Hushed

by Kelley York

  Vivian opened her mouth to protest. Grandma Beatrice leaned over to whisper in her ear, and Viv’s expression sobered. “They’re about to start.”

  What’s about to start? he wanted to ask as Vivian gripped his hand, unrelenting. Brody’s funeral had been a no-nonsense endeavor. Hardly anyone showed up. But when Archer sat down with Vivian on one side and Evan on the other, he realized everyone seemed to have a story about Marissa.

  But they were patchworking the pieces they couldn’t remember. Those patches were lies.

  “I remember the hours she would stay up, slaving away over those college essays and going through coffeepot after coffeepot…”

  This, coming from her own sister. But Marissa hated coffee; she drank tea, just like Vivian. ‘She loved the ocean,’ another one said. Also false. She was terrified of the ocean—she couldn’t swim, but she loved the dolphins. All details. Perhaps minuscule details, but weren’t the little things the most important? Things that none of these people could possibly know because they’d never really known her.

  When some distant Hilton cousin finished speaking and sat down, Archer stood up without thinking. Vivian grabbed for his hand, whispered his name. Evan watched wordlessly. He stepped to the front of the chapel next to Marissa’s casket. Those in the room who didn’t know him stared in confusion, those that did gave him dour looks, daring him to ruin their service.

  And Archer was aware, when he stood there in front of forty pairs of eyes, he had no idea what to say. Maybe he didn’t like most of the people in the room, but he wouldn’t ruin Marissa’s memorial. Not for her, not for Vivian.

  Evan met his eyes from the front row. He smiled. Reassuring. Calm.

  He thought of the ocean. Of dolphins. And he took a breath.

  “When my dad died, my mom was too taken with grief to be there as much as I needed her. Vivian was my best friend. Her home was my home. And through her mother, Marissa, I had a mom any kid would be envious to have. She went to all my school functions, helped me with my homework, and made me soup when I got sick.”

  His mother sat in one of the back rows. How had he not noticed her sooner? Her dark hair and pale eyes, staring him down. Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not here to tell them how terrible you were.

  “She liked chai with chocolate cake.” His voice wavered. “She made up songs to the tune of her music boxes or when she didn’t know the real lyrics to something on the radio. She donated a weekend every month, helping out at the animal shelter, even though she was allergic to cats.

  “There are so many little things that made up Marissa…as a friend, as a woman, as a mother. I wish more of you had gotten to see the things Vivian and I saw.” Archer met Vivian’s gaze. Her face was lined with fresh tears, but she smiled at him, pained and happy all at once. “…She was our mother,” he murmured. “And she was too good for the shitty hand life dealt her.”

  It wasn’t enough. There were a million things he could’ve said, and none of it would’ve been enough. But his memories, his times with Vivian and Marissa…they didn’t belong to anyone else. These strangers who stayed away and never so much as called to ask how are you, Marissa? They deserved nothing.

  He walked back to his seat, mechanical in his movements. When he sat down, Vivian took one of his hands. Evan took the other.

  No one got up to speak after him.

  Soon enough, everyone rose from their seats and the pallbearers headed up front. People began filing outside. Vivian and Evan still had hold of his hands, and Viv squeezed tightly, tugging. Frantic. He turned in the direction she was looking and was brought face-to-face with his mother’s smoldering gaze.

  His expression started to falter. Stay calm. No reason to get worked up. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Did you have something to do with it?” Venom dripped from every word.

  Archer set his jaw. “Something to do with what?”

  “You know what.” She grabbed the front of his shirt, fabric fisting in her hands. “Your little comment in there, Archer. She was too good for this world. Is that what you thought?”

  Archer stared down at her. They looked similar, everyone said. But looking into her wild eyes he realized there had never been a moment in their lives where they’d been alike. Never a moment where she was not a complete stranger to him, no matter how hard he tried. His heart ached for every moment he had grown up wishing they’d shared. Fake stories he told his classmates and teachers, just to give the appearance he had a normal, loving mother.

  “I know you’re upset, Mom.” He withdrew his hands from his friends’ so he could place them on his mother’s shoulders. Squeezing just a touch too hard. “But you don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I hurt Marissa?”

  His mother stared up at him, this stranger-woman he’d never known. Archer halfway expected her to scream, to slap him and draw the attention of everyone at the funeral. Instead, she put her arms around him, pulled him into an embrace that startled him into immobility. Her hand touched to his head, drawing it to her shoulder.

  Then her fingers buried themselves into his hair, and twisted.

  From a distance, it would have looked like nothing more than a mother hugging her son, but he could feel pain seeping through his scalp, into his temples, making his eyes burn.

  “I know it was you,” she hissed against his ear. “Did you kill her just like you killed your father? You’re a monster, Archer. Everything around you rots and dies.”

  Archer pinched his eyes shut, frozen to the spot. He couldn’t shove her away. Not without making a scene. Her voice slithered into his bones, constricting, the venom of her words making it hard to breathe.

