Hush

by Nicole Hart

  “No, she’s not. I can’t give out details, but she’s no longer with us. God rest her soul. My brother, Benjamin, asked me to call to let you know. He wanted you to know he will make sure you get paid until you find another job, dear. He would have called himself, but he’s very distraught.”

  “Oh my God.” My voice cracked and I tried to gather my thoughts enough to finish the conversation. “No, it’s fine. Tell him not to worry about that. I’m so sorry for his loss. For your loss. I’m sorry,” I rambled until she finally cut me off.

  “Thank you, honey. But Benji was adamant that you get paid. He said Amie always bragged about what a great employee you were. I’m sure he will contact you soon, or I will if he asks.”

  “Thank you. She was the best boss anyone could ever ask for,” I spoke quietly into the receiver.

  “I’m sure she was. You take care of yourself now, okay, dear?” Her accent dripped like honey in my ear.

  “Yes, ma’am. Same to you.”

  “Bye-bye now.” She ended the call, and I dropped the phone onto the floor.

  Sara came to my side in an instant.

  “She’s dead,” I whispered while staring at the fibers of plush carpet at my feet.

  Guilt riddled me, washed over me, consumed me.

  “Stop. I know what you’re thinking, but you need to stop right now,” Sara demanded, and I peered in her direction. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t think that way. We don’t even know for sure it’s him, but if so, it’s still not your fault. He was crazy a long time ago—you didn’t cause that. You didn’t make him evil, Satan himself had a hand in that, and you know it.” She did everything to reassure me, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “But he’s coming after me because he saw me. He knows I left him there to die. He wants to punish me,” I whimpered, leaning into my sister.

  “Did he ever need a reason to punish us? Did he?” Sara’s voice sounded angry, but I knew it wasn’t toward me.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “For all we know, he doesn’t even remember you seeing him. He was in a fucking coma for years. He’s fucked up in the head, period. You know that, Rachel. Stop blaming yourself because he’s the fucking devil.” Everything she said made sense, and I wanted to believe it.

  “Maybe I should go to the police and just tell them my theory.” My hands began to shake, and the thought of doing so scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t let more people die and not say anything.

  “Maybe,” she replied, and part of me wished she would try to convince me otherwise.

  But she didn’t.

  I knew the right thing to do, and as scared as I was, I had to do it.

  My phone buzzed as I read to Mama in the backyard. It was her favorite book of poetry, and in turn, became my own.

  “One second, I’ll be right back. Okay?” I held up my index finger in her direction as I grabbed my cell from the patio table and stood.

  She responded with a nod as I walked through the sliding glass door and into the kitchen. I saw it was Jackson calling, and I didn’t want to speak to him in front of my mother, unsure of how the conversation would turn out. I hadn’t been home in three days, and this was the first time Jackson had tried to get in touch with me. Apparently, my short text about staying with Mama for a few days was enough information for him. Until now, I suppose.

  “Hello.” I glanced at Sara engrossed in making some sort of list at the kitchen counter.

  “Hey.” Jackson’s voice was soft on the other end of the line, which threw me off.

  We sat in silence for a few moments, and I wasn’t sure what he wanted or if I even had anything to say to him. The distance I’d had from him the last three days was welcome, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yeah. What do you mean?” I squinted at Sara, wondering why he seemed to act like he suddenly cared after the way he’d treated me for months.

  “Just your boss. I saw it on the news. Wanted to see if you needed anything.”

  Sara now stood next to me with her ear against the backside of my phone, trying to eavesdrop.

  “I’m fine.” I was beyond aggravated that he chose now to give a damn about my feelings.

  “Are you going to come home today?” he asked. There wasn’t a hint of anger in his voice, or even a slur, although it was still very early in the day, and I assumed he was at work.

  “Um, I don’t think so.” I didn’t want to give more of an explanation over the phone. This was a conversation that needed to happen face to face.

  “Rachel, come on.” There was pain in his voice, and I hated that it made me feel guilty.

