Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance

by J.C. Valentine

  Had she run off in the night? Had she set me up?

  Fool! How could you be so stupid? I have never once let my guard down and for good reason. It was how you got caught—killed, even. I’d broken all of my rules, and now I was standing on uneven ground, unsure what I might find waiting for me once I left the room.

  Would cops be swarming the place? Or would I find Brenda in the kitchen, making breakfast for us both? A sniff of the air tells me there is no food cooking, only heightening my paranoia.

  Dressing quickly, I pull my gun from its holster and check the clip before cautiously exiting the room. My ears pick up nothing. Not a sound anywhere nearby, almost as if cotton has been stuffed in my ears or the cabin has been vacuum sealed. The sensation increases my discomfort. What could be responsible for that? Is it possible it’s just my heightened senses overcompensating, making a mountain out of a molehill?

  Maybe Brenda was sitting outside enjoying the morning from a fresh perspective.

  I hope that’s all it is; otherwise, I’ll have to hunt her down and kill her.

  In the living room, my suspicions are confirmed. Brenda is nowhere to be found. I don’t have to look outside or search the premises because I can feel her absence, the physical draw I held for her gone. She bailed on me.

  The question is, did she simply leave and was making moves toward her new future, or has she turned me in and made me her scapegoat?

  I hope that whatever she’s up to, she chooses well. I’m not the type to forgive and forget.

  It’s best not to hang around. Combing through the cabin, I retrace my steps from last night into the morning, making sure that nothing is left behind that could trace back to me. Once I’m satisfied that I’ve cleaned up any evidence and wiped down all of the surfaces I may have come into contact with for fingerprints, I’m out the door and in my SUV, still hidden in the tree line, and make my way back downhill and toward the city limits.

  There’s no sign of Brenda along the way, nothing to indicate that she’d come or gone. I’m not sure how I feel about that. In a way, it makes everything that's happened between us feel almost like a dream. Did I really watch Glenn go over that cliff? Did I really bed the woman who hired me? Or was it all a fantasy, something I will wake up from any minute and laugh to myself for being so absurd?

  But it wasn’t a dream. As I cross the city line, a sheriff’s car races by headed in the opposite direction. Instinct tells me I know exactly where the uniformed officer is going. The question that begs to be answered is whether or not Brenda called in the hopes of me being caught and fingered for the crime, or if she assumed I’d already be absent from the scene and was just playing out the plan as we’d discussed.

  With a few changes that hadn’t involved her ditching me in the wee hours of the morning and leaving me to fend for myself should I be caught, literally, with my pants down.

  I want answers. My mind tends to leap to conclusions, and the ones I’m leaning toward aren’t in her favor. I want nothing more than for them to not be true. If they are and she made the wrong decision and moved against me, then I’ll have to do unthinkable. I tell myself to shake it off. If worse comes to worst and I have to end her life, there will be no one to blame but herself. She knew the risks going into this, and I’m doing what any red-blooded human would in that situation: fend for himself. Looking out for number one is the only thing that makes sense to me in this life.

  I keep watch in the rearview mirror all the way back to my apartment. I’ve made my decision. I can’t stay there anymore. Changes needed to be made. Since I’ve carried out this final assignment, it’s time for that retirement I’ve been looking forward to. And I’m not even going to call in for the last half of the money Faith owes me.

  Since I don’t know where we stand, I’m not going to take any more unnecessary risks. I’ve already done enough damage by risking my own ass. The last thing I need to worry about is fussing over the final payment she owes me. It’s just asking for trouble that I don’t need or want.

  Nothing is going to stand in my way of leaving the country and carving out a peaceful existence.

  I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  The moment I enter the lobby to the tall building housing luxury apartments, John appears, attaching himself to my side like a barnacle. Or a leech. I grit my teeth but keep the conversation one-sided. John isn’t the type to take subtle hints, or any hint at all, as the case is. He yaks away, oblivious to my lack of response, verbal or facial. The cold shoulder would be enough for a normal person to back off, but not John. John isn’t normal.

