by Kelley York
The cop pointed him in the right direction. Her motorcycle followed him until he hit the on-ramp.
When he got home, he killed the engine and didn’t bother heading upstairs. It was long past Evan’s daily swim-time, but he sat in the gazebo and stared out over the dark pool anyway, imagining him there.
What would he say if he knew where I was tonight? If I told him what I was about to do?
What he’d failed to do. First his kills getting frantic and sloppy, and now he couldn’t do them at all? It didn’t make sense. He had to finish it. If he didn’t, he’d be tethered to Vivian forever. The harder she hung on now, the more he drowned, pulled underwater again and again by the weight of his guilt for not keeping her safe when it had mattered the most. She wouldn’t be like this if he’d protected her from them.
He laid down on one of the benches and stared up at the night sky, fingering the prescription bottle from Dr. Romero in his pocket. He hadn’t taken one even though he knew he should. Marissa took anxiety meds; she probably would’ve told him to try it.
Archer wondered what Marissa would tell him to do about everything else. Would she tell him to stick with Vivian until the end? He’d come this far with her, had never once let her down. Or would Marissa tell him to free himself for a change? To grab this second chance at life and bask in Evan’s world, even if it meant leaving Vivian behind?
To stay or let go. To keep going and see where his past decisions took him, or try grasping that second chance.
Do monsters get seconds chances?
Sunday, October 26th
“You need to get out of the house,” Evan prodded him on Sunday morning. “The Grove’s got a great breakfast menu. I’m sure everyone misses you.”
Archer gave him a long look. He doubted anyone had noticed his absence. Well, maybe Roxy, if the occasional text she sent to check on him was any indication. Otherwise, the only messages on his phone were from Vivian.
Kudos to him, he’d managed to keep his distance. And he felt better for it. Maybe that was why he reluctantly agreed to go along to The Grove. Not so much for him to get out of the house, but for Evan’s sake. Evan hadn’t left him alone for days. He was the only company Archer cared to have and Vivian wouldn’t have taken that well.
The early-morning fog that settled atop the ocean was a beautiful, calming sight. They missed breakfast, but food wasn’t really why they’d come. He was more content to sip his soda and watch Evan down his meal like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. And when he was done, he looked at Archer’s breakfast-slash-lunch, at him, and back again until Archer nudged the plate over. “Where does all the food go?”
“Dunno. Guess I burn it off.” Evan took the barely touched meal with a grin.
“One day your metabolism will screech to a grinding halt and you’re going to get fat.”
Evan met his eyes, purposefully and slowly placing another bite into his mouth. Archer clicked his tongue but couldn’t help a smile. The backdoor to The Grove swung open before he could lecture further and Roxy stepped outside. Her dark hair bounced across her shoulders in tight curls, and Archer marveled at how she could stand to walk around in this weather with capris and a tank top. Girls would do anything for fashion. He offered her a small smile.
But Roxy’s expression fell when she saw him.
“Oh, hey guys.”
Hey guys? Archer took a sip of his drink, raising a brow. “You don’t look happy to see us.”
Roxy shifted from one foot to the other before reluctantly sinking into a chair across the table. “I didn’t say that. It’s always nice to see you.” She squinted. “I don’t suppose you talked to Vivian last night? She was looking for you.”
Vivian. Why does it always come back to Vivian?
Suddenly the ocean was a lot more interesting to look at than Roxy. “I haven’t spoken to her much. She might’ve texted me.”
“You avoiding her?” Roxy asked. Archer shot her a wary look.
“What does it matter?”
She held up her hands. “Don’t get snappy with me, Archer Pond. I have no idea what’s up with the two of you, and I know you’ve both been going through a lot lately.”
That didn’t sit right with him. If there were ever a conversation Archer didn’t want to have with Evan sitting right there, he had a feeling this was it. “I don’t even know what that means, ‘what’s up with the two of you.’”
“You know what I mean. She took a break from Mick and suddenly all she talked about was Archer-this, Archer-that.” Her dark eyes narrowed and she lifted a hand to shield them from the sun. “But doesn’t seem like you’ve been together much.”
