by Harlow Hayes
“Asleep? Have you not tried to wake her?”
“Oh my God, my son! Do you know who did it? Are they still out there?”
“Ma’am, did you—”
“Yes, I tried to wake her,” Rhema said, frustrated, “but she had been drinking and took some Xanax I gave her, so she’s out cold. Who was it?”
“Why did you give her that? You know it’s illegal—”
“Oh my God, who was it? Could you please tell me?” Rhema pleaded.
“A young female—”
“Hannah?” Rhema shrieked. Despair was the goal. Rhema knew that her face needed to register despair but not too much.
The intensity in the detective’s face diminished a bit, but it was obvious that the job was wearing on her. It wouldn’t be much longer before she was sitting behind a desk full-time.
“Ma’am, why did you—”
“Why do we do anything? I was trying to help her. The girl has been through a lot these past couple of days. She had to cancel her wedding because she found out her fiancé was cheating on her, and now this? This is going to send her straight over the edge.”
“You need to wake her. We need to speak with her,” Merch said.
“Yes, come inside.”
Rhema led them upstairs to the guest bedroom, and there Elsea lay, looking like Sleeping Beauty. Merch attempted to wake her, but it was no use.
She turned to look at the other officer. “Get an EMT in here. Get her sober and alert. I want to speak with her as soon as she comes to.” She turned back to Rhema. “How long has she been here?”
“Four, five hours or so, maybe six,” Rhema said. “She came over here after she got tired of listening to Hannah and her boyfriend argue.” Rhema covered her mouth in shock. “Oh my God, that’s right. They were arguing. I heard them early this afternoon, going back and forth. I think someone was cheating on the other.”
“When did you hear that?” the detective asked.
“Around noonish, I think. Can I please see my husband and son? They are stuck down the street. Can they please come home? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“They can come home when we’re finished. Not sure when that will be.” Detective Merch looked back down at her notes, and Rhema’s face of despair turned into a scowl, but as soon as she lifted her head, the despair returned.
Rhema followed behind the EMTs as they escorted Elsea out of the house, still high from her drug and liquor-fueled haze.
Detective Merch walked in front of Rhema but spoke to her as she walked. “Have you seen the boyfriend?”
When she stepped back outside into the cold night, she saw them wheeling the body out. The sobs from Mr. and Mrs. Kelly could be heard throughout the entire street. News crews were everywhere, and when she looked across the lawn, there was Cheating Kyle yapping away to Channel 6 News. She’d have to wait and tune in to see what he had to say later.
When the street had cleared of the coroner’s van and most of the police vehicles, David and Julian were finally allowed to come home. She thought about Elsea and wondered how they were questioning her. Were they even able to question her? She smiled at the thought. There was nothing to worry about. She’d trained Elsea well in those two short hours.
Rhema loved this game, and she knew that victory would be hers.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Snitches Get Stiches
Christmas morning was cloudy, and the house was shaken by wind. Julian had risen before the sun, excited to open his presents. She and David had hidden the truth from him so as not to ruin his Christmas. After spending an hour opening presents, David and Julian went back to bed, but Rhema sat in the kitchen waiting.
She had not seen Elsea come back, but she didn’t feel that she had gone against the plan. She was feeling more confident in her ability to manipulate than ever, and she reveled in her smugness. It was what she had done her whole life. It was easy to see the motivations of others, and even though Elsea felt bad about she had done, Rhema could tell that deep down inside she was happy. Elsea finally had the safety that she’d always wanted. This was going to be a new chapter in her life, one where she wasn’t someone else’s doormat. Rhema had liberated her and expected to be treated no less than the savior that she believed herself to be.
She leaned back and breathed in the aroma of her coffee. She was certain that her plan would go off without a hitch. The whole neighborhood would be shaken from this. There were still news crews parked down the street, waiting to see if anything would happen next. The young and the beautiful were always revered, and when they died they were often immortalized. Hannah. The perfect beauty that all young girls aspired to be, cut down in the prime of her life so viciously.
Rhema sat in peace at the thought of Hannah being dead. The phony had finally got what was coming to her. She had always been a bitch, and when Rhema thought about how she had treated Julian, it satisfied her even more.
After Julian turned three, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be like most children. He had special needs, and Rhema remembered overhearing Hannah teasing him with some of her friends a few weeks back when she came home for Thanksgiving while he played on the driveway with Rhema and David. No one messed with her son.
There was a commotion going on outside, so Rhema left the kitchen table and walked into the living room to see what it was. The neighborhood was helping the Kellys deal with things. People were coming in and out of the Kelly house, bringing food and, Rhema assumed, their most heartfelt condolences. But what did it matter? A Christmas casserole wasn’t going to undo what had been done.
After standing there a few moments, Elsea came from the house carrying a bag of trash out to the curb.
Good, they cut her loose. She smiled and leaned against the wall. Elsea turned and looked over at Rhema’s house. Their eyes met across the distance, and a small smile grew on Elsea’s face. Rhema smiled right back. Elsea walked back up the drive and disappeared into the house.
Rhema went to turn away, but she caught a glimpse of two squad cars out of the corner of her eye. The sirens were not on, but the lights flashed, bouncing red and blue off of the surrounding houses and down the entire block. They slowed in front of Rhema’s house, unable to go further because of all of the cars of people visiting the Kellys lining the street. She watched the officers get out—one stayed at his car and the other started walking, but he didn’t walk to the Kellys. He was walking up her drive to her door.
Rhema cursed under her breath. What did he want? Maybe things didn’t go as she had planned after all, and her blood burned like fire. The bell rang, and Rhema inched her way to the door. She cracked it open, trying to keep the cold air out, and there the officer stood.
“Rhema Clark?”
“Yes,” Rhema said.
“You need to come down to the station immediately,” he said.
“I’ve given you everything I know. What is this about?”
“Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to say, but I need you to come to the station.”
“Well, it would be better if I could just come late—”
“No. Now. Grab your coat.”
“I’m still in my pajamas! And it’s Christmas morning!”
“Grab a long coat, then. Don’t make me ask you again.”
“I need to let my husband know what’s going o—”
“The other officer will fill him in. Come on.”
She reached for David’s heavy winter coat that hung on the coat rack, slipped her bare feet into her winter boots, and followed the officer out of the door. She was more than ashamed to be escorted to the cop car. It reminded her of her past, of her own secrets, and she feared them being exposed more than anything. It was as though every evil deed she had ever committed was written on her face and what once was a distant memory was more present than ever.
While walking to the car, the only thing that she could think about was Elsea. Had she ratted her out? Did she go against the plan? Against her? If so, Rhema knew that she would
regret it. She would make her regret it.
Acknowledgments
It’s thank-you time, so my deepest thanks goes out to the people that have provided me with support during this round of writing. I wasn’t sure where this story was going because I started it just for fun, but as I kept writing, I knew that it would be something special. So thank you to Mom and Dad, of course, for your continued support. Y’all are the best.
In addition to my parents, I would also like to thank my homie Kayla Wulff, for challenging me to do something fun for a change and my editor, Crystal Watanabe. Thank you again for blessing the books with your skills.
About the Author
Harlow Hayes was born and raised in Indianapolis, Indiana and is the author of fiction and non-fiction books. She has always had a passion for writing and storytelling in its many forms. When she’s not immersed in her writing, she enjoys reading both fiction and non-fiction, watching classic movies, and listening to jazz with her dad. She is the author of 27 Revelations and You Got to Believe: A Guide to Managing Negative Influences and Expectations As You Prepare to Self-publish Your Book.
She currently lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee
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