  And suddenly he was gone to someplace years ago, on a hot summer afternoon where paramedics wheeled his father’s dead body through the house while his mother stood across the room in stunned silence. There was a moment, a second, where her eyes met his. That brief flash of suspicion, wondering if Archer had something to do with it. The way her expression contorted, from confusion to understanding to horror, was emblazoned in his mind.

  Long after they were left alone in the house, she continued to watch him. All she ever said was, “What did you do, Archer?”

  It was the same look she gave him when he stood in front of the chapel, giving his speech about Marissa. It was the same loathing in her voice now.

  He wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but Evan pushed himself between him and Mom while Vivian tried to be discreet about pulling her back. As though the two of them realized how urgent it was that his mother not draw attention.

  Beatrice and Nancy called out from nearby, beckoning for her to hurry and join them. Just like that, she whipped around and left as though she couldn’t get away fast enough. Her voice echoed in his head long after they were out of sight.

  ‘Monster. You monster.’

  But he wasn’t. He’d never hurt Marissa. Just as he’d never hurt Vivian. Why couldn’t she see that?

  Viv touched his face, gingerly smoothing his hair back. “Archer—Archer, look at me. Are you okay?”

  He stared at her. The pad of her thumb brushed against his cheek. “Yeah.” It was his voice, but it came out so meek he hardly recognized it. “I just…want to go home.”

  “It won’t be much longer.” Vivian looked off at the rest of her family, who’d disappeared through the gates leading out to the cemetery where Marissa would be laid to rest. More prayers would be said. People would mingle and talk amongst themselves. And at that exact moment, Archer thought his opinion of much longer differed from Viv’s. He couldn’t be anywhere near his mother.

  “No.” He leaned back, away from her touch. “I need to go now. I can’t—not with her there.”

  Vivian let her hands drop. “Well…what about waiting in the car? Then we can head back.”

  So she’d either condemn him to suffering through the stares of her family and his mother, or she’d leave him alone in the car for an hour or two? Any chances she had of him deciding to go
home with her were down the drain.

  “I’m going home, Vivian,” he snapped. “My home.”

  He turned away before he could see her face fall. Before she could act like he’d hit her. She didn’t call his name and she didn’t follow, but when Archer and Evan got into the car he saw her still standing there, watching him go. He refused to feel guilty. Maybe she could learn what it was like to always be left behind.

  He wrung his hands together in his lap, fighting against the trembling. Evan said nothing until they were on the freeway.

  “Look…about what your mom said—”

  “Don’t.” Archer swallowed past a dry throat. “We just…don’t get along. Marissa was one of her only friends.”

  Evan nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you go with Vivian?”

  Archer looked out the passenger-side window. Evan drove like he usually did, carefully and cautiously. Not recklessly and impatiently like Vivian. “I didn’t want to see my mother.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  No. How could he explain it? His thoughts so rarely made sense anymore. Just a jumbled train wreck of things he couldn’t put into perspective. He knew what he felt, though, and his feelings had simply said: I don’t want to.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured. His breath made a small circle of glass on his window fog up. “I wanted to get away. From her. From Vivian. I wanted to go home, not have to feel like everyone was staring at me, thinking I didn’t belong there.”

  “Yeah, well... Screw them. You had a right to be there.”

  Archer closed his eyes, trying to soak in the comfort his words offered.

  And yet, he didn’t understand why Evan was steadily becoming some sort of safe haven, why Evan would want to be. They were two entirely different people. Archer was different from most, though. Vivian called him a control freak. Everything had its place, everything needed to be done in a certain way. He spent so much of his time nitpicking at the details in his life, and the rest of his time bending to Vivian’s whims, he wasn’t sure where there was room for anyone else. Or reason for anyone to find him at all interesting or appealing.

  Archer touched a finger to the fogged part of the glass, leaving one lone little dot. “Evan.”

  “Hm?”

  “Can you give me one reason you like me?” Another dot.

  He couldn’t see Evan’s expression, but he could hear the bewilderment in his tone that suggested a raised eyebrow and a small smile. “What?”

  “One reason.” He frowned at the slowly clearing patch. “Why you spend time with me. Why you bother.”

  “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

  “Try?”

  Evan was silent while he considered. Finally he said, “You have this air of sincerity in everything you say and do, even if it’s telling someone something they don’t want to hear. And the way you try to figure everything out. I look at a clock and I see a clock. You look at a clock and mentally dissect it to figure out how it works and why.”

  He paused.

  “You’re also really cute when you’re indignant.”

  Not the answer he’d expected. Archer scowled and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

  “Just like that.” Evan glanced at him, mouth splitting into a wide grin. “You’re always so indignant. If I put my jacket on the table, you get all huffy and move it to the coat closet. You glare at your meat if it’s touching your potatoes on your plate. Or when I tease you. Like the entire world offends your delicate senses…and I like it.” He shrugged.

  Archer stared at him.

  “Also,” Evan continued, “you blush when someone says something that makes you happy. Like right now.”

  He twisted away again, face hot as Evan laughed. Still, it seemed such an odd thing for Evan to like about him. Things that irritated Vivian.

  Before the window could clear completely, Archer added an upturned mouth beneath the two eyes and watched it slowly fade. After a moment he quietly said, “Your optimism.”

