by Melissa Marr
“Now? Now, you’re afraid?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Christ.” Buddy looked away again, staring out the front window. “Do I even want to know what he did to scare you?”
The truck stayed silent. The only sounds were the passing of other cars. I’ve been in silent spaces often enough that waiting isn’t hard for me. But quiet wasn’t enough--I had to make him want to help me, so I reached out and put my hand on his thigh.
“Tess . . .” His voice was filled with fear.
I ignored it and slid my hand up his thigh until my fingertips brushed his sudden erection. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”
“He might kill me if I touched you without permission. You’re his, Tess.” He watched my hand as I stroked him through his jeans.
“What if I told you that I loved you?”
He jerked his gaze from my hand to my face. “You . . . no.”
But I heard the hope. Edward taught me better than I’d realized. In Buddy’s voice, I heard exactly what I needed to make him help me. “I do. Sometimes at night, I close my eyes and imagine that you’re the one touching me.”
He swallowed visibly. His hands clenched on the steering wheel. I tried not to think about what Edward would do when he found out. He’d kill his brother. He’d kill me.
“Do you think about it?”
He nodded. He looked so guilty that I’d feel bad if I had the time for that sort of thing. I don’t. Edward would kill me if I didn’t get away. I didn’t like Buddy. In some ways, he was as much of a monster as Edward. Buddy had hidden the bodies. He’d known I was there, that they were there, and he did nothing.
He raped me.
“Tell me what you think.”
He stared straight ahead. “I think about being the one who’s naked and trapped and you . . . you do it. I can’t stop you. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault, so he won’t kill me for it.”
“Do I kiss you?”
“Never. That would be wrong.”
“Edward’s away working tonight.”
Buddy glanced at me.
If I was going to convince him to risk death, I needed to deliver the fantasy. “You could record it. That way you’d have it to watch whenever you want. You’d have all the power. Anything you wanted me to do I’d have to do because you’d have the proof. Not like he does with the other women. You’re better than him. He scares them, makes them do things with pain. You wouldn’t need that. I’d be afraid, just because you had the recording.”
For a moment, Buddy was silent, and I could see the debate in his eyes.
“Edward wouldn’t let anyone hurt me when I was little. He kept me safe. Marie too, and after Marie . . . after we lost her, Edward's parents had to die. They weren't to touch Marie or me. They weren't to let anyone touch us or make us touch the men that came to the house. Edward and William did the bad things, but they were the parents' kids. Me and Marie . . . we were Edward's kids. He did the things they made him do, and his mom had us. He did all the things as long as we were safe. "
Buddy looked at me. He didn't tell the rest, the details. I didn't need to know. What I did know then was that Edward wasn't Buddy's brother. Edward was Buddy’s father—and his half-brother, too.
I couldn't react. I couldn't say anything.
"They were bad people," I told Buddy. "Edward's parents. They were bad."
He nodded. "Edward warned them. They let someone hurt Marie, and she was his . . . daughter. He loved her. He loves me, too. They let someone hurt Marie, and then they died.” Buddy held my gaze. “Edward raised me. Him and William. We were all together after Edward killed his parents. He kept me safe. I know what he does is wrong, but he’s my whole family, Tess.”
The possibility of guilt returned, but the fear of dying was stronger.
“He loves you,” I said. “I know that. Maybe you could call him and ask if you can. He might even say yes. He let you have sex with me before. He wants you to be happy, right?”
Buddy shivered. “I don’t know.”
“Okay . . . if you don’t want to ask, we can keep it our secret. You’ll have the proof if you ever want to tell him though.” I pause and add, “You’re special to him. He wouldn’t be angry if you explained. You know that, don’t you? I’ve seen it. You’re his son. No wonder he wanted you to have me on Thanksgiving.”
The things I’m saying are the sort of lies that make sense to Buddy. He raped me once. At his father-brother’s order. He liked it. What a fucked up mess they were!
