by Willow Rose
Heart hammering in my chest, I stare down at the display as it lights up. It needs a password to open, so I can’t look into it. I am almost about to put it down; then a thought strikes me. Fumbling nervously, I grab my own phone, then find the number that texted me after the incident at Duke’s house. My finger misses at first since it is shaking so terribly, but finally, I manage to press Call.
The display on Frank’s other phone lights up, and it plays a song. My body starts to tremble violently, just as the shower turns off and Frank walks out, a towel wrapped around his waist.
Chapter 51
Frank grins. He’s drying his hair with a second towel, rubbing it in the back. “How about we go to town for dinner? I saw this Italian place on our way up here that looked really quaint.”
I stare at him. My hands that are holding both phones are still shaking. His has stopped ringing, and Frank hasn’t seen them yet.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Is something wrong?”
I hold out the phones. His grin is wiped away instantly. He freezes.
“W-what is this? Frank? What the hell is THIS?”
I press the call button again, and his burner phone lights up. I want to make sure he gets it.
“Laurie, I can…”
“It was you? It was y-you all along? I trusted you. I let you in my home? I let you hang out with my children? I…I made love to you? We were gonna…we were going to have a baby?”
Frank is watching me. A deep furrow is growing between his eyebrows. He’s looking for what to say, what to tell me to calm me down.
“Frank?” I say, bursting into tears. “Y-you attacked me at Duke’s house? You…you attacked my parents? You…you killed…Sandra? Ted? Was that you, Frank? Was that all you? I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? You’re a forensic scientist; if anyone can make it look like a suicide, it’s you, right?”
Frank is approaching me. I am suddenly aware that my gun is downstairs in my purse. “Laurie,” he says, reaching out a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, okay? Calm down.”
“It all makes so much more sense now,” I say. “Clarice, right? It was because of what happened to her. She was deployed and came home in a casket. You looked at her autopsy and realized she had been hurt. You fought for justice for her but didn’t get any and were only met with closed doors from the Air Force. Then you decided to get rid of them on your own. Everyone who appeared in the report, all who you believed gave false testimony and tried to cover for what really happened. Sandra was the first to go. Suicides are common, and no one raises a brow over one; no one suspects foul play when a soldier who has been to war kills herself once she’s back.”
Frank looks at me, his nostrils flaring slightly. I can tell I’m right. He’s not objecting. He’s not trying to tell me I’m wrong. We’re past that now. We’re down to damage control. His muscles are flexing in his jaw, and he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Laurie, please…you don’t know what it’s like…when they all lie to your face. No one wanted to listen, and I…they all killed her, Laurie. Everyone in that unit killed her. I just know they did. They were covering for one another. She was raped and murdered, and we were getting no justice. Yes, I went to Sandra Mulcahey’s house. I wanted to confront her and ask her about what really happened. We ended up fighting, and I sedated her using liquid Fentanyl—not in her coffee but with an injection. Then I dragged her upstairs and placed her in the tub and slit her wrists. Later, I went to Ted Kenopensky’s house and broke in through the back door. I injected the Fentanyl into his system, then hung him up. Yes, I attacked you at Duke’s house, but what else could I have done? You might have revealed me. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you gave me no choice, Laurie. I didn’t mean for it to get this far, Laurie. You must believe me.”
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. It’s so hard to wrap my mind around this. How had I not seen this earlier?
“How, Frank? How am I supposed to believe anything you tell me after this?”
He steps toward me. I wince, and he stops. He points his finger at me.
“One in three women who join the military will be sexually assaulted or raped by men in the military. Those are the facts, Laurie. Clarice was just a number in the statistics. And even more alarming is the rate of women coming home in caskets. Ninety-four U.S. military women have died in Iraq or during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Thirteen U.S. military women have been killed in Afghanistan during Operation Enduring Freedom. Of the ninety-four U.S. military women who died in Iraq, the military says thirty-six died from non-combat related injuries, which included vehicle accidents, illness, death by ‘natural causes,’ and self-inflicted gunshot wounds, or suicide. Thirty-six! From Fagrad Air Base alone right now, fifteen more deaths have occurred under extremely suspicious circumstances, where the relatives have received no acceptable explanation. This is not just about Clarice, Laurie. This is about the military and what they allow to happen to our sisters, to our girlfriends, and our wives.”