  “I’m going to stay here tonight, but I’ll come home tomorrow. There are some things we need to talk about.” I let out a long sigh and hoped he wouldn’t pressure me to expand the conversation.

  I glanced at Sara who gave me the same confused expression I’d given her only moments ago. She wasn’t buying the nice-guy attitude.

  “Talk about…talk about what?” His sad tone gave me mixed feelings.

  Part of me felt bad for doing this. The other knew it was necessary, and his caring attitude was too little too late.

  “Not over the phone, Jackson. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there when you get off work.” I decided and shook my head.

  “Okay. I love you, Rachel.” His words caused my eyes to immediately fill with tears.

  I tilted my head back to prevent them from falling, willing them to go back where they came from. Sara patted my back, which didn’t help my emotions one bit.

  “I love you, too,” I repeated, and it was the truth. I did love him. I’d spent so much of my life with him that it was impossible not to feel love for him. But that didn’t change who he’d become, or what I needed in my life right now.

  “Bye,” he whispered before ending the call, not giving me a chance to respond.

  The truth was, I’d already said goodbye. It was over.

  “What the fuck was that?” Sara stared at me with her mouth gaped in surprise.

  “Weird, right?” I slid my phone into my back pocket and glanced out the window to see Mama wandering around the yard, picking leaves from the young trees.

  “So weird.” She went back to her list at the table. “Are you going to change your mind?” She kept her eyes on the notepad in front of her.

  “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” I headed in the direction of the patio door to finish reading to Mama when I heard Sara mumble behind me.

  “Thank fuck.”

  I ignored her comment and proceeded to join Mama in the backyard. When she noticed me walking toward her through the freshly cut grass, she met me in the middle, wrapped her arms around me tightly, and stroked my hair.

  “Are you okay, Mama?” I pulled away just enough to see her face.

  Her eyes were glassy, and unshed tears held themselves in place.

  “I wish you’d talk to me,” I admitted out loud but wished I hadn’t. I didn’t want to make her feel bad for who she was now.

  Her brows crinkled together and she pulled me close to her once more, where we remained for the next few minutes.

  I sat in the home I’d shared with Jackson for the past few years and looked around, waiting for happy memories to flood me, fully expecting to feel guilty for what I was about to do. But that didn’t happen.

  I remembered the nights I’d spent alone while he was out at the bar. I remembered the mornings I’d spent cleaning up spilled alcohol. I couldn’t forget the cold-hearted words he’d spewed at me or the names he resorted to calling me. I thought about how hard things had been for me when the murders had started, and how scared I’d been and how he mocked my fear.

  Those were the things I remembered, and none of them were happy. None of them caused me to feel guilty. But they did make me angry. Angry at Jackson for who we had become. And angry at myself for allowing it to go on for so lon
g.

  The unknown was scary.

  I didn’t want to stay with Sara for too long, but at this point, I was scared to be alone in my own place. I knew Duane would come after me if he was still out on the loose. So I had no other choice but to keep my guard up until he was caught. I’d made a promise to myself to go to the police department and tell them everything, regardless of the consequences. And I knew I planned on keeping that promise, even if it meant I would pay for my own crimes. And even if I was completely wrong, at least I tried.

  Tomorrow. I would tell the police everything tomorrow.

  One hurdle at a time.

  The sound of Jackson’s truck in the driveway pulled me from my thoughts. The night sky shadowed the room, so I flipped the tableside lamp on, my childhood fear of the dark sneaking up on me. My nerves took over, and my body began to tremble from the inside out. I’d rehearsed what I would say at least a hundred times, but now that I heard his footsteps draw close to the front door, my mind was blank. I couldn’t remember the speech I’d recited in my mind until I’d perfected it.

  The knob turned, and I watched in silence as he walked through the doorway, placing his keys in the bowl on the entry table.

  “Hey.” He gave me a nod and stared at the floor before moving his feet into the living room where I sat.