Instead of answering, Buddy started the truck and drove to a motel. Inside, he locked the door.
He stripped and watched me, so I followed his lead and did the same. Once we were both naked, he walked past me and into the motel bathroom. “Come on.”
I wanted to be surprised that Buddy was peculiar about bathing, too. I wasn't. We’re all tainted by the lives we’ve lived.
Buddy washed me, not gently but thoroughly. He stared at me as he did so, and I saw the same hope that Edward has always had when he did bad things to me.
“Pain?” I asked as he dried me afterwards. “I am used to it, and last time—”
“No.” He held my gaze and took my hand. “No. I just want . . . not being in control. I trust you. I shouldn’t. He’s going to kill me when he finds out.”
“Then I’d better be worth it.”
He handed me his phone. It was already recording.
I looked into it. “I love you, Edward. Buddy does too, but I asked him for this. I need him to do this. I want you to understand that. I want you to forgive him.”
I felt bolder than I’d felt in years. I propped the phone up so it was aimed at the action.
Then I led my husband’s son-brother to a cheap motel bed.
Afterwards, I turned off the recording.
“He’ll kill me if I stay,” I told Buddy as I rolled over to look at him. I admitted the truth aloud as I’d never dared, even to myself. “I need cash so I can get out. No trail. Then I need a ride to the bus station.”
“How much?”
“A few grand so I can get settled.”
He said nothing for several moments, and I was glad that the recording was over. This was something far scarier than infidelity.
“It’ll take a few weeks.”
I cried. I couldn’t decide if it was relief or sorrow or fear. Maybe it was everything at once.
After a few moments of Buddy holding me, he said, “I could come with you.”
I needed his help, but a future with a man who raped me and was loyal to my husband was a horrible plan. He wasn’t anything but a pawn—to Edward, to me--but I needed him to believe he mattered to me.
“Let me go first,” I said. “Then I’ll send you a message, and if you still want to come, you can. If we go together, Edward will look for us.”
“He’ll look for you anyhow.”
I nodded. “He’ll find me eventually, too.”
There was never any doubt that I would get caught. There was no chance of freedom. For a few years, I could try to live. I could avoid bleeding. That was more than I would have if I stayed. Edward loved me. I never doubted that, but being loved by Edward was going to kill me. The only other choice was his death, and I didn’t think I could do that. Not even to save myself. Not even to save the pretty things.
I was too weak to kill my husband, even though I dreamed of it the way a younger me had dreamed of freedom from my mother.
38
Juliana
We walk up to a little house not unlike the rest of those that line various streets of the city. It’s a double shotgun, painted a shade of pink that is oddly common here. The porch creaks a little, not in a dangerous way but in the way of houses with history. It makes Andrew smile.
“She would hear anyone out here walking.” There’s a pride in his voice that I don’t quite know what to do with right now. He’s still the man I’ve gone to for my own needs over the last year, but there’s an e
ntire aspect to his personality that I didn’t know existed until today.
“I’m sorry, Jules. This was never a thing that I wanted to come between us.” He reaches out for my hand. “I wish I handled it better.”
“Just knock.”
He raps on the door with his other hand.
I’m not sure how I feel about going into a strange house, but despite the fact that Andrew has lied to me, I still trust him enough to go with him—or maybe I just don’t feel like I have a lot of choices. He takes my hand in his, and the familiarity of it comforts my nerves.
“Tess? Are you in there?”
He knocks again. No one answers, and Andrew suddenly seems tense. “I’ll call you later. You can meet her, but I think you need to go.”
He opens the door and walks into the house.
I hesitate. I don’t believe he’ll really call. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to go in with him, but I don’t have a better idea. I can’t call Henry. I can’t stand here pointlessly either. After several moments of indecision, I open the door and go inside after Andrew.
