Let Me Go

by Chelsea Cain

  Archie looked at the screen and then back at her. Susan was a snoop by nature. She needed to know everything, especially if it concerned her even in the most tangential sense. Most of the time Archie found that rather charming, but right now it was not charming at all. He needed to see that footage. She had no idea what was at stake.

  “Leo used a choke hold on me,” Archie explained. “He had his reasons. Which he shared with me later.”

  “A choke hold?” Susan asked, arms still crossed.

  Archie sighed. Fine. “He stepped next to me,” Archie said, pivoting slightly behind Susan. “Close, like this. I thought he was going to tell me something he didn’t want overheard, but instead he put his arm around my neck and pressed his forearm here.” Archie reached around Susan, hooking his elbow lightly under her neck, and anchoring his wrist with his other hand. The move required him to tuck his body against hers, as he pulled her back into his arms. He could feel her pulse on the inside of his elbow, but she didn’t protest. “It compresses the carotid artery,” Archie explained, his arm pressing ever so gently against her neck. “Your brain can’t get enough oxygen.” His mouth was next to her ear, just as Leo’s had been next to Archie’s when he’d told him not to struggle. “This warm blackness just sort of overwhelms you,” Archie told her. Her hair smelled like peppermint. He could taste it in the air. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes straining to access her peripheral vision. “When it’s done right, it just takes a few seconds before everything shuts down. Your arms and legs go numb, and you black out.” She was very still. She did not move out of his arms. Instead she leaned back into him, releasing her weight into his arms, the back of her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. “He left me on the floor,” Archie continued. “Blackouts from a choke hold usually last a few minutes. Assuming you don’t break someone’s neck. But when Leo came back, I was gone. He assumed I had come to, and gotten out of there.”

  “But you hadn’t,” Susan said. She was pressed against him. Had he pulled her that close, or had she backed into him more tightly? He could feel the heat between them, clouding his head. Archie dropped his arms and stepped back. “I didn’t come to until shortly before I saw you this morning,” he said. “About five hours later.”

  Susan’s cheeks were pink. She reached a hand to her neck. “So how did you get to the boathouse?” she asked, looking sideways at him.

  Archie pointed at the screen.

  “Okay, okay.” Susan started the video loading again.

  They stood together in awkward silence, watching the status bar.

  Seventy-five percent loaded.

  Eighty-two percent loaded.

  Ninety percent loaded.

  An image appeared in the black box. It took a moment for Archie to orient himself. The footage was at night and in black-and-white. But the center of the image was well lit by an outdoor post light, the shadow of a gargoyle, wings outstretched, alighted on its top. Archie could make out the embankment, part of the dock, the edge of the lake. He could even visualize which corner of the boathouse the camera was mounted to. It was not where he’d awoken that morning, but it was close.

  Susan hit the play arrow.

  Nothing happened.

  “It’s not working,” Archie said.

  “Yes, it is,” Susan said. “Nothing’s happening, so nothing’s happening.”

  She was right. If he looked closely, he could see the tree branches moving, sequins of light reflected on the lake.

  They watched for a few minutes, and then Archie said, “Fast forward.”

  Susan clicked on the progress arrow and dragged it to the right and the image blinked by faster. Then Archie saw the jerky motions of bodies moving into the frame.

  “Stop,” he said.

  But Susan had already stopped.

  They both stared at the frozen image on the screen. Archie tasted something salty and metallic in his mouth. Blood. He had bitten the inside of his cheek. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Back it up,” he said.

  The figures on the screen stepped backward out of the frame.

  “Hit play again,” Archie said.

  Susan looked over at him.

  “Do it,” Archie said.

  Susan hit a key.

  For a long moment, there was just more nothing. The ferns moved in the night air. The lake sat cold. The dark ground was hard and silent. Archie wasn’t sure if the video had sound, but if it did there wasn’t any to hear anyway. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen. And then Archie stumbled into the frame. He recognized himself immediately. His head was down, chin knocking against his chest. He had his arm slung around a woman.