  “Hey,” I repeated.

  “Listen. I’ve had a really hard day, and I don’t think I can handle the bad news that I know is coming.” He stopped directly in front of me, and my stomach turned at the faint stench of liquor coming from his breath.

  “Jackson…” I started to interrupt, not wanting to delay this any longer than necessary. I had to get it over with.

  “Rach, please,” he whispered, placing both of his hands over his face before running them through his hair, anguish marring his expression.

  “I need to do this.” I stood and moved closer to him.

  “Rachel, Danny’s dead, and I can’t do this. Not today. Please.”

  I’d never seen the look on his face that he currently wore. I couldn’t read his expression. He almost seemed like a different person. It was eerie. But his words slammed into my chest.

  “What? Who’s Danny?” I touched his forearm—out of habit more than emotion.

  “He was the new landscaper I hired a couple of weeks ago.” I watched his body language as he folded and unfolded his arms three times and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  “What happened?” I already knew, but I needed him to say it.

  “He was murdered. Like the others.” He stared past me, his eyes locking on the wall.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I couldn’t be cold to him, not now.

  “No. And then the cops came and interviewed everyone.”

  Fold.

  Unfold.

  Fold.

  Unfold.

  Shift.

  I stared in silence. Watching. Waiting.

  “I told them everything. How Duane is awake, what we saw, what we think.”

  We?

  “You told them? Everything?”

  Fear washed over me along with confusion, but now wasn’t the time to question his word choice.

  “Yeah, I had to. We aren’t in trouble. At least now they think they have a lead. They asked for your information. They might call you.” He walked closer to me and placed both of his arms on my shoulders, but the smell of alcohol overwhelmed the air as he got closer.

  “Okay.” I crossed my own arms, feeling the need to protect myself, but from what, I wasn’t sure.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. But I do now. I believe you,” he whispered and pulled me to him until I was pressed against his sweaty body.

  I felt suffocated, unable to catch my breath. I needed distance. I needed air.

  “Okay. Okay,” I choked out, taking a step back and trying to pull in a deep breath.

  “Please don’t leave again. At least not tonight,” he begged, another move that caught me by surprise.

  I’d known Jackson over half of my life, and he’d never begged. Ever.

  I didn’t want to be in this house right now. I suddenly felt like it was choking the life out of me. I wanted to escape. But I didn’t want to be the kind of person who kicked him when he was down. I didn’t feel like I owed Jackson the rest of my life, but I could at least give him a few hours.

  “Okay. I can’t tell you that I’m staying, though. But I’ll stay tonight.” I tried to be honest with him without being heartless.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, pulling me against him once more.

  I placed my arms around him, trying to give him just a little comfort. I could do that, at least. Even though I didn’t feel it in my heart.

  A few hours later, I lay my head on the pillow and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Jackson had been in the bathroom for a while now, and I’d hoped I would drift off to sleep before he reappeared—although, I realized there was no chance of that.

  I listened closely over the running shower and heard his voice faintly. I’d heard him talk to himself a couple of times before, but this just made me uncomfortable. I squeezed my eyes closed and begged my body to fall asleep.

  A few minutes later, the water shut off, and I waited for Jackson to appear. When the door opened, the usual scent of shampoo or soap didn’t accompany him. He was in his boxers, but the only smell that filled the room was liquor. I pressed my eyes shut, refusing to fight over this.

  Tonight would be over soon enough, and so would this part of my life.

  I felt the mattress dip as Jackson crawled into bed, and his heavy breathing echoed in the quiet room. I turned on my side, hoping to escape the smell of whiskey.

  When his damp body touched my back, I stiffened. I didn’t want this. He hadn’t touched me in months, and I couldn’t do this. Not now.

  He began to run his rough hand down my side, over my T-shirt and pajama pants. I clenched my thighs together tightly, and my toes curled from the pressure of my muscles. When he pressed his lips to my neck, the smell of hot liquor caused my body to shutter. I tried to control my disgust and remained completely still, hoping he’d give up and go to sleep.

