by Kelley York
Evan folded his arms. “You gonna elaborate?”
No. Please don’t make me. His hands shook. “I told you before… Marissa went out of town. Brody had friends over; Vivian didn’t want to be alone with them so I went to stay the night with her.” That could’ve been it. Should’ve been it. Just a sleepover. Not the first time they’d done it, and not the last. “They were drunk or high or both. They came on to her, she got upset, threatened to tell Marissa…”
“And you—” Evan paused, but Archer knew what he wanted to say. ‘What did they do to you?’
Suddenly, remaining still wasn’t enough. He wanted to move, get out of the apartment whose walls felt too close and the air stifled. He shoved his hands into his hair, fingers curling, head bowing. “I wanted to help her. But they were bigger than me. They hit me, held me down, made me watch.” Archie, they kept calling him, taunting him. It was why he couldn’t stand the name.
Somehow he made it to standing despite the unsteady feeling in his legs. He paced to the end of the coffee table, turned, cast his gaze across the living room that reminded him so strongly of Vivian. Evan looked out of place there. The one thing that wasn’t her in the entirety of his life. And his voice sounded so far away, lost in the space between them.
“I couldn’t help. I couldn’t protect her. My entire life I’ve only wanted to make up to her what I wasn’t strong enough to do back then.”
Evan stood there, oceans apart from him. It seemed no matter how far Archer reached, no matter what he said, there was no closing the holes his secrets had gouged.
“There’s nothing honorable or strong about taking another life, Archer,” Evan said. “It’s a monster’s indulgence.”
Evan might as well have hit him. Archer rested a hand against the arm of the couch to steady himself. Evan inclined his chin, eyes focused on some point above Archer’s head, unable to look at him. “One could say that she didn’t protect you, too. But instead you’ve molded every facet of your life around her. You’ve been her personal punching bag all these years.”
“That’s not—”
Evan raised his voice. “Everything you do, everything you think and say somehow ties back to Vivian. Her wants, her needs. You go where she tells you to go, do the things she wants to do. God, even your apartment isn’t yours. It’s hers. What you two have isn’t a relationship. You’re leeches. You feed off of her praise and attention, and she”—he spread his arms wide—“she sucks all the humanity and life right out of you. Take Vivian away, and what’s left?”
“I don’t know,” Archer said, helpless.
“Bones.” That one word resonated throughout the room. “Just bones, Archer. Vivian’s the skin and muscle and everything else of what makes you you. All that’s left beneath…”
“There’s you.”
“Is there?” Evan let his arms drop, shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be much room for me in a Vivian-centric world.”
Archer swallowed hard. “You’re telling me to choose between you.” Just like Mickey had done to Vivian. ‘It’s me or Archie.’ It wasn’t fair.
“No, I’m asking you to choose between slowly killing yourself, and someone who loves you.”
He desperately tried to meet his eyes. Evan wouldn’t let him.
“You’ve been trying, I’ll give you that. But look back on today and tell me if you think it’s enough. What you need is help, Archer. Professional help. Someone to get in that head of yours and help you sort through all this.”
Archer squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t do that.”
A pause. “I’m sorry.” There was no anger in his voice, no malice. He sounded sad. “I can’t keep letting you drag me down over and over again. I can’t let you be my Vivian.”
Evan turned his back on him. He marched across the apartment with purpose—a purpose of getting away. From him? Could Evan really not even look him in the eye now that he knew everything?
Archer wanted to run after him, to say he hadn’t been able to finish off the last people on his list because all he could think of was letting Evan down. But he didn’t think it would matter. Not now.
He stayed on the couch Viv had picked out. That matched the coffee table, artwork on the walls, rug on the floor…all Vivian’s things. Her touches. Her fingerprints on his life. His hands shook uncontrollably, met soon enough with a tremor working its way up into his shoulders, his chest, shaking loose frustrated sounds not unlike sobs.