  Archie’s chest tightened. He was only half aware of grabbing the edge of the countertop with his hand to steady himself.

  The woman was supporting him, guiding him along, keeping him upright, like someone escorting a drunk home after a bender. She had her arm circled around his waist. Her hair was dark and fell past her shoulders. She was wearing a body-hugging evening gown with a deep V that cut down her chest almost to her navel and a slit that reached halfway up her thigh. Even though the video was in black-and-white, Archie knew that dress was red. The woman led him to the embankment and then lowered him to his knees. He teetered there, kneeling before her, leaning against her legs, until she knelt beside him and guided him gently onto his back on the ground.

  She looked up at the camera then. And like a magician revealing a trick, she reached her fingers under the scalp above her forehead and peeled off the dark wig. Her light hair fell to her shoulders and there she was. Voilà. Gretchen Lowell.

  Archie heard Susan’s sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.

  Gretchen said something directly into the camera. Archie could see her lips move.

  “Jesus Christ,” he heard Susan say. It was muffled, like she’d said it through her hands, like she was covering her mouth.

  On the video, Gretchen curled over Archie. The red dress was cut low in the back, and he could see the shadows of her vertebrae coiled over his lifeless body. Gretchen had always had a beautiful back. Elegant. Like a dancer’s.

  She lowered her head next to his, her hair falling like a blond curtain, swallowing his face. She was talking to him, Archie realized. She was whispering something in his ear. As she did, she walked one hand down his chest and over his groin.

  Standing there, in his kitchen, he felt her touch, the flow of blood and warmth as he got hard despite himself. He shifted his position, hoping that Susan wouldn’t notice.

  Gretchen lay beside him on the ground and moved her hand along the inside of her own leg and up under her dress.

  Her hips rocked. An uncomfortable heat swelled in Archie’s chest.

  Her head was still beside his, as if immersed in their private conversation, but she was clinging to him now, her body wrapped around his like a snake, her hips grinding against the hand she had pinned between her body and his thigh. The tent of his erection as he lay there on the ground was clearly visible. But he couldn’t be blamed for how his body responded. Susan must know that.

  Archie could hear Susan breathing beside him.

  He still couldn’t look over at her. He couldn’t bear to see her face.

  Then Gretchen stood. She hitched her dress up around her waist and kept her eyes on the camera as she stepped around his body and put a high-heeled foot on either side of his head.

  She wasn’t wearing underwear. Archie could see a thin shadow of pubic hair on her pelvis as she lowered herself down and sat on top of his face. She started grinding herself against him, keeping her own hand working in hard circles, the dress pooled around her waist. Her mouth was open. Her eyes were slits. Her head was tilted back. It didn’t take long. Gretchen always came easily. She was like a raw nerve.

  Her shoulders jerked forward and her head dropped. She kept rubbing at herself, harder and faster, and then her shoulders heaved again and she drove her fingers up inside between her legs and ro
lled her head back. He heard Gretchen gasp.

  But the video didn’t have any sound. It had been Susan’s gasp.

  Gretchen lifted her head and gazed at the camera with a serene smile. Then she stood up, and let the dress fall around her legs as she stepped away from Archie’s body, leaving him unconscious on the ground.

  Archie heard Susan moving away from the kitchen bar, stumbling backward. He couldn’t move, couldn’t turn his head after her. He stared at the screen, the impact of what he was seeing too overwhelming for him to respond.

  Susan gasped again, although now Archie recognized the sound for what it was—a retch.

  He closed his eyes, blocking it all out. This wasn’t happening.

  “I’m going to throw up,” Susan said.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Henry was pacing. His broad face was tense, jaw muscles bulging, his cheeks flushed. Archie sat on the couch, his legs and arms crossed, wishing he could be somewhere else. Susan sat curled up on the opposite end. The space between them felt impenetrable.