I stare at him, not even blinking. I still have my phone in my hand, and I fumble with it, trying to call nine-one-one. Frank doesn’t see it. He scoffs.
“Don’t you understand how terrible it is what they do to these girls? To their relatives who’ll never know the truth? Do you have any idea what kind of pain this has inflicted on my parents? How about all the other relatives who’ll never know the truth? Clarice was badly bruised. She had teeth imprints on her skin; she had scratches all over her body. Her nose was broken, and her teeth knocked backward. One elbow was distended. The back of her clothes had debris on them, indicating she had been dragged from one location to another. Don’t tell me they aren’t lying. And she’s not the only one this happened to. As I started digging, I found one story after another similar to hers. You wanna hear? I can name them for you. Also, at Fagrad Air Base, Private Gail Lavesque, twenty years old, was raped by a fellow soldier in February two years ago. The Air Force said she was found dead in her room by a self-inflicted M-16 shot, a suicide they called it, only ten days after she reported being raped. Her parents were told it was suicide, but they don’t believe it. They talked to her several times after the rape, and even though she was upset, she was not suicidal, they say. Her family continued to challenge the eight-hundred-page-long investigative report that contained many suspicious elements, like how they believed she had used her toes to hold the weapon when shooting herself. Yet, the Air Force never investigated her death as a homicide, only as suicide. And on top of that, the rape charges against the soldier whose sperm was found on her body were dropped a few weeks later—no explanation to her family as to why. Also, at Fagrad, six months earlier, Private Mabel Jolander’s death was ruled an accident as the Air Force claimed she fell or tripped out in front of a military vehicle as she crossed the road, walking from a guard tower to a latrine. The suspicious part is that the vehicle that ran her over was driven by a drunk sergeant from her unit who had first sexually assaulted her. The sergeant was convicted of drinking in a warzone and received a fine, while her death was ruled an accident. Do you want me to continue? Because I know all these cases by heart. There are so many of them; you won’t believe it.”
I am shaking my head in disbelief. I am trying to make the call in my hand without him noticing it, but it doesn’t work. Frank continues, “And then when you started talking about Ryan and how you believed he might have killed Sandra, that was when I got the idea to make it look like it was him. I played along and helped you believe that. I started following him around and made my move as soon as he was out of sight.”
“And in that way, you’d get him too. If his wife thought he was a killer and left him for you, that was great revenge. You wanted to see how far I would take it; maybe I could get the police to start investigating Ryan. You made me think my own husband was…a murderer?”
I hold up the phone, his burner phone, toward him, my hands shaking heavily in anger. “You destroyed my family.”
�
��I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” he says, reaching out toward me. “You must understand this, Laurie. I tried to stop you. I tried to warn you, but you…you were relentless. You just kept pushing and pushing, and…I thought you’d stop after Duke’s house and after I sent you those texts, but you didn’t, and then...I was desperate, Laurie.”
I narrow my eyes. “So, you attacked my parents in their own home just to scare me off.”
He takes another step toward me. He drops the towel and starts getting dressed, his movements aggressive as he puts on his jeans.
“I was desperate. You wouldn’t stop. You left me no choice. It’s actually your own fault when you think about it. But it also means we’re in this together, Laurie. You and me. No one needs to know what really happened. It’ll be our secret.”