Inside, the house is barren. There is no indication of personality, of permanence. The furniture is nondescript. The floors are hardwood. The walls are unadorned. The most striking thing in the room is a vase of fresh flowers. They seem out of place, more of a gift bouquet than one a person buys for herself.
A small two-person table in the kitchen stands in for a dining room. In the shadows, Andrew is staring at something. I wonder if Teresa is there, injured, dead. Have we come all this way for nothing?
And then Andrew looks at me, and whatever I thought before I walked in the house, I was wrong. “Go, Jules. Get—”
“Enough, little brother.”
Andrew steps in front of me, and I know. Without hearing another word, I know who’s in the room. And as the words spoken sink in, I know more than I ever wanted to know.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispers.
“She was your sister-in-law. Teresa was your sister-in-law.”
My words are as much question as statement. I pray that I’m wrong. If I’m not, if the horrible truth settling in on me is true, I’ve been sleeping with the brother of the man who’s been mutilating women.
The man standing in the living room, a slightly older version of Andrew, is handsome. It isn’t shocking. A lot of serial killers are attractive. They lure in victims. Either looks or charisma is a part of their arsenal. The 9mm gun atop the back cushions of the ugly floral sofa beside him is more shocking than the look of the man.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” The happiness in the Carolina Creeper’s voice makes my skin crawl.
“Then I can leave.” I take two steps backwards.
He laughs and lifts the gun from the back of the sofa. “You know me, Juliana. No lies. Not with us. My little brother is the liar here. Not you. Not me.”
“Let her go, Reid,” Andrew pleads. “I’m here. I’ll stay and—”
“Shut up.” The Creeper, Reid, is no longer sounding the least bit happy. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t figure out that you stole her?”
“I saved her.”
“She’s. My. Wife.” Reid punches Andrew.
The force of it makes Andrew stumble, but he rights himself quickly. “Tess would be dead by now if I hadn’t helped her back then. She wasn't going to survive being your wife. You were killing her . . . like the others, just slower."
Reid smiles, and I know that we’re not going to get away. Every nightmare I’ve had about the Creeper pales in comparison to the fear flooding my system.
“You’d be surprised what people can survive, little brother.” Reid looks past him to meet my eyes. “You know, though, don’t you? You ran those hands over my pretty things. You felt what I did to them. Did you think of me? In that room? In your room? I thought of you, Juliana.”
Andrew steps backwards, closer to me, as if he can block his brother from touching me.
“You think you’re her knight?” Reid doesn’t look away from me. His words may be directed to Andrew, but they’re for me. “If you loved her, you’d do anything to keep her safe. You’d keep her where no one can touch her, where no one can hurt her, where she isn’t able to be found.”
He smiles again.
“I kept my Tessie safe. She never left the house alone. She never had to deal with people touching her without my permission. I trusted my brothers . . . Did you tell her?” He looks at Andrew only for a moment. “Did you tell Juliana that you fucked my wife? Did you tell her how you raped her?”
I feel like I might vomit.
“Did you tell her that you saw my pretty things?” He watches me the whole time. “He did, you know. He always knew, and he knew I'd need even more of them because he stole my wife. He never told you, though, did he? Those women I sent to you, Juliana. He saw them when they were alive and begging. He knew where they were.”
I can’t speak. The best I can do is shake my head. Images of Ana, of Christine, of Courtney . . . I can see them in my mind, their bodies, their blood.
“Did you know he went with me sometimes, Juliana? He walked through bars and diners and truck stops.” Reid advances on us as he speaks. “He was there when I picked up Ana. He liked her. That’s why I picked her. He said she looked a lot like the woman he loved . . . but I was never sure if he meant my wife or you.”
He’s inches from Andrew, who has backed up so that he is pressed against my body like a shield.
“If you’d kept her happy, if you’d kept her safe, she wouldn’t be here,” Reid tells us both. “You took my wife, little brother. I’ll take yours.”
I want to be strong. I want to think of a way to escape or at the least not whimper, but the man in front of me is a monster. I’ve seen the proof myself.
