The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  In an instant, he experienced complete loss of motor control. Kristy shocked him twice more, until he was drooling and hunched over the steering wheel. He moaned her name, along with a stream of unintelligible curses. She stunned him once more, striking him in the back of his neck, this time fully incapacitating him. Staring down at Lance, now at her mercy, Kristy thought about all those men on death row. In her lifetime, she had witnessed thirty-seven people meet their maker. Thirty-six men and one woman were strapped to a gurney, intravenous needles inserted into their arms. She’d been a witness to each and every one of these sanctioned executions. But tonight wasn’t sanctioned. Not even close.

  Thirty-seven inmates and tonight Kristy remembered all those inmates she’d witnessed in their final moments, their faces and names haunting her.

  Randall, Michael, Jesse, David, Leroy, Peter, Darrell, Eddie, Maurice, Jorge, Hector, Clark, Steven, Travis, Jason, Franklin, Stanley, Alan, Gilberto, Trevor, Isaac, Jose, Willie, Oscar, Ernest, Miles, Nelson, Alberto, Karl, Timothy, Emmanuel, Tim, Marcus, Quincy, Barry, Carlos, Pamela. Thirty-seven people and now Lance would make thirty-eight.

  Kristy had to work quickly before the taser wore off. She bound Lance’s feet and hands with zip ties and covered his mouth with duct tape. Spittle dripped down his shirt; angry grunts escaped from the tape’s confines. She knew when she removed the tape he would unleash a tirade of threats.

  Threats to her.

  Threats to Ryan.

  Threats to Pops.

  Threats.

  Threats.

  Threats.

  There was a time in Kristy’s life when she considered herself a righteous, law-abiding woman, superior to the men and women she encountered in prison every day. Not anymore. Tonight she was just like them.

  Using all of her strength, Kristy shoved Lance into the passenger’s seat. Then she climbed into the driver’s seat and drove fifteen miles to the woods that she’d selected as Lance’s final resting place. The spot was located on a trail that forked off a Forest Service road west of Lake Conroe, tucked several miles away from the back roads. Kristy drove right up to the grave site and eased the truck to a stop. Surrounded by a heavy thicket of pine trees, her high beams illuminated the giant grave. Lance’s grave.

  Kristy’s hands trembled as she pulled on the men’s work gloves and covered her head with the hood of her black Windbreaker. Inside the cab of the truck, the heat was unbearable, drops of sweat running down her back. Kristy could feel Lance’s eyes watching her every move. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the pistol she’d bought. No serial numbers. No background checks. Lance inhaled, twisting against his bindings, perhaps realizing how serious things were, that maybe he had underestimated her. Kristy held Lance’s gaze, desperate to see a glimmer of remorse, a hint that he was sorry for what he’d done to her. But his expression remained unforgiving. In Lance’s mind, Kristy was the villain in his story. She would always be the villain.

  And as long as Lance was alive, there was no escape. No escape. No escape. No escape. She repeated this mantra over and over again. She had promised that she wouldn’t cry, that Lance didn’t deserve her tears, but they were pouring down her face. All this time, Kristy had been silenced by Lance. Now she could finally speak.

  “It was all an act, wasn’t it? You groomed Ryan, manipulated me and Pops. This is what you do, isn’t it? I used to rack my brain wondering how I could make things go back to the way they were. Those times weren’t real, though. All of those early days were lies. I wish I knew why you were like this. But it’s done, Lance. You drove me to this.”

  He shook his head, muttering angrily into the tape, but Kristy continued. He had to hear this. This was her chance to finally be heard.

  “All I wanted was for you to stop hurting me. To stop threatening me. Why couldn’t you do that? Why couldn’t you walk away?” Kristy asked.

  She tore the tape that covered his mouth, and the first thing he did was shout for help. Actually, it was more of a howl than a shout, the sound a bear would make the moment a trap snapped shut around its paw.

  “I picked a place so isolated that no one can hear you, Lance. Isn’t that what you taught me?” The coldness in Kristy’s voice startled Lance. He fought at his restraints as he spoke.

