Coming for You

by Deborah Rogers

  He chin-nods toward the mug. “Do you like my gift, Amelia? I know how badly you wanted that son-of-a-bitch put away.”

  My legs tremble as the cold hard reality hits. My worst fear is here, standing right in front of me.

  “I’m not sorry he’s gone,” I say, surprising myself.

  A flash of uncertainty crosses Rex’s face. I turn and get myself a glass of water from the kitchen faucet.

  “They told me you were dead,” I say with my back to him. “They said they had your DNA.”

  When I look at him again, he’s smiling. “And yet here I am.”

  I nod, getting it. “You used your money. Paid people off.”

  I move past him, carrying my glass of water, taking a seat on the sofa. My Glock is in the top drawer of the side table to the left. But if I go for it now, there’s a good chance he’ll intercept me.

  He stares at me, contemplating. “You’re different.”

  I take a sip of water and try to keep my voice from shaking. “What do you want?”

  He moves to the living room window, half-sitting on the sill.

  “But you’ve struggled, haven’t you? I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I know you’ve tried to rebuild your life, and that is really very admirable, but it has been hard, hasn’t it?” He pauses, waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he continues, “But on the bright side, there’s a new man in your life. Detective Ethan North. Such an earnest and decent law-abiding man. A man who likes you on all fours apparently.”

  I feel violently ill. He pauses, watching me carefully.

  He smiles. “Oh, yes, a very different Amelia.”

  He sits next to me. I can’t breathe. Everything comes back in a rush. The forest. The rape. I don’t want to show him how scared I am but I know I must be leaching it from every pore.

  “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he says, touching my thigh.

  I start to cry. “Please don’t do this. I was just getting my life back on track.”

  I lift my hand to bat away the tears but he catches my wrist.

  “Leave them,” he instructs. “It’s pretty.”

  I look at him, tears blurring my vision.

  “Please, Rex. If you leave now, I’ll never tell a soul you were here.”

  He scratches his chin and pretends to think it over, “Let me consider that for a moment.” He lets out a breath. “No, I don’t think so. I like being here with you too much.”

  I glance at the side table where my Glock is. He sees me looking.

  “I know,” he says, sighing. “You want your gun.” My heart sinks. “You’d use it, too, wouldn’t you? Put a bullet right between my eyes if you had half the chance.”

  Rex pulls my Glock from the small of his back and places it on his knee. I stare at the gun and feel sick. That was my very best chance of getting out of here alive.

  “Take off your sock,” he says.

  I’m startled by his request. “My sock?”

  “I want to see your foot.”

  Suddenly I’m angry. “No.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, you’re shy.”

  He pauses and I think he’s going to let it drop, but he doesn’t.

  Lightly, he touches the gun. “Please take it off, Amelia.”

  I hesitate. Inside I’m fuming. But what choice do I have? Swallowing down my humiliation, I slip off my special compression sock and expose my ugly, mangled foot to him. He crouches and does a 360 to get the full Amelia Kellaway semi-foot experience. He stares, fascinated. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin. I think about kicking him in the face.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” he says, sitting down. “I read about it in the papers. Just like I read everything about you when you came back, including what you said about me.”

  I put my sock back on. I shoot a look at the front door. I could make a run for it, but that would mean wrangling with all the locks and he would get to me before then.

  I need to think of something else so I stall for time. “There are others, aren’t there? Innocent women you’ve killed.”

  Rex’s face darkens. “Oh, you mean your wall of infamy.”

  “Shelly White. Amanda Buckley. Olivia Wendell. You murdered them just like you were going to murder me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes narrowing.

  Emboldened, I carry on. “And what about the missing women? Last count puts them at seventeen. But there are more, aren’t there? You can’t stop. I feel sorry for you. It must be terrible to be so full of hate.”

  “That’s enough now, Amelia.” Rex stands and puts the gun back in his waistband. “It’s time to go.” He points to the kitchen table. “Turn on your laptop. You’re writing a note.”