He wanted to zero in on that last comment. To tell Roxy he was avoiding Vivian because—see, this guy, sitting right here?—he’d found someone he wanted to be near. Someone who didn’t make him feel so fucking crazy all the time. If that meant distance from Vivian, then so be it. But something about her words rubbed him the wrong way.
“What do you mean, took a break from Mickey?”
Roxy shifted. She crossed her legs, looked uncomfortable, and crossed them the other way. “Archer…”
“What do you mean, Roxy?” He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted it to be a slip of the tongue. The look on her face was so helpless.
“If you’re going to get this upset, then I don’t think—”
He slammed a hand down on the table. Evan and Roxy stared at him in stunned silence. “What’s going on?”
Roxy shrunk back. “She came by last night. Mick showed up. She didn’t think he’d be here, I swear, he never comes around anymore. But he…y’know what he does. He sweet-talked her and she left with him back to her place. I pulled her aside and tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m really sorry—”
Archer had stopped listening. He shoved his chair back and headed for the door. If Mickey had gone to Vivian’s, then he was probably still there. Evan was hot on his heels but waited until they hit the sidewalk before he grabbed Archer’s arm.
“Archer, seriously, what’re you gonna do, huh?”
He jerked free. “I’m going to see if he’s there. She promised me she wouldn’t. I want to see how far she broke that promise.”
Whether it was his words or the fury he couldn’t seem to contain showing through the surface that made Evan let him go, he didn’t know. But Evan looked away, mouth drawn thin. Archer immediately regretted it. He’d been doing so well, turning away from Vivian every time she tried to get his attention. All his hard work, ruined in a matter of seconds.
“C’mon,” Evan muttered. He circled around to the driver’s side of his car. Archer lingered on the sidewalk, swallowed his guilt and got in.
§
The parking lot of Vivian’s complex was nearly empty. No doubt all the churchgoers were still out. Archer saw Vivian’s white convertible in her assigned spot and, a few stalls down, Mickey’s beat-up Jeep. Evan brought the car to a halt.
“Well…what do you want to do?”
The possibilities were endless. He wanted to cry. He wanted to beat the hell out of Mickey. He wanted to grab Vivian and shake her, ask her how it felt to do this to him time and time again. He didn’t think any of it would make him feel any better.
He unbuckled, opened the door, and got out.
“Archer—God dammit…”
The door shut, cutting off anything else Evan might say. He’d apologize later. Evan deserved that much. But he needed to see for himself. Maybe the Jeep was someone else’s. Maybe he needed to give Vivian the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed to make sure she was all right.
“Don’t be there,” he whispered as the elevator took him up. He wanted to be crazy. He wanted to be paranoid. Please, God, let him be crazy and paranoid. He just didn’t want to be right. But as soon as he knocked and heard heavy steps approaching, he knew that he was.
Mickey answered the door in sweatpants and a white tank top. Sleep clothes. Because he’d been there all night. Because
Vivian had possibly never made him get his stuff out of her apartment. He took one look at Archer and scowled. “What do you want?”
Vivian appeared in the living room behind him. Her face paled.
Archer slammed his hands into Mickey’s chest and sent him stumbling back, just enough for him to get inside. “You promised.” His voice wavered. He couldn’t help it. She’d lied to him. Made a promise and tossed it out the window.
Vivian took a quick step back.
“You promised.” He caught her by the shoulders. “What was it, Viv? Just something you said to placate me? Something you said so I’d be at your beck and call and you could keep screwing him behind my back?” His fingers dug into her arms. Her eyes squeezed shut. She ducked her head.
Mickey grabbed him in a bear hug from behind and tore him away, throwing him to the ground. Archer knew how to fight, but Mick was twice his size, and the weight pinning him face-down to the floor rendered him helpless. He reached back blindly, caught a handful of Mick’s hair and yanked, but it got nothing more than a furious snarl in response. Mickey grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. A few more inches, he’d pop it right out of its socket.