  “You don’t know what real love is. Always worried about Ryan and Pops, never thinking about me. So goddamn selfish, just like that bitch Hannah.”

  “You’re not well, Lance. You’re a damaged, broken man. You hurt Hannah so badly the only way she could escape was to kill herself.”

  Lance whimpered. “No one loves me. Not you. Not Hannah. Not my slut of a mother. My daddy was right; you’re all worthless whores. And I was good to you, Kristy. I was good to your family. But not anymore. I swear to God, I’m going to kill that pussy-whipped son of yours, and that waste of space you call a father.”

  “I don’t have to do this,” Kristy pleaded. “If you just let me go. Just walk away.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Lance grunted. “We both know how this ends.”

  Kristy sized up Lance, realizing he would never ever let her go.

  “I think we have very different ideas about tonight’s ending,” Kristy said.

  She removed the zip ties from Lance’s feet, holding the gun inches from his torso. If he fucked with her now, she would shoot him in the chest, to hell with the evidence.

  Kristy opened her door and slid out, heavy sheets of rain pouring down on her. She took three steps back. Keeping her distance from Lance was important; the closer he was to her, the more likely it was that he could disarm her and take her weapon. She waved the gun at him, motioning for Lance to slide out of the truck.

  “Move toward me,” she told Lance. “Feet first. Go slowly.”

  “Fuck you,” Lance snarled. Kristy lowered the gun five inches. It was now pointed directly at Lance’s crotch. Her finger hovered over the trigger.

  “Okay. Okay, I’m going.”

  He obeyed her, unsteady, scooting toward the driver’s-side door, his boots landing on the wet and muddy ground beneath him. He righted himself, standing rigid with fury and contempt. Kristy pointed Lance to his grave. For the first time, she saw a flicker of uncertainty.

  “Start walking. One foot in front of the other.”

  Lance obeyed, walking slowly in front of her. The dirt pit was less than five feet away. She never faltered or dropped her gaze, but somehow Lance, attuned to anticipating his opponent’s every move, seized his opportunity. He spun around, hands flailing as he reached out to grab her. In a horror movie, the killer always has the element of surprise, but somehow, after all this time with Lance, Kristy had anticipated this attack. She didn’t cower. She didn’t block her face or flinch. She just reacted. So many actions occurred instantaneously; the bullet roared out of the chamber, the muzzle flash blinded her temporarily, the recoil from the gun shook her body, her arms tensed from the alien feeling of such an unnatural act, the ringing in her ears drowned out all sounds, and everything slowed until it appeared that time stood still. The first bullet hit Lance squarely in the chest, ripping through his flesh with terrifying force. He staggered backward as Kristy steadied herself and fought to focus.

  She remembered the first time Lance smacked her. I love you.

  Kristy fired.

  Lance’s fist striking her jaw. I love you.

  She fired again.

  His boot slamming into her ribs. I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Lance landed with a thud on the mud-soaked ground. Blood pooled from his wounds, the rainwater carrying it away. He blinked up at Kristy in disbelief, gagging and coughing up blood. Lance reached out, beckoning her forward.

  “Please … don’t leave me.”

  He had tormented her, broken her, ruined her, but she didn’t turn away. Instead, she sank down onto the wet dirt. Clutching the gun in one hand in case he tried one last attack, she reached for his other hand.

  “You’re not alo
ne, Lance. I’m right here.”

  He could not hurt her anymore. She sat by his side, thunder roaring in the distance. Lance’s organs were failing, his body relaxing, the light slowly fading from his eyes. Kristy didn’t owe Lance anything, but she’d loved him once, believed that he loved her. She had watched all those people die, but that was nothing compared to this, the slow ebbing of the heartbeat of the man she once loved. All Kristy could do now was watch as Lance slipped away, her sobs swallowed up by the storm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kristy gagged, bile rising up in her throat, eyes blurring from her tears. She swallowed hard, counting to ten over and over again. Lance was dead. Her husband was dead and she had murdered him.