  “Looks like you got some sun this weekend,” John is observing as the elevator makes its ascent. “Beachside or poolside?” When I don’t offer any answer, he says, “That’s cool. I understand the need for privacy. Lucky lady, I’m guessing?” He winks and nudges his arm with a pointy elbow suggestively.

  My irritation grows.

  “After my fiancée broke up with me, I went to a club. I know, I know. What would a guy like me be doing in a club? I was thinking the same thing, but then I said, ‘John, you’re not getting any younger. Better go fishing while the catching is still good.’” He chuckles as if anything he said was the least bit funny, but I don’t join in. I’m not in a laughing mood. But at least the mystery of why John is so clingy and desperate has finally been cleared up.

  Finally seeming to notice, John asked, “I take it your weekend didn’t go as planned? Man, women, I tell ya. They can make ya or break ya.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. I’m not going to put in the time or energy trying to figure it out. My focus is singular: pack a bag or two and hit the road before anything came up that might stand in my way.

  Right now, that’s John, and John needs to back off before I have to do something about it. I considered from the beginning that it might come down to that end, but it isn’t as if I wanted to do it. I’m not a total monster. Just someone who doesn’t like to have his personal boundaries crossed.

  Right now, John is stomping all over them.

  “Look, John,” I finally say as the elevator chimes and coasts to a stop on my floor. “I’m not in the mood for chitchat. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “Say no more, buddy! Go home, rest up. Maybe I’ll see you in the gym later?”

  I step off onto my floor and throw a non-committal “Maybe” over my shoulder. It’s enough to appease the poor, lonely bastard. At least he doesn’t follow me.

  In my apartment, I do just what I’d set out to do. I pull the bugout bag from the top shelf in my closet and added a couple of essential items to keep me occupied on the long trip ahead. On the way back out, I don’t bother stopping to take one last look at the place that’s served as “home” for the better half of the last two years. I don’t have a home. Never had one. I don’t consider any one place special because they are all just functional, serving the solitary purpose to rest my mind and body, always disposable, always something I intended to eventually walk away from. Like I’m doing now.

  Without looking back, I close the door and don’t bother taking the time to lock it. There is nothing inside of any value and nothing of mine that can be considered personal. All of my worldly possessions are in the bag on my back, and that’s all I need. Clean, simple, efficient.

  I take the stairs down to the first floor to avoid John, in case the guy is still roaming around the building, and get back into my vehicle without incident. My attention is on the road, but I am fully aware of my surroundings. Any sign of a police vehicle spikes the hairs on the back of my neck. The police radio mounted on the dash, a Christmas gift from Tony, keeps me in a constant loop so I won’t be caught unaware. If a bulletin goes out, I’ll be one of the first to know about it.

  There are some nice perks of being in connection with a mafia. They have access to cool stuff that I wouldn’t normally be able to get my hands on.

  Fifteen minutes on the interstate, I spot the exit that started me on this p
ath and, against my better judgment, can’t resist the urge to take it.

  I find myself pulling onto the quiet street in the middle-class neighborhood a few minutes later, pulling to a stop in front of the plain white four-story house. A single yellow light is on in a second-floor window. Faith’s bedroom. Confirmation that she’s made it home safely releases a pent-up breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  Had I been concerned for her safety? I realize a small part of me had, in fact, been worried about her. The stupid, misguided part, no doubt. I’ve never in my life been concerned about anyone other than myself, so why start now?

  I should drive away. There’ no reason for me to be here. I’ve already satisfied that part of myself that needed to know where she’d ended up, so why am I still lingering, watching? Waiting? For what? It isn’t as if we had a love connection. One night of passionate sex didn’t mean a damn thing. I can’t and shouldn’t make more out of it than it was.

