by Kelley York
§
Evan’s apartment lay silent and empty and dark. A plate sat on the dining table, telling Archer he’d at least eaten lunch there. But that was it. No note, no nothing. Except as he left, he spotted Evan’s car in the parking lot. His keys hadn’t been hanging inside the apartment door.
My place.
He couldn’t run across the complex fast enough. There was no sign of Vivian’s car, but it didn’t mean a thing. If she knew the police were looking for her, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to drive her own around.
He took the steps to his door two at a time. Outside, he stopped. Called again. Pressed his ear to the door and listened for any sound of Evan’s ringing phone inside.
Nothing.
His fingers brushed the knob and the door creaked open an inch. Whoever had come in last hadn’t closed it. Or locked it. Evan didn’t have a key to his place yet. Didn’t leave a lot of options. Did he call the police? They would tell him to wait, not to go in. He couldn’t do that, not if something had happened to Evan.
Deep breath, and he stepped inside. The bedroom door was shut, but he remembered leaving it open. So focused on that fact, he shut the door and didn’t notice Vivian at first, stepping out of the kitchen. Archer found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun. She had papers in her hand. It looked suspiciously like the story he’d gotten back from Gonera.
“Hey, baby.”
She was out of his reach; he couldn’t grab for her. He was willing to bet she had shitty aim, but she didn’t need to know how to aim at this distance with a human-sized target.
“Where’s Evan?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, God.” Vivian threw her free hand into the air. “First words out of your mouth. Of course. Do you have any idea the shit I’ve been going through this week? I haven’t even been able to go home, Archer. Someone’s been parked at my complex, waiting for me.”
The detective hadn’t mentioned anything about that. Then again, why would he have? Or maybe Vivian had completely lost it and was getting paranoid. Archer’s eyes flicked from her to the gun and back again. Her eyes were dark-rimmed and puffy from lack of sleep, her hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. The bones of her thin shoulders, of her collarbone and cheeks, were more prominent than ever.
She pointed to the coffee table. “Take out your phone. Put it down.”
Slowly, Archer slid the cell out of his pocket and did as he was told. “You killed Hector.” Without a doubt, he knew that she had. The one person out of Brody’s friends who had tried to make something out of his life, tried to turn himself around… “What about Bobby?”
Her voice wavered. “What does it matter if I did? The cops were coming after me anyway. Figured I might as well finish what you wouldn’t.”
That logic sent his heart racing. Someone who had nothing to lose was a hell of a lot more dangerous than someone who could still make it out of this. If she knew they had her pinned, what reason did she have to not put a bullet through someone else?
Evan. Where is Evan?
“Sit down on the couch,” she ordered. He did. He thought of lunging. Grabbing the gun. But she was far enough away he didn’t trust he’d get to it before she could fire. Vivian waved the papers at him and tossed them to the table. “I read your story. Not bad. The little boy is you, right? Even though you never killed your mom.”
Some of the papers slid to the floor, on top of his feet. He didn’t break his gaze from her face. “It’s a story, Vivian.”
She cocked her head. “Who was the person at the end? The one that saves him?”
He set his jaw. “It’s just a story. What does it matter?”
“Is it me?”
“No.” Clipped. Easy. He didn’t care if he hurt her feelings now. Marissa had been his savior as a kid. There would’ve been no childhood without her. “I’m not playing these games with you. What do you want from me, Vivian?”
Her lower lip trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks. They didn’t make him feel guilty. He felt… What did he feel?
Nothing. Blissfully. Nothing.
“I want to know why you left me. I want to know why you chose him.”
There was an answer to that, but she wouldn’t want it. Archer resisted the urge to turn and look toward the bedroom. “I’m not telling you anything until you tell me what you did with him.”
She stomped the ground fitfully. “He’s fucking sleeping, okay? I shot him full of tranquilizer. And I’ll do the same to you if you’re not going to give me answers!”
No need to ask where she’d gotten drugs like that. Touring the hospital once a week with her nursing classes, she could’ve talked any gullible intern into filching it for her. Too bad stealing medical supplies didn’t strike him as a huge offense standing next to murder. But Evan was okay. He tried to cling to that thought. “I would’ve stayed with you.”
“But you didn’t.” She swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “I’ve lost Mom, I’ve lost Mickey, now you’re leaving me, too. Why?”
“You have no right to ask me that.”
“I killed Mickey for you!” she wailed. “I thought if I got him out of the way, it would be just me and you. We’re both monsters, and I thought that would make you happy. What is it, Archer? You only want me when you can’t have me?”
His hands trembled. Damn them. Damn her.
“I would’ve jumped at the chance to be with you.” He curled his fingers against the tops of his thighs. Tried to will them still. “I would’ve stayed by your side for the rest of my life…if you had ever given me the time of day. But it was never me. I was never enough. All the boyfriends you went through, even the one that ditched you at prom—who was there, Viv? Who has always been there waiting for you?”
Her eyes pinched shut. Not long enough for him to lurch around the coffee table and grab her. She lowered the gun and started to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged animal. “Why’d you kill Brody and the others?”
“I thought it would make things better.”
“Then why wouldn’t you kill Mickey?”