  Stop it. Stop it now. Get up. Get moving. If she didn’t, she might as well call the cops now and turn herself in. It took all Kristy’s strength to drag Lance over to the grave, heaving his body and watching it land with a thud. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that he was gone, that his heart could be beating one moment, and the next … but she couldn’t get swept up by grief and regret. There wasn’t time for that. She switched off the part of her brain that said she couldn’t do this and forced herself to focus on the details. That’s what mattered now. Kristy removed the remaining zip ties from Lance’s hands, and then she stared back at Lance’s corpse.

  Corpse, another one of those words that signaled irrevocability. No way to turn back. She couldn’t think about Lance. She had to focus on the plan. Focus, Kristy.

  It took her thirty minutes of digging, covering Lance until the hole was completely filled in. Kristy placed the rocks on top until no ground was visible. Her movements were frenzied. She had to remind herself to slow down. Mistakes happen when you get careless.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Kristy had to be back at the movie theater before one fifteen, had to make sure that she was seen leaving, had to make sure that her alibi was completely shored up. The rain had stopped; a light drizzle was all that remained. Kristy stripped naked, dousing herself with bottled water until she’d wiped away all the blood and dirt, inspecting her hands and feet for any stubborn traces. She placed her bloodstained clothes in a plastic bag and stuffed them in a bag with her gun. She’d get rid of all of it tomorrow before anyone noticed Lance was gone.

  Once she was dressed, she re-braided her hair, the exact style she’d worn to work. She climbed into Lance’s pickup and carefully reapplied her makeup. Wearing a different pair of black gloves (to avoid fingerprints) Kristy drove Lance’s pickup back to his campsite, just fifteen miles from his final resting place.

  She opened up a few beers from Lance’s cooler and emptied them onto the ground, and walked around in an old pair of Lance’s boots to create footprints in the muddy ground. Once that was complete, Kristy placed all of Lance’s things inside the camper. Cell phone and keys on the small Formica table. His hunting rifles propped against the door. His overnight bag on the shelf near the bed.

  Kristy canvassed the crime scene, obsessively looking to make sure her presence had been completely erased. If Kristy succeeded, the authorities would think Lance had simply vanished.

  She grabbed her bag and walked deeper into the woods until she reached a clearing. Kristy pushed away mounds of thick brush and unearthed a small gray scooter. She had scoured the classified ads in the surrounding area until she located a man in Sugar Land who was selling his son’s moped.

  She’d arrived wearing a hat, her face obscured, paid the man cash, and left, a sixty-second transaction with no paperwork changing hands. There was risk involved here, in buying this scooter, in meeting someone who might be able to identify her, but she couldn’t use any of the vehicles she had without the police monitoring the GPS. Kristy cranked up the moped and gave one last glance back at Lance’s grave before she headed back to town.

  The roads were slick and driving was tricky. Her tires skidded on the wet gravel roads. She gripped the handlebars, praying she wouldn’t lose control, and in less than forty minutes, she made it back to Huntsville unscathed. It seemed impossible that she’d been gone only four hours. Kristy parked the bike in an alleyway three blocks from the theater and left the keys inside the ignition, praying that someone was in the mood for a little petty theft. She hurried down the deserted streets and slipped back into the theater, flashing her torn ticket stub to the same bored usher. He waved her in without even looking up from his cell phone.

  Kristy stopped off at the bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror, searching for signs of what she’d done. No blood or mud or grime remained, nothing out of the ordinary except for her eyes. Clifton once said the eyes gave it all away, showed one’s true struggle and heartache. “It’s always there, always in the eyes.” Kristy’s eyes were lifeless and hollow. Her “sparkle” had been forever extinguished.

  There were only fifteen minutes left in the last movie. Kristy found a seat near the back of the theater, shivering, her body chilled from the rain, and the weight of what she’d done crashing down upon her. On-screen, a mind-numbing police chase seemed to go on forever. Actors phoned in cheesy dialogue about how good always prevails, but none of it registered. The movie ended and Kristy left the theater, just another person headed for home and a warm, safe bed. She texted Lance. Movie’s over. Headed home. Love you. There was limited to zero cell reception at the campsite, but it would show the police that Kristy cared about her husband.