  Again, I’m screwing up. I know it even as I continue watching myself do it. It’s like a train wreck in slow motion. I can see the destruction coming, but I can’t look away, can’t seem to remove myself from the equation.

  Perhaps because it’s already too late…

  Twenty-Two

  ~Faith~

  I sit across from the officers, trying my best to portray the stricken housewife. They’d found Gregg. Apparently, according to them, he must have gotten too close to the edge of the cliff and fallen.

  “I knew I should have gone with him,” I fret, and wipe fake tears from beneath my eyes. “If I had gone, maybe…”

  As soon as dawn broke that morning, I’d left the comfort of the warm bed I’d shared with Declan the previous night and snuck from the cabin undetected. Declan would no doubt be angry with me when he woke. He might even assume that I’d used him as a scapegoat with the intent of pointing a finger his direction, but even though the thought had crossed my mind, I’m not that terrible of a person.

  I took my time driving back into the city and waited until I had a bit of breakfast before calling the police, giving him plenty of time, I hoped, to wake and clear out. Like me, Declan was more than capable of taking care of himself. If he got caught, it would be a problem for both of us. I didn’t have a ready explanation for that outcome, so I was banking on Declan being smart enough to be gone.

  Building on the story we had discussed, I concocted one that I felt was as foolproof as it was going to get.

  The youngest officer, tall with dirty blond hair, fair skin, and crystal-clear blue eyes that burst with life entered the living room, swapping places on the opposite couch with the older officer who’d been first on the scene and performed the initial questioning that led to finding Glenn. Now, it was the young male’s turn.

  Flipping open a rectangular black notebook, he clicked a slim silver pen and looked at me seriously. “Ma’am, I have a few questions I need you to answer.”

  I nod, the cooperative wife, and wiped a distraught tear from my eye.

  “When was the last time you saw your husband?”

  I look up at the ceiling, a dozen thoughts consisting of Glenn’s last moments racing through my mind like snapshots. “It was around lunchtime…mid-afternoon, I think?” I meet his eyes briefly, then press my lips together and look away again. “He was going fishing.”

  The officer jots a few notes. “And what were you doing? Any reason you didn’t go with him?”

  “Oh, I don’t like fishing. It’s so quiet and slow. Glenn could do it for hours. I’m more of a person who needs to move and do things. Stay busy, you know?”

  “How did you stay busy?”

  “I cleaned some. We’d just opened the cabin for the first time in… I can’t honestly remember the last time we were there. It’s been so long.”

  “What made you decide to go now?”

  Was I imagining the suspicion in his eyes? “Our marriage hasn’t been the best the past few years. We’d just started working on making it better. Glenn thought getting away for a weekend to focus on us would help.”

  “And did it?”

  I smile softly. “We’d already started working on reconnecting. The cabin was just a bonus. We didn’t get to spend much time together before…” My voice cracked with emotion, but not for the reason the officer likely attributed it to. Clearing my throat, I continued. “It was a beautiful few hours. Glenn could be very romantic when he put his mind to it.”

  The officer had been studying me, gauging my response. I can’t tell if he bought my explanation or not, but I’m fairly confident I sold it.

  “One more question and then I’ll get out of your hair. Why did you wait until you were home to call for help?”

  I had rehearsed this part many times on my way back, so the excuse flowed off my tongue with ease. “My phone service is spotty on a good day. Up there, I was lucky if I could get a single bar now and then. I knew that even if I could get the phone to work, it would drop the call. I didn’t have any choice but to leave back down the hill.” I shook my head. “I told Glenn for years that we needed to have a landline installed, but he always said the whole reason for going was to get away from distractions. He never thought about the what-ifs.”

  Without finishing his notes, the officer stands and looks down at me. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Overmeyer. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else we need. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Sniffling into a tissue, I dip my head and nod, finding it difficult to hide the smile that threatens to sprout. Hopefully, I won’t have to keep up the rouse much longer. It’s exhausting, going through this process. But it’s necessary. Soon, it will pay off in spades.