  I don’t move.

  He sighs as if dealing with a small child. “I know where they all live, Amelia. Every single one of them. All the people near and dear to you. All of the people you love in the world. Mother, Ruth Kellaway (and, yes, the envelope was from me), up in Rochester, in that quaint white and blue two-bedroom weatherboard house on Roberta Drive, such a nice laid-back community there, Amelia, so good for arty types like your mother. Your sister, Becca Tait, wife to Andy Tait, mother to little Nancy and Johnny Tait. Thanks to Andy’s job in university administration, they’ve chosen to raise their growing young family in the nice safe city of Syracuse. They’ve got a swell bungalow they’re in the process of restoring. You should visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to see you. Then there’s Danny, your brother, and his lovely wife, Laura, and their new baby girl, Alice. They’ve just bought their very first house in a super neighborhood in Albany. There’s a big backyard for little Alice to play in and good schools for when she grows up. Then closer to home, how could we forget Mr. Ethan North and his dear old father. Beth and her lovely new wife. Shall I keep going?”

  My mouth goes dry. “No.”

  He turns the laptop to face me. “I’m glad we managed to reach an agreement. Password please.”

  Reluctantly I log on and tap keys as he dictates.

  “Let’s keep this short and simple. Dear friends and family, Please do not be concerned, but I need some time on my own to think. I have been going through a difficult time and feel that some space will do me good. I will return when I’m ready. Thank you for understanding. With love, Amelia.”

  I consider including a hidden message, but it’s impossible with him standing over my shoulder. He pivots the laptop toward himself and reads.

  “Good.”

  I get up. “I need to bring my foot meds with me. They’re in my purse.” He doesn’t stop me as I cross the floor to retrieve my purse from the kitchen counter. My cell rings, startling us both. I snatch it from the counter. It’s Ethan. I quickly hit accept and his voice fills the line.

  “Amelia, you’ve got to get out of there! Rex Hawkins is alive! He killed Kennedy! We got a DNA hit from the crime scene.”

  “Ethan, he’s here!”

  Rex takes two steps forward, grabs the phone from me, and smashes it against the wall. He turns to me, his face twisted in anger.

  “What a stupid thing to do.”

  He grabs my hair. I scream out in pain and he clamps his hand over my mouth. I struggle against his grip, my heels slipping against the tiled kitchen floor.

  “You think you can get away from me, Amelia?” he hisses in my ear.

  Behind me, I feel the cutlery drawer pressing into my back. I reach around and pull out a carving knife. Rex jumps back.

  “Get the hell away from me,” I splutter.

  Rex holds up his hands. “Don’t do anything reckless, Amelia.”

  “You’re the reckless one, Rex. You got sloppy. DNA at the Kennedy crime scene? I expected better from you.”

  “Give me the knife.”

  “I will not.”

  “Don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I raise my voice. “Who the hell do you think you are? How dare y
ou come into my house. How dare you threaten my family. How dare you threaten me.”

  He wipes his face with his hands and shouts, “Give me the fucking knife!”

  “Ethan will be here soon. With reinforcements. You’re going to prison for a very long time.”

  He rushes for me and I plunge the knife right into his chest. He yells and stumbles backward, and the knife sticks out of his body like some crazy Halloween party trick. I stare in disbelief at what I have done. Move, I hear the voice tell me. Move as fast as you can. So I do, snatching the Glock from in his waistband, then running down the hallway. Behind me I hear the tink of metal on metal as Rex tosses the knife in the sink, then the sound of his footsteps thundering after me. I make it to my bedroom and slam the door shut, my slippery, bloody hands fumbling with the lock, only just turning it closed before Rex shoulder-charges the door. I back away and watch the door bounce on its hinges.

  “Amelia! Open the fucking door!”

  I hold out the gun. The door breaks apart and Rex leaps through it, arms outstretched, ready to get me. I fire and the bullet flies into the timber frame above his head. I fire again but he’s on me, batting the gun out of my hand, and the shot goes into the ceiling.