  Their laptops, in contrast, sat snugly next to each other on the kitchen bar—Susan’s sleek silver Mac, covered in old stickers, and Archie’s stoic department-issue black PC. The image on Archie’s laptop screen was paused at the point where Gretchen had left the frame and Archie’s body lay prone on the ground. Henry had watched the footage when he’d arrived, while Archie and Susan sat on the couch not talking. Susan’s green eyes were wide and her lips were half their normal size. She sat cross-legged, her yellow sneakers on the couch, her arms around a red throw pillow she’d pulled onto her lap. She had worried a loose thread at the corner of the pillow until it had formed a puddle of string in her palm, and the pillow’s piping had come completely off one side. Archie had liked that pillow, but he hadn’t asked her to stop.

  Henry stopped pacing and turned to Archie. “Are you sure it’s her?” Henry asked.

  Archie gave him a tired look.

  Henry lowered his head and returned to pacing. “Okay, it’s her.” He glanced back at Archie. “I guess we know where that hair came from.”

  “She was on the island,” Archie said. He’d known it. He’d said as much to Henry, but he decided that now might not be a good I-told-you-so moment.

  Henry put his hands together. “We have all the video files?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Archie said. “I think so.” He tried to catch Susan’s eye, but she remained focused on deconstructing his throw pillow.

  “We’ll get Ngyun to review them all,” Henry said. “See if she appears on any of the others. See if there’s any footage of Lisa Watson in there, while we’re at it.”

  Archie nodded, but he didn’t think they’d find Gretchen in any of the other footage. Leo or someone on the island had reviewed all the video files before they turned them over, and Leo had only mentioned the boathouse camera.

  “This was all for you,” Susan said stiffly. Her eyes were on the pillow in her lap. Her fingers were still tugging at the thread. “She risked coming back here, risked getting caught, because it was your birthday,” she said.

  Henry had stopped pacing. The air in the room felt cold and still.

  Archie didn’t know what she wanted him to say. It was true. He should have seen it coming. He should have known that Gretchen would use the occasion to make a point. He should have been prepared.

  “But it wasn’t enough for her to see you,” Susan said, pulling out another thread. “She wanted you to know. That’s why she sent me that message. That’s why she let herself be filmed by the security camera. Why she probably murdered that girl. She wanted you to know that she came back on your birthday.” She fixed her gaze on him, eyes like green glass. “She wanted you to see her”—her mouth twisted in disgust—“all over you.”

  Archie tried to meet her eyes, but found it physically painful. He searched for something else to look at, anything but her. His hands. The coffee table. Of all the people in the world, Susan was the last Archie would have chosen to see that video, though he would never tell her that. Even Ginger had abandoned him, retreating under the coffee table and staring up at him with abject disappointment. Henry had gotten very interested in something out the window.

  “How was this supposed to go, Archie?” Susan demanded. “Did she think you’d like the performance? Are you flattered? Does it turn you on?”

  “No,” Archie said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and took a breath. “No,” he said again. He needed to make her understand. His body might betray him when it came to Gretchen, but his mind was clear. But it wasn’t enough for Susan. That was evident. She was looking at him with tears in her eyes. He’d seen the same wounded frustration on Debbie’s face. That was Gretchen’s weapon. He could recover physically, he could give up pills, but he would never be better. “I don’t get to have a life without her,” he said to Susan. He shrugged helplessly. He couldn’t fight the truth anymore. He was too worn-out. “She can find me anytime. She is there. Even when I think I’m alone. She’ll never let me go.” The words hung in the room. “That’s what this was about. That’s what she wanted me to know.” He said it again: “She will never let me go.” He forced himself to hold Susan’s gaze, hoping she understood what he was trying to say. “And she sent you that message because she wanted to make sure you knew it, too.”

  Didn’t Susan see it? Gretchen had figured out what Archie had worked so hard to keep from Susan. She knew how much he cared for Susan, and she was taking proactive measures to eliminate the possibility of anything happening between them.

  Susan balled up the thread in her hands and flung it on the couch cushion. “You know what I think?” she asked. “I think you cheated on your wife. It ended up blowing up in your face. And you’re still beating yourself up for it.”