Maybe that’s what the trembling is. Take away Vivian, take away Evan…the leftovers weren’t strong enough to hold him up and keep him going.
“Just a monster,” he said to an empty room. “Just bones.”
Tuesday, October 28th
Too many things he needed to say dancing on the tip of his tongue. Too much he’d done wrong. Too many regrets. His entire life—Vivian, Marissa, his mother. But Evan most of all.
He needed to set things right.
Archer sat in the gazebo for hours, watching the pool. Waiting.
Evan didn’t show up.
Thursday, October 30th
No New Messages
The mantra of his phone anymore, it seemed. No calls. No texts. Not from Evan, Vivian, or his friends from The Grove. He’d tried calling Evan. Left two messages and after that, only listened to the sound of his recorded voice mail prompt before hanging up. It dawned on him if Evan hadn’t gone to class the last few days, he’d probably headed up to his parents’ house early for Halloween weekend.
Archer only went to school because it seemed better than staying home, staring at an apartment he was severely starting to hate. But afterward, there was little to do, nowhere to go but home. The front door was unlocked when he got there.
Vivian was waiting for him, mottled blue and purple bruises adorning the right side of her jaw. He stopped in the entryway and contemplated turning around, walking right back out.
Except Vivian had a packed bag with her. His black folder spread open on the tabletop and his list unfolded in her hands. Since he’d decided not to finish off the list, he’d stashed it in his closet, determined not to look at it again.
The door clicked quietly shut behind him. His backpack slid to the floor. For as much as he wanted to run away, part of him wanted to gather her up, hide his face against her shoulder, and beg her to make everything better. Make life simple again.
But had it ever really been?
Vivian leaned back, nodding down to the paper. “Is this some kind of hit list?”
His eyes traveled from the paper up to her face. He nodded mutely.
“Jay…” She didn’t sound angry as she stared down at the list. Almost…in awe. Quietly fascinated. “But he fell down the stairs.”
Archer shifted uncomfortably. “I pushed him.”
“Ronny? Brody? They killed themselves.”
“I forced them to.” His throat was impossibly dry.
“Huh.” Vivian’s fingers ran down the list of names, lingering at the end. After what seemed like a lifetime she asked, “Why isn’t Mick on here?”
His blood chilled. That sounded like a trick question.
He sank down into the chair across from her. “He didn’t rape you.” Archer wanted Vivian to leave Mickey on her own, without his help. Didn’t she see he was killing for her, to give her the strength to cast Mick aside?
A wry smile played across her mouth. “But you killed my brother and that was cool.”
“You hated him,” he said, but he was so tired of arguing. Why was she there if she only wanted to tell him how terrible he was? “He’s just as responsible for what his friends did to you as they are.”
“Your mom was right. You are a monster.” She cocked her head to one side, curious. “Do you regret it?”
Yes. No. Maybe. How did he answer that? “I don’t regret wanting to make you happy.” He rubbed the pads of his fingers together, like he could somehow still feel Richter’s blood on them. “But it doesn’t feel good, taking a life. If I could’ve done
it some other way, I would have.”
“There really isn’t another way, is there?” Something in her tone sent spiders skittering up and down the back of his neck. “Would you do it again?”
Archer took one look at the bruise on her face and instantly knew where the conversation was heading. “You want me to kill Mickey.”
Vivian retrieved a pen from a kitchen drawer and added Mickey’s name at the bottom of the list in her delicate, pretty scrawl. “I’m never going to get away from him otherwise. Nothing I do makes him happy. Even after I told him I’d take him back, he did this.” She gestured to her face as she shut the folder and stood.
Her hair hung down around her shoulders, unkempt. She didn’t look like she’d been sleeping. Her fingers were cold when she touched his cheek. “I’m trapped again, Archer.” She slid into his lap, arms looping about his neck. His heart beat furiously against his ribs, reverberating through his lungs, down into his gut. “You want me to be free, don’t you?”