Reid reaches past Andrew and strokes my face.
“I’m so sorry, Jules,” Andrew says. His voice breaks, and I don’t even know which thing he’s apologizing for right now. I can’t think about the things Reid has just told me, things Andrew didn’t refute.
I’m just like my sister. I feel my stomach tighten like I’m about to vomit.
“Do you think he’ll want to watch when I take you into the bathroom or just listen like he usually does?” Reid presses the barrel of the gun to Andrew’s head. “Or should I just kill you, little brother?”
“Let her go,” Andrew repeats. “Please. . . you can . . . do whatever you want to me. Just let her go, Reid. She’s never done anything wrong.”
Reid lowers the gun.
“I betrayed you,” Andrew says. “I’m the one you’re angry at.”
“Step away from her.”
I clutch at Andrew’s shirt. It’s a reflex more than a choice. I still have no words. I’m not sure there are words that could help.
“I’ll let you choose, little brother. Juliana or Tessie. Who do I take into the bathroom?”
Andrew says nothing for a moment. It’s a sob-gasp noise he makes, but then he manages to say, “Me. You can hurt me.”
With a calmness that I cannot interpret, Reid gestures to me with the gun. “Move aside, Juliana. No cowering behind him. You’re better than that.”
Mutely, I force my hands to release Andrew’s shirt and move sideways.
“Sit.” He points at the sofa.
Once I do, he tells Andrew, “Go to the kitchen. Get the biggest knives you can find in her drawers. Not my knives. Those are for later.”
A cry escapes me again, but neither man looks at me.
“If you try to hurt me, I’ll shoot her.” Reid doesn’t take him gaze away from me.
Once Andrew’s out of the room, Reid shakes his head. “If you’re a good girl, you’ll survive. Tessie survived. She was a good wife.” He looks at Andrew as he returns with a bread knife, a ten-inch chef’s knife, and a paring knife. “There were two more, Buddy. Do you want Juliana to pay for your lies?”
“No.”
He s
ighs and tells me, “I don’t like the thought of hurting him, you know? I let him fuck Tessie. I offered him the pretty things, too. There was no need for him to take my wife away from me.”
I swallow. Arguing seems dangerous, but I can’t agree with him. I can hardly think.
Andrew returns with the first set of knives as well as a second chef knife, a six inch one this time, and a tomato knife. He hands all of them to Reid.
“Sit.”
Andrew obeys.
“We have choices,” Reid says. “You have choices. Juliana or Tessie?”
“No.” Andrew stares at his brother.
“You or me?” Reid lifts the paring knife and extends it toward my chest. The tip of it traces along my collar bone, not breaking the skin. “Do you love her enough to tell me that you’d rather hurt my wife than her? Are you too weak to hurt her? Do you love me enough to give her to me?”
Andrew is sobbing now.
“Andrew! He’ll do it. He’ll . . . hurt me.” I try not to think of the things I know he’s done to other women. I don’t want to bleed, but even more than that, I don’t want Reid to be the one holding knives to my skin. “Andrew can do it. Not you.”
Reid laughs. He trails the knife up the side of my throat until it’s under my jaw. This time, he presses hard enough to cut me. Not a deep cut, but I cry out in pain.
“I have an even better plan, pretty Juliana. Why don’t you show my little brother what Ana felt?”
39
Tess
Michael wants to understand. That’s the difficult part. He wants to, but he can’t. Not with words.
“Do you trust me?” I ask. We’re in his apartment now. I feel able to be here after New York, so I’ve stayed with him.
He closes his laptop and looks at me. “Of course, I do.”
“No matter what?”
Michael smiles at me, and I see the edges falter a little. “I do.”
“Then we’re going to play a game.” I walk away, leaving him there, and go to fix my coffee. He needs this, needs to feel why I stayed with Reid. I’ve been trying to come up with another answer, but there isn’t one that will explain it so clearly.