The rain is pounding on the window outside, and my breathing is ragged and shallow. Frank looks up at me, his pupils are huge. There’s panic in his eyes. We’re standing in front of one another like two cowboys in a western movie. Sizing one another up, wondering what the next move will be. Who will go first? I’m thinking about the gun downstairs, wondering how to get to it. I also wonder if he knows I brought it. I’m calculating whether I can reach the stairs before he can get ahold of me. I just need to get down those stairs first, before he can stop me. We drove here in my car. I remember putting the keys on the counter when entering. I pray they’re still there.
“What do you say, Laurie? Are we in this together? You and me, forever joined by this secret?”
I make the decision quickly since I figure it is now or never. I put the phone in my pocket and jolt for the stairs, pushing myself forward, sprinting for them. I get to the top of them, my hand on the railing, so I don’t fall when I hear him spring for me, his bare feet accelerating on the wooden floors. I feel his leg as it hits me in the back and pushes me forward. The push is forceful, and I scream as I fly down the stairs in an explosion of pain.
Chapter 52
I hit the steps below face-first. A white light flashes before my eyes as the pain shoots through me. I skid downward, hitting more steps until I slide onto the floor. I feel confused, unable to focus, or even lift my head. Frank is on the steps, hurrying down toward me. I can hear his bare feet tapping on the wood. I tell myself to act, to get up now, but nothing happens. I feel his hands on me, on my hair, and then him pulling me across the floor, dragging me into the living room. He drops me down on the floor and stands above me, hovering, his legs on each side of me. I try to focus, to lift my head, but everything is a blur, a haze. I am kicking my legs, hoping to hit him, but he doesn’t move. He bends down, then grabs my shirt and pulls me up. Then, he slaps me. I feel the burning sensation across my cheek, but I can’t open my eyes properly. He slaps me again, forcefully, and I feel like I am about to pass out.
Frank then tries to land a punch in my stomach. Realizing this, I know there is no time to waste. I clench my fist and swing it at him, hitting him directly on the nose. Startled at this, Frank stumbles back, holding his bloody nose. It’s a lucky punch, I guess, but just enough for me to get to my feet and swing at him again. Frank is pushed back toward the fireplace, stumbling and leaning on the wall of rocks behind him. While he is gathering himself, I land two quick punches on his jaw.
“You coward,” I roar with satisfaction. I am panting in agitation. I anxiously feel my stomach with my hand. It doesn’t feel wrong in any way and I am not bleeding. There is no pain to indicate something is off. But it’s too early to tell. That fall from the stairs was hard. At this point, I can only pray the baby is all right.
“You sick coward!”
Panting, he glares up at me. Blood is running from his nose, spilling onto his white shirt he has put on so quickly that he hasn’t even noticed it is turned inside out. I take another swing at him, but I have underestimated him. He grabs my arm mid-air and pushes me back. I fly backward and land on the floor, sliding across it. Then, he is on top of me fast. His weight holds me down, and with a hand on my throat, he has me pinned to the floor. I can’t move.
“Squeal all you want to,” he says, speaking close to my ear. “Scream if you can. It won’t matter. No one is coming for you.”
He is staring down at me, his eyes steady, unafraid. He knows he has won. He has me down, and there is no way I can escape. I look into his eyes and wonder if the baby has the same eyes—the eyes that have been the last that so many people have seen before they died. His hand tightens around my throat, and I can’t breathe. I am gasping for air, trying to kick, but not hitting anything. I try to jab an elbow into his stomach, but with no success. I am panicking and can’t think straight. The pain on my throat becomes deeper; the fear enveloping me completely. I stare into his eyes as he strangles me, his face strained in effort. He is yelling and growling, his eyes popping out, and his teeth clenched. He is fighting so hard to kill me that he doesn’t even hear the quick footsteps on the wooden porch outside.
I see him in the window first, and immediately, the panic is substituted with hope rising in my chest. Seeing the change in my eyes, Frank follows my gaze over his shoulder and takes in the sight of Ryan as he bursts through the door, breaking it open with his shoulder. He storms inside, a gun gripped between both hands.
“Time to end this, you bastard,” he says.
Frank loosens his grip on my throat, and I gasp for air.