  Instead, he gripped my shoulder and rolled me onto my back, pressing his body on top of mine.

  I couldn’t speak.

  I wanted to run.

  He gripped the waistline of my pajamas and panties in his fist and started to yank them down.

  “Jackson, no,” I demanded, although my pleas were ignored.

  He continued to lower my panties quickly and roughly.

  I didn’t want this. I wanted him to stop.

  “Jackson, stop. Stop!” I said louder, my teeth clenched as I tried to push his weight off me.

  “Hush,” he scolded, grabbing my breast in his hand and squeezing hard. His heavy body was too much for me to control. I couldn’t move him.

  Hush.

  “No, get off me.” I pushed against his chest, straining to gain control.

  “Hush. Shut your fucking mouth,” he whispered angrily, and my body began to shake.

  Escape.

  Escape.

  Escape.

  There comes a point in everyone’s life when you experience a shift.

  A moment in time that you can’t change.

  But it changes you.

  Every fiber of your being.

  There’s no turning back.

  The damage is done.

  Shift.

  The scalding water soaked my body and the suds from the soap covered me. But I didn’t feel clean. I couldn’t wipe away the filth. I scrubbed harder until my skin glowed red and felt raw from the washcloth. Tears streamed down my cheeks, intertwining with the hot water as I bent forward, begging the disgusting film that covered me to disappear.

  But there was no hope. The feeling wouldn’t go away. I rinsed the soap from my body and turned the shower off before covering my pained flesh with a large, cotton towel.

  I glanced
at the knob to be sure the door was still locked. Jackson had left after what he did to me last night, but I didn’t trust him. Not anymore. Any ounce of trust or love I had for him was gone.

  Vanished.

  I had to pull myself together just long enough to pay my respects to Amie, and then I would put this part of my life behind me. I would get out of this house. I had to. I couldn’t spend another night here. I wouldn’t allow myself to have this life.

  A few hours later, I drove with tear-stained cheeks back to the place where everything changed. I would just grab a bag, enough for a few days until I knew Jackson would be gone. I didn’t want to chance any interaction with him.

  I felt a sense of relief as I pulled into our empty driveway and jumped out of my car, determined to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. My nervous hands shook as I shoved the key into the doorknob and pushed it open, then made a beeline for my bedroom. I walked through the house and noticed dead leaves littering the path from the front door.

  “Not my problem,” I mumbled to myself. I didn’t care that the house was a mess. I didn’t care about this house at all. I just wanted to get in and get out.

  As soon as I got into the bedroom I shared with Jackson, I pulled the closet door open and grabbed a few things from hangers before doing the same from the drawers. Just the bare necessities—I would worry about the rest later. In a nervous haste, I began to search for a bag or a suitcase. Something.

  I looked on the closet floor that was littered with shoes, nothing. I dropped to my knees and glanced under our bed, spotting an oversized suitcase and a duffel bag. I opted for the bag that I never recalled purchasing and pulled it closer. I fully expected it to be empty, but the weight of resistance told me otherwise. I grabbed it anyway, determined to discard whatever it held, even if it meant throwing the contents on the bed. I didn’t care. I’d never lay my body in that bed again anyway.

  The flashes from the night before caused my skin to crawl. I forced the tears away and got back to my task at hand.

  I unzipped the duffel bag and realized it must be a work bag that Jackson used, although I never remembered seeing it. I began to empty the contents, and my heart started to thrash against my chest as the pungent smell invaded my senses, causing waves of nausea to roll over me. I grabbed a thick rope and threw it next to me; I didn’t understand why he would need a rope. There was a roll of plastic wrap and a pair of dirty boots, covered in mud. I dropped them to the floor with a loud thud and continued. I grabbed a pair of black gloves, heavy duty and soiled. I dropped them next to the boots and caught a hue of crimson streaked across my fingers.