  She arrived home a little after two in the morning and found Pops wide awake and watching TV in the living room. He grinned when he saw her and muted the TV.

  “Hey, Kristy girl, how was the picture show?”

  “Good, Pops. They were good.”

  “You hear from Lance?”

  “No, but the reception is spotty. Need anything before I go to bed?” she asked, praying Pops would say no. She couldn’t handle chitchat right now.

  “I’m good. You go on to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Kristy stopped by Ryan’s room, even though she knew he wasn’t home. She stood in the doorway, staring at his messy unmade bed, his desk covered with stacks of papers, his debate medals hanging proudly on the far wall. She did this for him. She did it for all of them.

  Rationally, Kristy understood that. But the moment she entered her bedroom, her senses were assaulted by what remained of Lance, his musky cologne, the indent in the unmade bed from where he’d slept, his nightclothes tossed on top of the bureau, and that goddamn wedding picture still hanging above the bed. Kristy half walked, half staggered, collapsing onto the bed, biting her pillow to silence her cries. She wept, wailing into the soft terry cloth fabric, her cries becoming whimpers until at long last, she drifted off in a fitful sleep.

  Hours later, Kristy jolted upright, surprised that she’d dozed off. Sunlight poured through the blinds and Kristy found her sense of impending doom was nearly all-consuming. She showered, hot water scalding her body as she scrubbed away at the imaginary bloodstains. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t seem to get clean enough. She quickly dressed and headed downstairs, an uneasy silence filling the house. She made a pot of coffee and poured it in her thermos. It was a little after nine, and she knew Pops wouldn’t be up for several hours. Kristy often worked weekends, and that was the plan today. She would go to her office at the Walls, make polite chitchat with the guards, hunker down at her desk, answer e-mails and phone calls about Gordon and his proposed sex change. She’d write press releases and try not to think about what would unfold when Ryan and Pops learned that Lance was missing. She would do all the things that people who hadn’t killed their husbands do.

  Kristy drove past the lake, unsure if she should dump the gun or wait until dark. She scanned the surroundings—overcast, not a soul in sight. She’d placed the gun in a weighted black plastic bag and tied it tightly with chicken wire. She threw it as far as she could, watching it splash, sending ripples as it sank into the lake, and then it disappeared.

  Half an hour later, she p
ulled into the prison, waving to Ernesto, the weekend guard. He’d worked here almost as long as Kristy, and they chatted about his daughter, who was expecting her first baby.

  Kristy’s office always seemed dim, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. She wanted to switch off all the lights and sit in the dark, but on the off chance that Carmen or Gus came in today, she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself.

  She sorted through e-mails, eyeing the to-do list she had neglected over the past few weeks, but it was ridiculous to think she would ever get any work done. She mostly sat in silence, staring out the window at the guard tower, time drifting by. Her phone buzzed at a quarter to four with a text from Ryan.

  I’m back. Want to meet for dinner? I’m on my way to Chili’s.

  That was the last place Kristy wanted to go, the restaurant where it all began, but she couldn’t say that. Besides, she wanted to see Ryan. She needed to hug him, make sure that he was okay.

  She texted back. Meet you in twenty minutes.

  Kristy arrived at the restaurant and found Ryan seated at a booth in the corner.

  “Hey, Ry,” she said, sinking down, hoping he couldn’t see the change in her. He looked up from his menu, his eyes red, mouth turned down in despair. He’d been crying, it seemed, a ravaged expression on his face. Did he know something had happened? What if he hadn’t gone to Galveston with Ella? What if he’d come to the campsite and seen everything? No. There’s no way Ryan would have invited Kristy to dinner if he had any clue what his mother had done.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Kristy asked.

  “She dumped me, Mom.”

  “Ella?”

  Ryan nodded, his heartache apparent.

  “I don’t understand. Did she say why?”

  “She said I’ll be at my leadership camp this summer and she’s going to California to visit her aunt for a month, and she said she just wants to have fun and not be so serious.”