He Started It

by Samantha Downing

  ‘You’re a monster,’ I say.

  ‘Stop it,’ Eddie says. ‘She was a bitch. That’s all Nikki ever was. A selfish, lying, scheming bitch.’

  He’s wrong. We’re the selfish, lying, scheming bitches. Not Nikki.

  Once again, I consider revealing Nikki’s secret and telling Eddie that he didn’t just kill Nikki; he killed her baby. But I can’t, I just can’t. And there’s no point in revealing Nikki’s secret now. Eddie wouldn’t even care.

  I take a step closer to him. ‘If she was a selfish, lying, scheming bitch, what does that make you?’

  ‘Alive.’

  Asshole.

  ‘So is this your plan, psycho?’ Portia says. ‘Come out here, gather up the evidence of your murders, and then kill us?’

  It sounds ridiculous, but for a moment, I’m surprised to find that I don’t care. My mission was Nikki, first, last, always.

  The money distracted me, yes, because it’s a hell of a lot of money. After I heard about the job cuts at work, it became even more important. My husband distracted me, yes, but at least I learned it was never going to work out. However, since the beginning, before the trip even started, it was about Nikki.

  It’s been a month since Grandpa died and was cremated. That’s how long it took for all of us to rearrange our schedules and get time off work for a two-week road trip. During that time, I prepared. I bought one of those poster maps of the United States, and I hung it up in the closet of our extra bedroom. The one Felix never used. I plotted out the whole trip, double-checking to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, hadn’t forgotten anywhere we stopped.

  I called each one of the museums and attractions we had visited, making sure they were still in business and would be available during the trip. I even called some of the motels I remembered, just in case we ended up staying in the same places.

  Something in me knew this would be the end of my search. I’d find Nikki, I knew I would. I could feel it like it was a living thing inside me. Maybe that’s what it’s like to be pregnant. I liked thinking of it that way. It was one more connection to her.

  Have you ever wanted something so much, you go ahead and pretend you have it?

  Like maybe your house isn’t perfect, but you tell people it’s your dream home so many times you start to believe it. Or perhaps you hate your job but you won’t give it up, because maybe the next one will be worse, so you convince yourself it’s not that bad. It is. You’re just pretending it’s not.

  This is how I’ve convinced myself Nikki is still alive, because I can’t face a world without her. And I can’t face what I did. Moving to Florida, following Cooper, writing the journals – it was all because I wanted to find her. Had to find her.

  My fault, my fault, my fault.

  One time, I thought about telling Felix everything. It was when we were engaged. He knew nothing about Nikki and he thought my parents had died in a car crash. It sounded so commonplace that he didn’t question it.

  We had just been to the movies, one of those Oscar-nominated dramas that’s all about family secrets and regrets and no one ends up happy. I guess that’s what made me want to say something – the fear of ending up like that. During the drive home, I thought I should tell him everything. Well, most of it. Not the part where Eddie shot the private investigator.

  As fate would have it, Felix’s favorite song came on the radio. It probably won’t surprise you to know Felix was a big fan of eighties music. There he was, belting out Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me,’ and I knew the moment was gone.

  I never tried again, but that doesn’t mean the guilt has gone away. If anything, it has grown over the years – multiplied by a billion after I saw my mother. It was just like one of those melodramatic movies.

  But, finally, the second road trip would let me fix what I had done.

  That’s what I believed, as much as I believed Nikki was out there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing she would one day get her chance at revenge, maybe against me, but definitely against Eddie. It’s why I’ve never stopped looking, why I moved to Florida, why I wrote that diary in her words.

  It’s why I’ve done everything.

  I fall to my knees on the ground, in front of Eddie.

  A lie, all of it. The worst kind of lie, because I made up an entire story about Nikki being out there, still alive, and then I convinced myself it was true.

  I look up at Eddie, that shiny gun in his hand, and I know I’m ready. It doesn’t matter if I die now. I don’t even care now that I know Nikki is dead.

  Except for one thing. Eddie would win.

  ‘You can’t shoot us,’ I say, standing back up. ‘You’d never get away with it.’

  He smiles a little.