He shook his head. “I realized I couldn’t make you happy. I wasn’t making myself happy. Parents are missing sons now because of me.”
Vivian stopped and stared. “Evan made you feel that way.”
“No,” he said quickly. “But he gave me a lot of things to think about.”
Her voice shook. “He doesn’t love you, you know. I do. I love you more, I proved it. I proved it, and you’ll see for yourself. I took care of you like you always took care of me.”
Even with the adrenaline racing through his veins, her words made him so tired. Nothing he said would make this better. “I was miserable, Vivian. I had to do what I had to do.”
“And what is that?”
Archer met her eyes, unflinching, unwavering. “I had to let you go.”
She choked on a sob, stepped back. “No.”
“Vivian.” He stood slowly.
“No. He’s not taking you away!”
Archer reached for her. She slipped away, made for the hall. The bedroom.
“I won’t be alone!”
She threw the door open. He barely saw Evan on the bed, groggy, but awake. Trying to move. He caught Vivian around the waist, tearing her away. A shot fired and he didn’t know where it went.
They staggered back into the hall. Him dragging, her kicking, screaming, beating her hands against his shoulders and arms. Her elbow caught him in the stomach, and he loosened his grip, enough that she squirmed and twisted around to face him. Her nails caught his neck, clawed down his face.
“Vivian. Stop,” he begged. Don’t do this, don’t do this. Everything they’d meant to one another, everything they’d been through…all lost in those seconds while she screamed and sobbed. He could feel the gun pressed against him, just beneath his ribs as she pushed at him, begging him to let go.
Crack.
A sharp sound. His ears rang. Blisters of light smothered his vision.
He sagged back against the wall. His eyes didn’t leave hers.
She’d shot him. She’d shot him.
“Archer…”
He pressed a hand to his stomach. Hot. Hot everywhere. It seared up into his lungs. Heart. Bones. Down to his legs. His fingers. He could feel it everywhere and yet it wasn’t exactly pain. Vivian knelt before him, touching his face. It stung were she’d clawed him earlier.
“…Didn’t mean to, oh my God…”
Good intentions. The road to Hell. He couldn’t quite remember how the phrase went. And yet for all her I didn’t mean to, she didn’t try to stop the bleeding. She didn’t call for help. Didn’t put down the gun.
She cried.
But he didn’t think it was for him.
You’ll be alone now. How does it make you feel?
Vivian kissed him. Just once. Just briefly. Tasting of tears.
“Maybe it should be this way,” she whispered against his mouth. The world was muted, muffled. Maybe it was the sound of the gunshot still reverberating in his skull. Maybe it was the blood rushing out of him.
“There’s nothing else left.”
As he watched, she put the gun to her chest. Just watched. A spectator, out of his own body as she told him she loved him. He couldn’t say it back.
The gun went off again. Her body didn’t sink, it crumpled. Archer couldn’t reach her. He slumped over slowly to his side and they lay there, facing each other. Vivian’s body trembled and red bubbled past her mouth when she tried to speak, her blue eyes watching him. Watching, watching, watching. Scared and tortured.
Broken. Just like him.
They were alike after all, he dimly realized. Without him, without Marissa, Vivian was a shell. Just bones.
He touched two fingers to her lips.
“Hush, it’ll be all right…”
Vivian opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Her shaking stopped. None of it mattered. Archer couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t save her.
Vivian was right. Maybe neither of them were worth saving.
???
An unholy heat scorched his insides from head to toe. People spoke in hurried whispers.
Loud. Fast. Urgent.
They prodded him, moved him.
Go, go. I’m tired.
Exhausted. He wanted to sleep.
The noise stopped. He was hot, but they covered him with blankets anyway.
A woman in mint green pressed a cold hand to his forehead. So cold it burned.
Evan, he wanted to ask. How is Evan?
She leaned over him. Worried. About him? He couldn’t ask. Eventually she left, too.
Archer was drawn back to darkness, lulled by the dull, rhythmic beep of machines.
???
Archer watched his ten-year-old self squalling on the beach. Vivian threw her arms around his waist, tackling him into the water. Marissa sat next to him in the sand in her favorite red dress. Beautiful and out of place.
The same dream he had a hundred times before, but this was different.
“You’ve been asleep for awhile,” she said.
“This is how it’s supposed to be.” Archer pressed a hand to his stomach. Completely whole. “It should’ve happened a long time ago.”
“If it were meant to happen, it would have.” Marissa took his hand and turned it over, tracing a line across his palm. “What do you want more than anything, Archer?”
He closed his eyes. What he wanted… He wanted to wake up. For all of this to be a dream. Lay near the ocean. Watch Evan swim. Listen to Roxy and Vivian screeching and laughing about some new movie because such-and-such actor was so cute. Eat his mother’s cooking. Play stupid board games with the Bishops.
He wanted to watch dolphins with Evan. To touch his face, kiss his mouth.
When he opened his eyes again, the beach was empty save for him and Marissa. The tide swept in, silent, nearly halfway up his calves.
Finally: “I’d like to live.”
Marissa smiled.
“Good. You haven’t done that in awhile.”
???