  “What?”

  “What I like about you. Since you answered my question.” He hunched his shoulders up.

  Evan hmm’d. “You can elaborate.”

  “You take everything in stride. Nothing is ever the end of the world for you. Always a light at the end of the tunnel and all that.”

  “Glass is half full, yeah,” Evan mused.

  “Mhm. You…keep me grounded, I guess.” His lashes lowered, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t think he could look at Evan and keep talking. Didn’t know why he started the conversation in the first place. “You remind me things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

  “Thanks, Archer.” Evan sounded like he had a smile on.

  “…Even if you do leave your coat in all the wrong places.”

  “See? Always nitpicking.” Evan started laughing again. “That reminds me… What’re you doing for Halloween?”

  Archer raised a brow. “How does that at all remind you of Halloween?”

  “Uh… It doesn’t. But given the mood the last few days, I couldn’t find an appropriate time to bring it up.”

  Oh, well. Halloween was around the corner, but what did that mean to him? It’d been the last thing on his mind. Some years he went to a party with Vivian, but after being ditched at last year’s party, Archer wasn’t so sure he cared to go to another one. He gave a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

  Evan bobbed his head into a nod. “I asked ’cause I’m going up to visit my folks. I thought I’d invite you if, you know, you wanted to get away for a few days. With everything going on…”

  Archer didn’t want to spend his weekend around strangers, but he had to admit he was curious to see Evan’s home, meet his parents; see where he’d grown up. He had a personality that was hard to figure out. Maybe seeing behind the scenes would give him a better understanding. And, just maybe, the idea Evan wanted to introduce him to his family was…kind of nice. “Do I have to dress up?” he asked tentatively.

  “Nah.” Evan grinned. “I mean, you can if you want, but we won’t party or anything like that. Just the standard puppy sacrificial ceremony, and you can always sit that out.”

  This time, it was Archer who laughed, and the sound felt so blissfully foreign rolling off his tongue. Despite everything—laughing at something so ridiculous felt like a cold rain after a drought. “Who would want to miss that?”

  Friday, October 24th

  Archer ignored Evan’s protests and went to class. Life had to move on. He couldn’t bring his world to a halt because of Marissa’s death, and he was tired of listening to his phone ring. The distraction classes offered kept him away from Vivian for just a little longer.

  He finished up close to four, stopped by home to get a few things, and left again.

  There were still two names in his book. He’d take care of one tonight, whether he liked it or not.

  Hector and Bobby were the last things he owed to Vivian Hilton, and when they were gone, he could get on with his life. Whether she wanted him or not, he wanted, needed this to be done. Hector Barnes lived three hours away and had been elusive enough that Archer couldn’t get to him without drawing attention to himself. What made him decide to do it now? He didn’t know. I could be running out of time. Eventually, Richter’s murder could be tied back to him and his job would go unfinished.

  But more than that, there was Evan. It was getting increasingly difficult to look Evan in the eyes without wanting to spill all the details of what he’d been doing. Just to get it out there, just for someone to know the truth.

  Hector might as well have dropped off the face of the planet after the night of Vivian’s rape. It took some digging for Archer to even figure out where he’d gone. He’d started training to become a firefighter, which told Archer he must’ve cleaned himself up. Got his head on straight.

  But he wondered—did Hector ever think back to Vivian and what he did to her? Did he realize the damage he’d done?

  Hector’s apartment building was upper-class; Arc
her would never get past the doorman. So he had to figure something else out. He parked on a back street between some old buildings and the park, rolled down the windows to listen, waited. Watched. Right on time, the steady clip of Hector’s footsteps coming down the path from the park. In his jogging suit, out for a midnight run. A man of routine. Archer knew this from months of driving up here and observing.

  But unlike the other kills, he didn’t have anything planned. Hector would cross the street right in front of his car. Did he get out, hold him at gunpoint? Shoot him? Did he make it look like a hit-and-run or a mugging gone wrong? Both could be traced back to him, but what other options did he have?

  The gun felt heavy in his coat pocket.

  “Think anyone else will die?” Evan had asked.

  He closed his eyes. Richter’s bloody face came to mind and with it, the overwhelming nausea he’d felt that night. Numbness from fingertips to head to toe. Hector’s footsteps closed in and he…

  Couldn’t move.

  Had Evan rendered him completely incapable of killing? Was it his slipup with Richter? Or was it Vivian, and the ever-expanding chasm between them? Why was it so hard now, after all this time, after the other lives he’d taken?

  Hector was coming. Archer took a breath. The slap-slap of sneakers left the sidewalk, hit the asphalt. He passed in front of the car and crossed the street. Archer couldn’t budge. Hector disappeared around a corner up the road.

  ‘Monster. You monster.’

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It didn’t keep them from trembling.

  A cop knocked on his window twenty minutes later, making him jump. He rolled it down and stared at the uniformed lady. She leaned in, surveying his car before staring into his face. “You lost, son?”

  I’m always lost.

  He flexed his fingers, forced them to relax. Offered a small smile. “Yeah, which way is the freeway?”