He didn’t see Evan, but he heard him shouting and Mickey’s weight vanished altogether. Vivian screamed and something—someone—slammed against the wall. Archer rolled to his side. Evan had Mickey pinned near the kitchen door, hands fisted in his shirt. But he looked away, at Archer, for fractions of a second, and Mick punched him square in the jaw. Evan staggered back.
Archer lurched to his feet.
Don’t—
Mickey grabbed Evan by the shoulders, slammed a knee into his gut and down he went, crumpling to the ground.
Archer didn’t think; he pitched himself forward. He slammed into Mick and they missed the wall entirely, hitting the tile of the dining room floor. His knees pinned Mick’s arms to the ground on either side of him.
Archer hit him. Mick tried to lift his head and the punch sent the back of his skull cracking against the tile. His eyes rolled back, dazed. Another hit. And another. Until blood trailed from the corner of Mick’s jaw in a thin red ribbon. Only then did he stop; his hands went around Mickey’s throat and squeezed.
“You don’t touch him,” he said, voice barely a whisper, so cold and calm. “Nobody touches him.”
Mickey gave a raspy, choked noise, trying to work an arm free. Archer bore down on him harder, keeping him in place. Strangling him. Killing him. Savoring the tint of blue creeping into his face. Vivian wouldn’t shut up. She never stopped screaming. He didn’t care. But Evan had gotten up, his voice winded.
“Archer, don’t.”
And he stopped.
His hands slipped from Mick’s throat, and he rose. Stepped back and away. Mickey gasped, chest heaving. There was blood on the floor behind his head. Archer’s heart pounded, the adrenaline quaking his nerves. He didn’t want to turn around, but he did.
Vivian slapped him.
She shoved him hard enough he staggered back and caught himself against the wall.
“What’s wrong with you?!” she shrieked. “You could’ve killed him!”
God, everything was so blurry, out of focus. Archer stared at her, lost somewhere between angry, numb, and betrayed. Aware he should feel something beyond the burning desire to slam Mickey’s head back into the tile for hitting Evan.
“He shouldn’t be here,” was all he could muster. “You promised…”
“I promised because I thought you’d be there.” Vivian shoved him again, the heel of her hand glancing off his collarbone and making him wince. “But you weren’t! You’re always too busy, never enough time, always off with Evan!” Her dull eyes flicked askance when she spoke. “I lose my brother, I lose my mom, and all you can do is worry about yourself!”
For some reason, he wanted to laugh. Brody? Like Vivian had given a shit about his death. “Brody did the world an immeasurable favor with nothing more than stolen meds and a bottle of Vodka. You were glad to be rid of him.”
They were details. Little details he shouldn’t have known, because Vivian never told him. Details that were not public knowledge. It was the right thing to say. Or the wrong thing. Both. He didn’t know. Either way, Vivian’s hand halted just shy of striking him again. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes were so big, so blue. But not beautiful. All he saw was a girl who would say anything to hurt him. A girl he didn’t recognize at all.
Archer met her eyes easily this time, daring her to push him again. Mickey had gotten to his feet, and he staggered over, grabbing Vivian’s shoulder and yanking her back. The fist connecting with his jaw? He hardly felt it. But for a moment, there was a collision of bodies—Mickey trying to get at him, Evan shoving himself between them. Grabbing Archer, staggering with him out of the apartment.
As they headed down the hall, Archer looked over his shoulder. Mickey stood poised, looking ready to knock Vivian aside at the slightest provocation.
And Vivian met his eyes, wondering. Frightened.
Knowing.
§
The darkness of his apartment was welcome, and the silence encompassed him and soothed his throbbing head. It did nothing for the lump on the back of his skull or his bruised jaw and bleeding lip, but it was something.
Evan got him out of his coat and sat him down on the edge of the couch. From the kitchen Archer made out the sounds of the fridge and cabinets opening, closing. Then someone rustling around. When Evan returned it was with a Ziploc back of ice and a damp washrag.