  He slams me into the wall. “You think you can get away from me!”

  I feel his hands around my neck, squeezing, crushing my windpipe. I claw at his fingers, shredding his skin, but his grip only tightens. Everything turns fuzzy at the edges. I’m losing consciousness. Somewhere in the back of my head, I hear a voice. So this is it. This is how you will meet your end. I stare into his cold black eyes, hoping to reach some hidden part of his humanity. But he is somewhere else far from here. I’m fading, the gray darkness is closing in. I’m so sad that Rex Hawkins’s face will be the last thing I ever see.

  I wake up alone in my bedroom, lying on top of my bed. My hands fly to my aching neck and I start coughing. God. It hurts so much. I swallow and groan in pain. But at least I’m alive.

  I sit up and I’m hit with an almighty dizzy spell. I wait for it to pass. Take five deep breaths. Outside there are sirens in the distance. I pray they are coming for me.

  “I never wanted it to be like this, Amelia.”

  I jump, startled by the sound of Rex’s voice. I peer over the side of the bed and there he is, clammy and drained of color, propped up against the wall, his shirt soaked with blood.

  “I’m sorry. I truly am,” he says.

  The sirens grow louder.

  “There’s no way out, Rex. They’re almost here.”

  He nods sadly. He looks at me, face softening. “I miss my horses, Amelia. My ranch. My old life. You would have liked it there I’m sure.” He winces and touches his wound. “You got me good, didn’t you? You always were a fighter.” He knocks the tip of the Glock against the wooden floor. “Why don’t you come down here and sit next to me?”

  “What are you going to do?” I say, feeling the dread flood my veins.

  “Shoot you then myself? How about that?”

  I can’t speak.

  “What? You don’t like that option, Amelia? What would you like me to do? Hand myself in like a good ol’ boy?” He smiles at my discomfort. “Of course you would. But how much fun would that be?”

  Wincing, he shifts from his position against the wall and tries to stand. For a moment, he sways there on his knees then manages to raise himself upward. He waves the gun at me.

  “Lie down.”

  I don’t move.

  “Go on. On your front, face into the pillow.”

  “No.”

  “Do as I say.”

  I shake my head. “I want to look you in the eye.”

  He stares at me.

  “I sure am going to miss you, Amelia.”

  Tears burn my eyes. I think of my mom. I think of Ethan and how we made love in this bed.

  “Just do it,” I say.

  “Goodbye, Amelia.”

  Then he turns and walks out the door. It takes me a moment to process what’s happening. At first I feel relief. I’m alive. He didn’t shoot me. I didn’t die in my bed. But then it hits me. If he gets away now he’ll be able to torment me whenever he likes. He’ll be able to come and go whenever he pleases. He’ll be like a mutating virus and I’ll be like its long-suffering victim. I cannot let that happen.

  I get off the bed and enter the hallway. “Wait.”

  Rex stops and turns. “What is…”

  Before he can finish the sentence, I launch myself at him, using the weight of my body to tip him off balance, just as Beth taught me. We both crash to the floor and his head collides with the corner of the baseboard and he lets out a moan. I try to snatch the gun away from him but he’s holding on too tight. Gritting my teeth, I jam my elbow into his wound as hard as I can and he screams in pain and loosens his grip. The gun falls from his hand, disappearing somewhere beneath us. We struggle for control, our bodies twisting and turning as we wrestle each other. I feel something pressing into my shoulder blade. I flip over and my fingertips touch the cool polymer exterior of my Glock.

  There’s pounding on the front door. They are here. Ethan is here.

  Then something happens. My lips go numb. The world turns black and white at the edges. Oh no, not now. Please, God, not a blackout now. I’m half aware of Rex, getting to his knees, standing. The gun, where is my gun? Is it in my hand?

  “What did you say?” he says.