He did. Or had. Did he still? Did he know how to want anything else? His body still reacted to her. He still wanted to kiss her, to taste her and touch her. But there was a distinct wrongness to it he couldn’t place. It wasn’t comfort; it was desperation, a need for air as he lay drowning in the mess of his life.
She brushed her thumb over his lower lip. “I know Evan left you.”
Like a punch to the stomach, leaving him winded. They’d never been together, so how could Evan leave him? It sounded right all the same. He was alone. But if Vivian could understand and love him still, then didn’t they deserve each other? Her, psychotic and broken. Him, a monster. Maybe he didn’t deserve someone like Evan. Someone who could make the light envious of his brightness. Archer closed his eyes, pained, even with Viv’s mouth brushing against his own. He nodded mutely.
She kissed him, nothing gentle or loving in the gesture. Just a raw, eager want to drown him further. When she pulled away, he could still taste her on his lips.
“You’re such a good boy,” she whispered, feather-soft against his mouth. “And when you kill him, I’m going to be there with you.”
Friday, October 31st
“Trick or Treat!”
Archer stared out the front door at a ghost, goblin, and what he assumed was some kind of Pokémon. It wasn’t even dark outside yet, so why were there trick-or-treaters? “Sorry… You guys are early. I don’t have anything.” Because he hadn’t planned on being there for Halloween. He was supposed to be with Evan, not sitting at home, waiting for Vivian to get ready to go. The kids gave him reproachful looks but left without a word.
“We should’ve gotten candy,” Vivian said as she stepped out from the hall. She’d tied her hair back into a tight ponytail, dressed in black pants and a matching shirt just as he’d instructed. It was so unlike her usual bright reds and baby pinks, but the less attention they drew to themselves, the better.
His stomach still hadn’t stopped doing backflips.
“We’re not going to be here anyway.” He fetched his keys from the counter. His gun was tucked away safely into his coat—not that he had plans of using it, but they needed a way to scare Mickey into submission. He tossed a spare hoodie in Viv’s direction. “You’re sure you want to do this? You’re sure he’ll even be there?”
“He never goes out on Halloween.” Viv pulled the jacket on and zipped it up. It was several sizes too big for her but it would do. “I really doubt he’s going to change his plans this year.”
Archer didn’t think Mick was the sort to hang out at home on any holiday when parties with girls and alcohol were calling his name, but whatever. Either Mick wouldn’t be home, or he might’ve brought company over. Some of his idiot friends or something. Archer was counting on that; he could convince Vivian to leave, to forget about the whole thing…
So why couldn’t he relax?
§
Mick’s apartment building sat nestled amongst a hefty cover of trees along the side of the street. Archer instructed Viv to park behind the complex where the trees were thickest. She practically bounced on the balls of her feet as he yanked up her hood. She smiled at him and it made him sick to his stomach.
“You have to promise me,” he said shakily, “to listen to everything I say. If I say ‘leave,’ we leave. Got it?”
Vivian nodded and rolled her eyes. He yanked the drawstrings tight enough to make her jerk.
“Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Are you getting scared?” She tugged at the hood to loosen it. Archer ignored her. He slid the gun out of his jacket, double-checked to make sure the safety was on. It would be stupid to use it in an apartment complex, but they needed it. Just in case.
Scared? Maybe he was. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to let Evan down. Didn’t want to let himself down.
I don’t want to be a monster anymore.
But did it matter? Evan didn’t want him, and his options were limited. He could stay with Vivian and do this one last thing for her, or he could be alone. Alone was the more terrifying of his options.
Vivian behaved herself and followed close and silent on his heels as they skirted around the complex. He’d been there only once, for Mick’s birthday party a couple months ago. Archer hadn’t stayed any longer than he’d been forced to, but he remembered where it was.