“Here,” he murmured. Archer took the bag and gingerly touched it to the back of his head. His eyes closed, savoring the feel. Evan gently took his chin in hand to hold him still while he dabbed at his bottom lip. When Archer looked at him, there was less worry on his face and more uncertainty. Not anger—not exactly. But it wasn’t what Archer had hoped to see.
“I’m sorry.”
Evan breathed in deep, held it a few seconds, and exhaled through his mouth. He finished wiping away the dried blood and sat back, tossing the rag onto the coffee table. “Did you kill Vivian’s brother?”
Archer looked down at his hands.
“The truth,” Evan said tersely. “I think I’ve been pretty good about not pushing you on it, but I want to hear it. All of it. Now.”
You don’t want to hear it. You won’t like it. He felt sick. “I can’t…”
Evan stood. “Then I’m leaving.”
Archer grabbed his arm. “Yes. I did. I killed him.” He couldn’t meet Evan’s eyes, but if the options were to spill the truth or Evan leaving, then it wasn’t much of a choice at all. “I killed Brody. I told you why. And I killed Ronny Brown and Richter and Jay Lee.” The waver of his voice did nothing to steel his resolve. He wanted to take back everything he’d said. Sure as hell didn’t want to say anything further. But Evan watched him, stone-faced, and there really was no option.
“And my dad. He was the first.”
Evan ran a hand over his face and turned away. Archer thought he would leave, but Evan eventually turned back around.
“Start at the beginning. Why your dad?”
Archer shook his head. “You would’ve had to know him. Really know him.” Not the way people at work had known him. Not even the way his own friends knew him. “He worked a respectable job, brought home good money, paid the bills.”
Brown eyes met his, unimpressed and accusing. “Oh, yeah. Sounds like a real monster.”
“He also used to shoot up in the living room every night when he came home. Or drink. Or both.” Archer tried to maintain that eye contact, but Evan kept looking away. “I saw him hit my mother more than once, and I overheard worse.” Still no eye contact, but Evan was listening. It was all he could hope for.
“Sometimes he’d force me to sit on the couch and watch things no kid should have to watch.” The memory made him wince inwardly. “He said it was our bonding time to make sure I grew up a ‘real man.’ He tried getting me to light up with him. Taught
me all about it. Only when Mom wasn’t around, of course. Otherwise she’d start a fight just to get me out of it.”
Evan had turned away again. Staring at his back, Archer wanted to reach for him and apologize. Ask if they could forget the whole thing.
“How’d you do it? You were just a kid.”
Exactly. That was why no one had suspected him. No one but his mother. “He came home one day. Shot up, had a few beers, and passed out on the couch. Still had the tourniquet around his arm and everything.” Archer stretched out his arm, tracing his fingers along the blue bump of a vein at the crook of his elbow. “Still had a full syringe lying there. Just an overdose. That was all. I didn’t even do it thinking it would kill him; I just…wanted to do something. I wanted to hurt him.”
Evan wouldn’t look at him.
“I didn’t tell Mom, but she knew. She hasn’t wanted anything to do with me since. I only wanted to help her. She hated him.”
“Maybe she did. It doesn’t give you the right to take a life.” Evan’s shoulders rose and fell again. He turned a little. “And the others?”
He closed his eyes. “I pushed Jay down the stairs. Didn’t plan it, it just happened. Afterward, I realized I had the ability to get revenge for what they did to her and I started planning. A year later I killed Ronny, and then Brody after that.”
Evan took a deep breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Vivian… She strikes me as the type to embellish things. She makes herself out to be the victim so you’ll come to her rescue. How do you know she told the truth about any of what happened?”
There was little energy to be had, but there was enough for him to muster some level of defensiveness. “She didn’t lie about it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there.”
Finally, Evan met his eyes.
“…What?”
“I saw the entire thing.” He wanted to stand and didn’t think his legs would cooperate. Sympathy crept into Evan’s features, but Archer knew better. Sympathy could be felt in unison with anger, and Evan had every right to be angry. If I told him sooner, would it have made a difference?