  I imagine pulling the trigger. Then I’m gone.

  37

  I am all alone in a beautiful walled garden. Quiet. Sunlit. A pool of crystal-clear water glimmers at its center. I lay naked on warm rocks, watching a northern breeze ripple through the treetops, listening to the hum of bumblebees, the whir of a hummingbird drawing nectar.

  I am totally without fear. I am a marvel and all around me is a marvel too. The smell and sights of a good world. Then I see it. Encroaching on this sacred space. A snake, gliding through the grass, hissing its forked tongue, black beady eyes upon me. So I pick up a rock and smash in its head.

  “Hey you.”

  My beautiful walled garden vanishes.

  “Don’t cry.”

  I open my eyes. Ethan’s kind face is above me. I reach up and touch his cheek.

  “You’re safe now,” he says.

  I smell blood. I turn my head and see swirls of crimson on the floor, discarded bloody swabs and tissues scattered everywhere.

  “Where am I? What happened?” My lips feel like two fat blisters.

  I try to think back, to put everything in order. Nothing fits. My head pounds. I moan and press my hands to my skull. I try to sit up. Ethan gently pushes me back down.

  “Can’t you give her something for the pain?” he says to someone over my head.

  I smell Lysol and latex, feel a tug on my arm, a prick on my skin.

  “Amelia, they’re going to lift you onto the gurney now. Okay?” Wheels squeak beside my head. Someone says one, two, three and up I go. Ouch. My arm.

  “You okay? Is your arm sore? I think her arm’s broken.”

  I glimpse the bloody swirls on the floor again. Then I remember.

  “Rex,” I say, sitting upright.

  A hand lowers me back down.

  “Lie flat, miss. You’ve knocked your head.”

  Ethan comes to me and holds my hand.

  “I’m sorry for not believing you,” he says.

  I raise my bloody hands and look at them.

  “I shot him?”

  Ethan nods. They begin wheeling me out of the apartment.

  “I’ll follow in my car,” Ethan says to one of the medics.

  I grab Ethan’s arm. “Did he get away?”

  Ethan looks at me. “They’re taking you to Bellevue. I’ll meet you there.”

  I clutch Ethan’s arm tighter. “Tell me, Ethan. Did he get away?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Amelia, we can talk about this later. You need medica
l treatment.”

  “I need to know, Ethan. Did I kill him?”

  He hesitates, as if searching for the right thing to say. He glances back at the bloody mess on the floor. “He went into cardiac arrest twice but they stabilized him. Last I heard the son-of-a-bitch is still with us.”

  I feel bitter disappointment. “He’s still alive?”

  Ethan nods. He bends and kisses me on the forehead. “Now please let them take care of you.”

  They take me away, the three medics carrying me and the gurney down the stairs because the elevator with the scissor gate is too small. They wheel me into the back of the ambulance. I quietly exhale. I close my eyes and think.

  Epilogue

  The weekend away to Nantucket is Ethan’s idea. He surprises me after work on Friday with an overnight bag, exactly one year after the incident with Rex Hawkins. Although Ethan makes no mention of this, I know, of course. Details like that are important to me.

  I have a pile of work to do for an upcoming trial, so my first instinct is to say I can’t go. But as I look at Ethan standing there, silly grin on his face, cheeks flushed with excitement and just a smidgen of pride, I decide that some things are more important than work.

  We arrive on the island in the middle of a vicious squall. Rain batters the windshield of our rental as we hunt the backroads for the Airbnb Ethan booked. We finally locate it at Siasconset Beach, on the eastern end of Nantucket Island. A pretty one-bedroom cottage, set back from the beach on its own grassed section with unobstructed views of the ocean. Ethan and I go from room to room, charmed by the cozy décor. The old stone fireplace filled with sawed logs waiting to be lit. The ancient rolled-armed sofa covered in a hand-crocheted afghan. The clawfoot bath and wrought iron double bed covered with a handstitched settler’s quilt.