Ryan fires the gun and shoots Frank in the back. Frank collapses, falling on top of me. Frantically, I push him off, and he slides onto the floor. Frank is writhing in pain, trying to get up, making it to his knees. Ryan walks to him, places the gun on his head, and fires again. I scream and hold my hands over my head as Frank’s body slumps to the floor, rag-doll limp.
Ryan runs to me. He kneels next to me.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
There is panic in his voice as it is rising. I am still fighting to breathe, gasping and coughing, finally able to let the soothing air slide freely into my lungs. Ryan holds me by the shoulders, his eyes looking at me desperately.
“Laurie, are you okay?”
I manage to nod, and I sit up straight while I slowly get my focus back. I look at Ryan. He looks terrible. He is panting and agitated still, while the air of determination he had carried on his face when entering the cabin slowly subsides. His eyes become calm and affectionate when he looks at me, and he reaches up to caress my bruised cheek. Suddenly, he’s exactly the man I remember, the one I cared for so deeply once.
Seeing this, I burst into tears, and he pulls me into a deep hug.
“It’s okay, Laurie. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t you worry; it’s all over now, it’s over,” he whispers.
And for some reason, I believe him.
Chapter 53
He tells me to go lay down upstairs. He’ll take care of everything. He’ll call the police, but it’ll be a while before they get here. At least an hour in this bad weather.
“You might as well rest, Laurie. You need it.”
I am in complete shock and unable to think. I do as he tells me to and crawl under the covers, barely able to pull them up with my trembling hands. My heart is pounding so hard, and when I close my eyes, I can still see Frank’s piercing eyes as he tries to kill me. I start to cry, sobbing heavily, crawling into a fetal position, hugging my knees. There is so much I still don’t understand. I have never felt such anxiety deep within my chest, but I still try to close my eyes and rest. Right now, it’s the only thing I can do. I think I manage to doze off because when I open my eyes again, it’s dark outside. I gasp, feeling even more confused than earlier.
Why am I still asleep? Why didn’t Ryan wake me?
I scramble to my feet, feeling dizzy as I get up. I lean on the dresser for a few seconds when I hear footsteps outside and turn to look out the window. I glance down and see Ryan come walking up in the rain and walk into the light from the porch outside. He is wearing a raincoat and boots that are covered in mud. He is whistling. I don’t see any
police cars, no ambulance, no blinking lights, or anyone in a uniform.
Just Ryan.
What is going on here?
I turn around and feel the room is spinning, then hurry to the stairs. I walk down just as Ryan comes inside. He takes the coat and boots off and leaves it all by the door. He smiles when he sees me.
“Hey, you’re awake? Are you feeling better?”
I swallow; there’s a growing sense of urgency in my throat. I try to remain calm. “Ryan? Where are the police?”
I turn to look at where Frank was shot.
“And where is the body?”
Ryan takes a deep breath. “Now, before you get mad…”
“What did you do, Ryan? What did you do?” I almost yell.
He steps toward me. He grabs my hands in his and smiles. “Calm down, okay? Let me explain.”
“What did you do with Frank’s body, Ryan?” I ask, almost out of breath.
This can’t be happening; this can’t be real.
“Ryan?”
“Let’s sit down, okay?” he says and gestures toward the couch behind us. I do as he says and sit. He’s still holding my hands in his like he’s afraid I’ll run away.
“I decided…and now, hear me out first before you go all crazy, okay? I decided to get rid of it.”
I can feel how my eyes grow wide. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I keep thinking it’s a bad dream. It has to be. It’s the only explanation.
“What do you mean you got rid of it? Ryan? What have you done?”
“I threw it in the creek. The water will carry it far down the stream to the big river. No one will ever know, Laurie.”
“But…but why…why would you do that?”
“Don’t you see? To protect you, of course,” he says, smiling gently at me like I’m a young child who needs everything explained. He grabs a lock of my hair and puts it behind my ear.