  Archie’s head hurt. “I think I’ve paid for that,” he said.

  “You’re not still punishing yourself?” Susan asked.

  “For that?” Archie said. “No.”

  “Then why don’t you tell people about the affair?” Susan asked. “You’re divorced. I’m not talking about sending out a press release. I mean tell the people on your team. Tell the people running the manhunt. Tell them you had an affair with Gretchen Lowell and that it was a mistake and you regret it. It’s part of the story, isn’t it? It colors her motivations. Maybe you can help them understand her better so they can catch her. You didn’t know she was the Beauty Killer. She seduced you. Everyone would understand that.”

  Would understand what? That he was a heel? That he’d lied to all of them, then and now? That he’d deserved everything that had happened to him? Archie lifted a hand to his temple.

  “That’s insane,” Henry said from the window. “You don’t have to do that,” he added to Archie.

  “I don’t think he can move on until it’s out in the open,” Susan said.

  Archie looked at his hands, hands that had held his children, hands that had moved over every part of Gretchen’s body. “It’s personal,” he said.

  “Well, your personal issues affect other people personally,” Susan said. “Like Lisa Watson, for instance.”

  Archie looked up. “Gretchen didn’t kill Lisa Watson,” he said.

  Susan sighed audibly and threw up her hands.

  Henry pursed his lips and stood silently for a moment, and then came over and sat down in the chair next to Archie. He scooted the chair close and folded his hands under his chin. “They were both on that island,” Henry said. “You said you talked to the victim.” He peered over his knuckles at Archie. “Maybe Gretchen saw you and got jealous.”

  “Gretchen doesn’t kill when she gets jealous,” Archie said, frustration edging into his voice. He rubbed his face, searching for the words to explain it. “She sees it as a challenge. She wants to win. She wants me to choose her.” He thought of how carefully Gretchen had laid the groundwork for the collapse of his marriage. “In Gretchen’s mind, killing the competition would be cheating.
” The more Archie thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was right. “It’s been fourteen months since she killed recreationally,” he added.

  Henry lifted his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “So we’re not counting the serial killer she dismembered two months ago after her escape from the nuthouse?”

  “Or the nurse she slaughtered on her way out of that nuthouse?” Susan said.

  Archie shook his head. They didn’t understand. “Those weren’t recreational kills for her. She didn’t kill those people for fun; she did it because she had to.”

  “So it’s just, what, a crazy coincidence that Gretchen shows up at a party shortly before one of the guests turns up dead?” Henry asked.

  “Think about it,” Archie said wearily. “Think of all the Beauty Killer victims we’ve seen over the years. Remember Sarah Jesudason?”

  “The librarian,” Henry said.

  They had found Jesudason’s decapitated body in the back of her 1997 Subaru Outback, and her head in the central library drop box a week later, with a note apologizing for it being overdue.

  “Gretchen enjoys killing,” Archie said. “She stretches it out. She makes an art out of it. This didn’t have any of Gretchen’s creativity. Lisa Watson was stabbed and thrown in a lake. No. Gretchen would consider that crass. Below her pay grade.”

  “She’s a murderer,” Susan said. “She murders people. She doesn’t need a reason. You talk about her like she has rules. Let’s not forget that she’s a psycho bitch. She made that little tape to prove to you, to all of us, that she can get to you. Anytime she wants. Even on an island crawling with private security guards and cameras mounted everywhere and an FBI surveillance van parked out front. Maybe she wanted to kill someone, and instead of killing you, she killed the first person she came across. It’s called bloodlust. She was horny for it.” Susan’s cheeks were scarlet. “You made her horny. So she murdered Lisa Watson. Maybe she didn’t have time to make it”—she paused and her eyes darkened—“fancy. She didn’t have time to get creative. Maybe she just wasn’t feeling her artistic muse that day. So she just killed her.” Susan looked from Archie to Henry. “In the end it doesn’t matter how she did it, does it? Lisa Watson is still dead.”