  The officers linger another hour, while I listened to the reports coming in over their walkies. They’d pulled Glenn’s body from the water several hours ago, started transporting his lifeless body to the morgue less than two hours ago, and they were now finishing their forensics of the property and cabin for signs of foul play. As the older officer had explained earlier, it was a formality. They had to cover all bases.

  I bided my time, and once everyone cleared out, and I was finally alone again, I honestly was drained. Who knew murder could take so much out of you?

  Remaining cautious, I take my time leaving the couch, and once I finally did, I made my way slowly upstairs to my room. It would be an early bedtime today, my need for rest and recuperation outweighing my desire to make plans for my future. I already had a path sketched out. Now I need to wait until the smoke cleared and any threat of suspicion was cast aside before I could move forward.

  It was difficult waiting, but patience, as they said, was a virtue.

  The bedroom was quiet, stagnate after being empty so long. Standing just inside the doorway, I took a moment to soak up my surroundings with fresh eyes.

  Everything was clean and tidy, just the way I’d left it. The bed was covered in freshly washed linens and was neatly made. The only dish in the room was the single empty glass I kept beside the bed where I slept in case I was thirsty at night. All of the laundry was washed, folded, and put away.

  I look at the dresser and closet, longing to tear through them and start purging myself of everything that belongs to my dear, late husband, but I have to exercise restraint yet again. It’s imperative that I not make any sudden moves.

  It will be the single hardest act of my life, but I will succeed—somehow.

  Toeing my shoes off and leaving them beside the door, I enjoy the way my toes sink into the plush carpet as I cross to the bed and lie down on my side. Staring up at the ceiling, I stare blankly at the popcorn texture, at the tiny bits of dust that have accumulated on some of the small peaks. Then something occurs to me.

  Why am I restricting myself? In my home, where I’m safe from prying, judgmental eyes, I can do whatever the hell I want.

  With a flourish, I jostle myself into the center of the bed and spread my arms and legs out wide, letting loose a long, satisfied sigh. Glenn won’t be
coming home tonight. Not ever. I listen to the silence that pervades the two-story home, smiling as myriad things occur to me: no more loud slamming of doors, no more jostling of keys or shoes clomping up the stairs, no more sweaty kisses or smelly hugs, and certainly, above all else, no more lies.

  I am well and truly alone now, and I can’t think of a single thing better than that. If I never make it to a tropical island, this in itself truly is a kind of paradise.

  My thoughts drift from one thing to the next until I finally fall asleep. Hours pass, and by the time I wake, it’s dark outside. For a moment, I almost leap from bed to start dinner, thinking Glenn will be home any minute, and I’d fallen behind schedule until I remember that my life belongs to only me now. If I want to make a meal, I can. If I don’t feel like it, I don’t have to do a thing. Everything is at my own pace now, and I grin as I climb out of bed and strip out of my clothes, on the way to the bathroom for a refreshing, unmolested shower.

  What a difference a day made!

  After I’m clean and in fresh, loose-fitting pajamas, I treat myself to a bowl of ice cream with crumbled brownie topping and sit down in front of the television to watch The Bachelor, relishing in the fact that the remote is all mine. This is a celebratory snack, but if anyone asks, I’ll simply claim I’m drowning myself in sorrow with junk food.

  Funny how closely related happiness and grief are and how easily people can confuse the two.

  I spend a couple of hours watching television, absorbing mindless reality TV and shaking my head at some of the antics people get up to in the pursuit of love. At times, I even find my heart swelling with hope as I watch couples bear their souls on camera just for a chance at reciprocation.

  Fools. All of them. If they only knew how fleeting lust was and that love was a unicorn—beautiful, coveted, and so rare as to be fictional.

  Yet, I can’t help wanting them to find that happily ever after, and maybe that means that, even in my jaded state of mind, I am still a hopeless romantic waiting for my prince to come and sweep me off my feet.