, but I believe you did see him. Do you still see him now?”
Joan stared at her in shock. Before slowly looking around, she didn’t see him, she wasn’t sure when he’d left but he wasn’t here now.
“No”
“Good, well that’s good.” Vera spoke reassuringly.
“You don't think I'm a freak? That I'm crazy?” she sniffed, sitting up a bit straighter.
“No, I don't think you're a freak, and I don't think you're crazy. I do think something's going on, though, and maybe we can talk about that later when you're feeling a bit better,” Vera smiled weakly. “But for now, let's get you off the floor and downstairs. We can relax, have a cuppa? Maybe order out for dinner? How does that sound?”
Joan continued to stare at her in wonder for a moment before nodding gratefully.
“That sounds… acceptable.”
Vera scoffed. “Just acceptable, eh?” She joked standing, she held out a hand to help the older woman up.
Joan took the hand and rose to her full height, wincing at the pain in her ribs and stomach. Vera noted this but said nothing, one thing at a time, she thought.
“That sounds lovely,” Joan amended, sniffling again, wiping away the remaining tears.
“Good.” Vera smiled; she stood on her toes and gave the taller woman a peck on the cheek.
“Follow me then.”