  ‘We’re the only ones here,’ I say. ‘You think the police won’t figure out who did it? Because I don’t think self-defense is going to work against two unarmed women.’

  Eddie continues to smile.

  Portia’s voice rings out over the desert. ‘Button, button, who’s got the button?’ She singsongs the word to that old children’s game.

  I turn to see her holding that gold button, flicking it up in the air, and catching it like it’s a coin.

  That button came from Calvin Bingham’s jacket. She kept it all these years.

  ‘This isn’t over yet,’ she says. ‘We’re just getting started.’

  The shift in focus is tangible, like the wind has changed directions. All the energy directed toward Eddie now flows to Portia. So does Eddie’s gun. He now points it at her instead of at me. ‘Where did you get that?’ he says.

  Portia stops tossing the button long enough to look insulted. ‘I’ve always had it. Of course, I know it doesn’t mean anything now. It’s not like it could be used as evidence or anything.’

  ‘Then why keep it?’ he says.

  ‘So I never forget what an asshole you are.’

  ‘Me? What about Nikki?’

  ‘You’re asking the wrong question,’ she says. ‘The right question is, how long have I been waiting for this moment?’

  Her eyes twinkle and it isn’t from the sun.

  ‘No guesses?’ she says. ‘Well, then I’ll just tell you. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was six years old.’

  Eddie backs up a step and I do the same, which is saying something, considering her only weapon is a button.

  ‘You assholes,’ she says. ‘Both of you. All you did was use me. I was abused by Grandpa, but it was a lie. I was the ally you needed, depending on who was in charge, and I was the one who put pills in the cocoa but didn’t even know it –’

  ‘That was Nikki,’ Eddie says.

  ‘Shut. Up.’ Portia takes a deep breath. ‘And you’re going to want to hold up on shooting anyone until you hear what I have to say.’

  Eddie hesitates, thinking about it, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. ‘About what?’ he finally says.

  Portia smiles. Grins, really. ‘Your financial situation.’

  Eddie shifts his weight a little, says nothing.

  ‘You see,’ Portia says. ‘Given my current line of work, I’ve learned how to do a few things. Other than take my clothes off, of course.’

  ‘Take your clothes off? You’re a waitress,’ Eddie says.

  ‘She’s a stripper,’ I say. ‘Keep up.’

  ‘That’s right, I am,’ she says. ‘And one of the many things I’ve learned in my profession is that people aren’t very good at keeping their secrets.’ She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. ‘Most of them are kept right in here.’

  ‘Are you drunk?’ Eddie says.

  ‘Not today, no. But even if I was, I could still see your phone code and get into it whenever I want.’

  The phone.

  I remember my own turned-over phone back in one of our first motels. I remember all the nights she stayed with us, or with Eddie, with plenty of time to search our phones while we slept. I remember all the things she stole on the first trip, with
out my noticing, even when I was sitting in the same van.

  Always the sneaky one.

  ‘What I know about you,’ she says to Eddie, ‘is that your financial situation is fucked. Your bank account is basically empty, your house is mortgaged well beyond what it’s worth, and’ – she pauses here to tilt her head and smile; I imagine that works well at her job – ‘you’ve got gambling problems that are a lot bigger than that man in the black truck.’

  ‘You bitch,’ Eddie says.

  Portia smiles. ‘But what I found most interesting are those offshore accounts. Avoiding taxes, are we?’

  ‘Oh please. Everybody does it,’ Eddie says.

  ‘That doesn’t make it legal. And it doesn’t mean you can’t get arrested for it,’ she says, taking a step closer to Eddie. ‘Who do you think they’re going to suspect when we turn up dead? Some random stranger in the desert, or the guy that inherits all the money and has a gambling problem?’

  Eddie doesn’t answer.

  ‘So here’s the deal,’ she says. ‘I’ve set up a transfer from your main account. Once we get back to civilization and get the cash part of our inheritance, you’re going to give all your money to me.’

  ‘Like hell I am,’ he says.

  ‘Like hell you are. If you cancel or otherwise screw with that transfer, an e-mail will automatically go to the IRS, detailing all your bullshit,’ she says with a shrug. ‘Because you can’t have the money if you’re in jail.’