When he woke, the dark-haired woman next to his bed had on purple scrubs, decorated with little rainbows and clouds. He tried to focus on the pattern to make his vision clear. She noticed him and smiled, removing her pen from the top of her clipboard.
“Good morning, Archer. How are you feeling?”
Tired. Groggy. His body felt so heavy. His left arm and hand throbbed from the IV. How long had he been in there? A day? A week? When he tried to sit up, his limbs ignored him. The nurse pressed a button on the side of his bed, raising the head of it to prop him up. “Better?”
He nodded. The room around him… So bright, clean. Made his eyes hurt. “Where…?”
“You’re at Mercy General,” she said.
That wasn’t what he wanted to know. Where is—
“You’re one lucky boy, though, you know that?” She drew part of the blanket aside, long enough to check the dressing on his injury. He looked down, equal parts fascinated and horrified at the idea of doctors digging around to remove the bullet. They must have, anyway. How else would he have survived it? “Didn’t hit anything vital,” the nurse continued. “Just a lot of muscle. Give it a couple weeks and you should be good as new.” She lowered the blanket, scribbled something down on his notes.
Archer swallowed hard, trying to wet his dry throat. “Thank you. Has anyone…” Been waiting? Wanting to see him? Evan, his mother, anyone?
The smile slipped from her face. “Well, the police have been waiting to talk to you.”
He closed his eyes again, waiting for the panic to settle in, but he was too tired. Yes. They would know everything now, wouldn’t they? The police would have shown up, would have found his gun—Mick’s murder weapon. They would have found his list. In a way, maybe he was relieved. It was all over, no matter what. He wouldn’t have to kill again. No more lies.
The nurse fussed over him a few minutes longer before slipping out of the room and leaving him alone. He drifted along the fine line between sleep and awake, trying to think of what to say when the police came in.
An hour later—or maybe it was two or three, he lost count—someone stepped into the room, just out of sight. He swallowed hard, turning his head to look, expecting to see someone in uniform ready to drill him for answers.
“Are you awake?”
—Evan.
He shut the door behind him, leaving them in relative darkness, and stepped around the half-closed curtain surrounding Archer’s bed. Nothing the nurses were feeding him through a tube could’ve relaxed him like the sound of that voice.
Evan touched his face, brushed his hair back, kissed his forehead. “You’re okay,” he murmured, reassuring Archer. Perhaps reassuring himself. Archer noticed the slight tremor in his hands. “I’ve been so worried…”
Archer brushed his fingers against Evan’s arm. “I’m sorry.”
Evan pulled back, sinking down into a chair and taking up Archer’s hand in his own. Tracing a finger over Archer’s knuckles. “The detective is here to talk to you.”
Funny. With Evan here, the prospect of going to jail seemed a lot more frightening. His fingers curled around Evan’s hand as tightly as he could manage. “We aren’t telling them you lied. I don’t want you in trouble.”
Evan studied their hands, their interlocked fingers as though completing the meaning of them before looking him in the eye again. “What about the rest of it?”
His throat hurt something fierce. “The truth. All of it.” Lies wouldn’t save him, and he couldn’t risk Evan getting in trouble.
Before Evan could reply, someone rapped on the door, not waiting for an answer before coming in. Detective Stevens tugged the curtain aside, letting light from the hallway spill across the bed. Archer squinted. “Look at you. Still in the land of the livi
ng.”
“A miracle.”
Stevens pulled up another chair near the foot of the bed and took a seat. His dark eyes flicked from Evan to Archer and back again. “Well, Archer. I’m guessing you already know why I’m here.”
Evan squeezed his hand tight. Archer was grateful for whatever pain meds the doctors were giving him, because he had a feeling it was the only thing keeping him calm. He was able to respond and keep his voice completely level. “Yes. I think I know.”
“We found this.” From his pocket, the detective pulled a plastic bag with a piece of paper inside. Archer didn’t have to look twice to know exactly what it was. His list. It took everything he had to accept it when it was offered and stare down at it. The biggest piece of damning evidence against him.
“What is this?” Evan asked softly. As though he didn’t know.
Stevens leaned back in his seat. “We found it on Vivian Hilton. It’s typed, but Mickey Dumont’s name is written in. The writing matches Vivian’s.”
At that moment, too many thoughts flew through his drug-addled brain at once. The list was on Vivian? That wasn’t right. It had been tucked away in the notebook, where he always left it. Sure, it was possible she’d grabbed it before he came home, but…why?
“We did some research.” Stevens inclined his chin. “The first guy on her list there…he died of a freak accident a few years ago. In her house. She was the only one home.”
Archer continued to stare at the list, unsure what he was hearing. That’s right. Marissa sent me home before the police even showed up that day. He almost forgot to breathe.
“Her mother had a complaint filed against all the guys on this list, stating Vivian had been molested. Nothing ever came of it due to lack of evidence. Her word against all of theirs.” A shrug. “Looks like she decided to take matters into her own hands.”
This was the part where he was supposed to speak up. Where he said it was all his fault, and Vivian had been—almost—blameless. He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. Evan’s grip on his hand was tight to the point of being painful, as though willing him to keep quiet.