The apartments were clumped into groups of eight. Four on the first floor, four on the second. Unfortunately, Mick’s was on the second. Fortunately…the back balcony was hidden by more trees. They could jump down if necessary and circle around to the back of the complex. It was a longer route but it would ensure nobody saw them. He halted near the edge of the tree cover, looking at both Mick’s balcony and his downstairs neighbor’s porch. The lights were off. Hopefully, no one was home.
But what if they were? What if they were seen? What if Evan found out?
Vivian elbowed him. His feet remained rooted to the spot. Staring up at that balcony, imagining Mick lying in his filthy home… Dying. Dead. Out of Archer’s life forever. Out of Vivian’s life. Would anyone miss him? Really miss him?
Would anyone miss me if I were gone?
He was the monster. No one would miss him. Wasn’t he just as unworthy of life as the people whose lives he’d taken? It had nothing to do with Vivian or Evan. Absolutely nothing to do with Vivian’s wants, or Evan’s approval, he realized.
It all came down to one thing:
“I don’t want to do this.”
Vivian twisted around slowly. Her eyes bore into him.
“…What?”
He couldn’t move. Hell, he couldn’t even look at Vivian. His eyes were transfixed on Mickey’s window.
“I don’t want to do it. It’s not right.”
Vivian grabbed his arm, tight to the point of painful. “What’re you talking about? We came all this way, what the hell’s the point of going back now?”
Archer forced himself to look at her. “I tried going after Hector. I tried, and I…couldn’t. I don’t want to hurt anyone—”
She hissed. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” He slid the gun from his pocket and stared down at it. “I don’t want to be a monster.” Alone had to be better than this. Terrifying, but better.
Vivian pushed her hood off, running her hands over her pulled-back hair. “Jesus Christ, Archer…”
For a second, he thought—he hoped—she would change her mind. She would agree with him, like the Vivian he’d always known and loved would have. They’d returned to the car and go home, spend their Halloween with stupid movies and too much candy.
Just for a second.
Then Vivian grabbed the gun out of his hands, shoved it into her jacket, and took off.
“Vivian!”
She ignored him and disappeared around the corner.
What should he do? He could stay there, wait for her to come back. But what if someone saw her? Waving a gun (his gun!) at Mickey while he laughe
d and called the cops? He couldn’t stand out there in the cold, and he couldn’t leave without her. Swearing under his breath, Archer made sure his hood was pulled up tight and followed.
Vivian still had a key to Mick’s apartment and she was unlocking the front door when Archer reached the stairs. He couldn’t do more than whisper her name. She barely spared him a glance before vanishing inside.
The scent of stale pizza and fresh Chinese food hit him as he crossed the threshold and shut the door quietly behind them. His heart jackhammered so loudly it was impossible for the entire complex not to have heard it. All the lights were off. A faint and gloomy glow flooded into the hall from one of the back rooms and Vivian stood, hood yanked back, silhouetted in the bedroom doorway.
“What the hell, Viv?!”
Mickey’s voice. Archer skidded to a halt behind Vivian, looking over her. Mick scrambled back in bed, naked, barely kept modest by a blanket. Vivian aimed the gun at him, sure and steady, like she might actually shoot.
Archer’s confidence that she wouldn’t wavered.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mickey snarled. He held the blanket haphazardly around his waist as he crawled out of bed. Something was wrong. Clothes on the floor that didn’t look like Mick’s.
The bathroom door opened and a pretty redhead stepped out, no more clothed than Mick. She froze, opened her mouth, closed it again, like she didn’t know whether to be confused or terrified. In the reflection behind Mickey’s head, Archer could see Vivian’s expression shifting.
Confusion.
Shock.
Unbridled fury.
“Trick or treat, Mick.” In a voice, so deceptively calm and dark.
She pulled the trigger.
The bullet took Mick square in the chest. The redhead screamed. She screamed even after Vivian shot her in the stomach. Viv cleared the room, practically vaulting over the bed. The gun pressed directly to the girl’s pretty red hair and fired again. The screaming stopped. It echoed inside his skull like warning bells. Fear. Pain.