  Eddie clenches his jaw. ‘That fucking rule. I told Grandpa not to put that rule about jail in there. He was still so pissed at Mom.’

  ‘Sucks for you,’ Portia says.

  Honestly, I bet Grandpa would be proud if he could see us now. His grandchildren have found themselves wrapped inside a devil’s knot. No way out unless someone dies or gets arrested.

  ‘Well done,’ I say to Portia.

  ‘Well done?’ Eddie yells at me. ‘Well fucking done? Jesus Christ, you really are pathetic.’

  That’s me, the pathetic one. The sad runner-up to Nikki. Finally, I’ve come to accept my role. ‘Did you set me up, too?’ I ask Portia.

  ‘You bet I did. All of your money is coming my way, too. Your phone was even easier to get into.’ Portia gives me a look that makes me feel worse than I did a second ago. ‘Otherwise you’re headed straight to a psych ward. Really, Beth. That journal? You need help. You really do.’

  She’s right about that. She’s right about everything. We did use her. Portia was just a pawn in the game back then, too young to play or fight back.

  ‘Screw this,’ Eddie says. He takes a step toward Portia, I can practically see the anger swelling up inside of him. He looks just like he did back at the UFO Watchtower, when he got into a fight with Clemson. Anger always gets the best of him.

  ‘What if I just shoot you?’ he says. ‘I might end up in jail, but you’ll be dead.’

  Portia walks toward him and stops just a couple feet away. ‘Go ahead. Kill me.’

  His arm tightens and his face is red with anger, because Eddie knows he has lost this game. You always know when you’ve lost, even if the game isn’t over yet. Risk taught us that, and we still played it out to the bitter end. You have to.

  Eddie points at Portia’s chest. A heart shot, then. Not the head.

  When I see his finger twitch, I close my eyes.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  I open my eyes to see Eddie looking at the gun. ‘What the hell?’ he says.

  Portia laughs. ‘You idiot,’ she says. ‘I didn’t just steal your phone code. I stole all your bullets.’

  Eddie lowers the gun and takes a deep breath, and his face slowly returns to its normal color.

  Now he starts to laugh.

  Not a small laugh, but a huge belly laugh that makes him double over. Portia and I exchange a look, like we’re both thinking the same thing. Eddie has finally lost whatever is left of his mind.

  When he finally stops and wipes the tears from his eyes, he says, ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter?’ I repeat.

  ‘Nope. Not one bit.’

  We’re interrupted by the music.

  ‘I Think I’m Paranoid’ blasts through the air. Everyone freezes for a second, and we all turn, looking for the source. The music grows louder.

  It drowns out the sound of the engine, so we see the van before we hear it. The greyish-green van jerks to a stop right in front of us, music pouring out of it like a physical presence.

  Behind the wheel, a woman with flaxen hair. She gets out of the car, all that wild hair flying, and she walks straight toward the three of us.

  Nikki.

  I knew it, I always knew it. I felt it in my heart, just like Mom did.

  Portia takes a step back. I take a step forward because she must be coming to me, to see me, to hug me.

  Instead she goes straight to Eddie. He welcomes her into his arms and I watch, with horror, as he kisses her on the mouth. Not a sister kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. At the same time, Eddie reaches up and pulls off her flaxen hair.

  A wig.

  Dark hair tumbles down, settling around her shoulders.

  Krista.

  It feels like my knees are about to buckle all over again, that’s how strong the disappointment is. The heartbreak.

  ‘Surprise,’ Eddie says.

  ‘What. The. Fuck.’ Portia’s voice is loud. Angry.

  ‘You know, I’m glad you took those bullets,’ Eddie says. ‘You just saved me from a big complication.’

  Krista looks at him. ‘Complication?’

  Her voice sounds different, harder than it was before. Not bubbly at all.

  ‘No worries, baby. I’ll explain later,’ Eddie says. Then he turns to us. ‘I was never going to kill either one of you. But, if necessary, our long-lost sister will.’

  ‘That makes zero sense,’ Portia says.

  Eddie smiles down at Krista, who beams back at him. ‘You ever watch those crime documentaries? Like on Netflix or Hulu?’

  As the conversation takes a turn for the weird, Portia and I exchange a look.

  ‘If you haven’t, you should,’ Eddie says. ‘I’m talking about Ruby Ridge, Waco, Columbine, the Central Park Five … All of them have one thing in common. In every single one of those cases, the media got it wrong. Completely wrong. The story you think you know isn’t the story at all.’ He turns to Krista and says, ‘Isn’t that right, baby?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she says.

  ‘Take Richard Jewell. The bombing at the Atlanta Olympics. Remember that?’

  We all remember that, except maybe Portia. It happened a few years before the road trip, when we lived in Atlanta, just a few miles from the Olympic Park. The bombing and what happened afterward was the first big news story of my life. Day in and day out, we watched coverage of the bombing and the summer Olympics together, like they were the same thing.

  ‘First he was a hero, then he was a suspect,’ Eddie says. ‘And it was all because of the media. They decided he had to be guilty because he was the one who discovered the bomb. They said he made himself into being the hero. Lies, all lies. He didn’t do a single thing wrong, but the whole country thought he was guilty.’

  True. Richard Jewell was the guy, without a doubt. Even Tom Brokaw said it, and our parents loved Tom Brokaw.

  ‘So just imagine,’ Eddie continues. ‘What the media would do if they thought some long-lost psychotic girl returned to kill her siblings in the desert? Obviously someone has to survive to tell that story, am I right?’ Using the gun, he points to himself. ‘And since I’m the only man – much bigger and stronger than either of you – it only makes sense that I’m the sole survivor.’

  I shake my head, still trying to clear it from the meltdown Krista almost gave me. And their plan starts to make sense.

  Who better to seek revenge than the sister we left in the woods? A demented, angry, and now homicidal sister. Everyone will be looking f
or the girl with the flaxen hair. No doubt she’s been caught on traffic cameras around the country. The media is going to love it.

  ‘You’ve been setting us up the whole time,’ Portia says.

  ‘Got that right,’ Krista says. ‘Who do you think stole the ashes? Carved on the tree?’ Her eyes land on me. ‘Or put that cell phone in the woods?’

  ‘I have to admit,’ Eddie says to me. ‘We tried to mess with you so much, I wasn’t sure you’d make it. You’re so delusional about Nikki, I was pretty sure you’d have a breakdown. The fact that you’re still here and still standing is pretty impressive.’

  Eddie and Krista look so happy, so proud of themselves. She has her arms wrapped around him, and I get a glimpse of the gun tucked in the waistband of her shorts.

  Of course. That’s the gun for us, not Eddie’s. If it comes to that.

  ‘But you won’t kill us,’ I say, working out their plan in my head. ‘If we agree to give you all the money.’

  Eddie points at me with his empty gun. ‘Well, well, well. Look who grew a brain.’

  ‘Dick,’ Portia says. ‘I can put you in jail. Then you get nothing anyway.’

  ‘You’ll die first. No way that’s going to happen,’ Eddie says. ‘You must know that if you can get into my phone, I can get into yours. That e-mail to the IRS is going nowhere.’

  She shuts her mouth because it’s true. The devil’s rope just got tighter, and it doesn’t feel good.

  For the second time today, I find myself saying, ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Eddie says. ‘Although, I thought it might be a little poetic if you did die. Then your name would be linked to Nikki’s forever.’

  Krista laughs.

  ‘That’s cruel,’ I say.

  ‘So is life, but what can you do?’ Eddie says with a shrug. ‘Are we good here? You’re both going to give me your inheritance, am I right?’ He points to the car, toward the bloody shirt and the ashtrays. ‘And remember, if either of you get out of line, just know I can always blame her death on you. Maybe it won’t stick, but it’ll make your lives a lot more difficult.’ He looks at me. ‘Especially since it was your T-shirt.’

  Either way this goes, we’re screwed and Eddie wins. If he kills us, Nikki gets the blame. If we try to screw him, he’ll use that evidence to claim one of us killed her. Turns out he’s the smart one.