by Nathan Field
Kendall started cackling with delight. I thought she’d completely lost her tenuous grip on reality, but then her sister joined in, shaking her head as she laughed.
“I don’t believe it,” Tiffany said.
“He should’ve worked it out by now,” Kendall said. “God, he must be even dumber than he looks.”
“Now Kendall, we shouldn’t forget Bruno was his best friend,” Tiffany said. “We should be more understanding.”
Kendall hooted with laughter. “Aww, poor little Sam,” she said in a babyish voice. “All upset about losing his buddy.”
Just then, a door slammed, shaking the floorboards of the house. Right away I started screaming, praying that my earlier cries for help had been heard by a passing jogger, and the local police were about to storm the living room. The sound of my panic rasped in my ears. I didn’t even pause to wonder why the sisters stood firm, watching me with bemused smirks.
I was still screaming like a madman when a hulking figure appeared in the doorway. He was wearing Timberland boots, black jeans, and a yellow Sacramento Kings' jersey. A plastic gas container hung from his meaty hand. I stared at him dumbly, wondering how a dead man could be standing in front of me. It was only when he gave a friendly wink that I believed my eyes.
Bruno.
26. “You have to admit, we played a perfect game”
I stared at him, shell-shocked, struggling to make sense of the emotions swirling inside me. Mixed in with the hurt and anger was an embarrassing sense of relief. A part of me was glad to see him alive.
He turned to his sisters. “You mean he didn’t know? Fucking brilliant!”
Oliver Piper put down the gas container and swaggered up to me, his puffy-cheeked grin taking on a new malevolence. “You get it now though, right?”
I nodded, looking at his broad features in a new light. I could be forgiven for failing to spot the family resemblance. All three had strong jaw-lines and wide set eyes, but that’s where the similarities ended. Even now, standing together, I struggled to picture them as siblings.
Bruno. Even with the knowledge that our friendship had been a sham from day one, I still felt as though my best friend had stabbed me in the back. “You’re a low, low bastard,” I said.
Oliver clapped his hands and laughed. “C’mon, you have to admit, we played a perfect game.”
“I’ve known you over a year,” I said, the complexity of the con still sinking in. Bonding over a baseball game in North Beach. Working together on his comedy routine. The heartfelt conversations about his relationships. All a lie…
“And it’s been fun, don’t you think? I tell you Sam, the stand-up’s been a revelation. I fucking love it. And don’t worry, your hard work hasn’t been for nothing. I’m sticking with the comedy, even after you’re gone.”
“Yeah, good luck with the shit impressions,” I muttered.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say they were all shit.” Oliver’s grin slowly widened, showing a full set of teeth. “Sam, I’m so glad we could reach an agreement,” he said in a familiar, oily accent. “Perception is everything in my line of work.”
A faultless Ralph Emerson. Tiffany and Kendall sniggered in the background, enjoying the show. Happy to let their brother hog the limelight. Oliver was clearly the ringleader, the one the girls looked up to. I remembered Abby’s throwaway line: it’s a miracle they didn’t all grow up to be basket cases. She’d spoken too soon. Their mother had done a job on them, alright.
“Did you enjoy making Ralph’s wife a widow?” I said, sickened by their laughter. “Or taking away the kids’ father? What did they ever do to your precious family?”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t preach to us about morality. This all started because you and that fucking lawyer thought you could help yourself to Dad’s wife. But even that wasn’t enough, you had to get your grubby mitts on his money, too. Our money.”
“Jesus, I’ve tried to explain. I don’t know anything about….”
“–Bullshit, Sam! You were the bitch’s trigger man.”
I shook my head. “No. Like I told your sisters, I was in the hospital that night. Face it – your father shot Lucy and then shot himself. Why can’t you accept the police findings?”
“Because Dad never would’ve left us!” Oliver bellowed. He raked his fingernails through his bristly scalp, fighting to compose himself. “That evil fucking bitch – we always knew she was trouble, even before we heard the rumors. But Dad was blind to her cheating. And we didn’t want to rain on his parade, not after all the crap he’d been through with Mom. He wouldn’t have believed us anyway, even if we’d sat him down and shown him the sex tapes. The bitch had him under her spell.” He paused to smile. “But you can appreciate that, can’t you Sam?”
I lowered my eyes, reluctant to concede the point. But Oliver could read me like a book. “Yeah, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Man, she must’ve been an amazing fuck. I should’ve had a go myself.”
“Ollie!” Tiffany scolded.
Kendall snorted in disgust. “Ugh, I’m going to be sick.”
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Oliver said, raising a hand in apology. “My point is, the bitch got what she deserved. On that score, you did us a favor. But even from the grave she tormented us. Her white trash mom came out of the woodwork and tried to sue our family estate, claiming wrongful death. She hadn’t spoken to her daughter in a decade, but as soon as she worked out there was money to be made, she became the grieving mother from hell. Apparently the fact Lucy was unfaithful from day one didn’t come into it. We were advised to settle, saving us from a long trial, and Lucy’s mom walked away with more than half our assets, including this place.”
He turned to shoot daggers at Lucy’s shrine. “She became some kind of martyr while Dad was cast as the villain. All the good he’d done in his life was forgotten. But not only did we lose our father, and our family’s reputation, and half our estate because of that bitch, we lost our brother as well.”
“Oh, come on,” I groaned. “He was a depressed teenager.”
Oliver threw a right hook, cracking me hard on the jaw. I managed to shut my mouth just in time, reducing the damage to a teeth-rattling jolt of pain.
“Don’t you dare make light of my brother’s death,” he fumed, flexing his hand. “Evan was worth a hundred of you.”
I worked my aching jaw, checking it was still attached. My whole face felt hot and tender, and I decided to hold my tongue for a while.
“He was only ten years old when Dad died,” Oliver continued. “Mom was already on a downward spiral, and Evan just happened to be in her firing line. She’d tell him he was an unfortunate accident, the child nobody wanted, and implied he was responsible for the divorce. On his thirteenth birthday, she offered to buy him a hunting rifle, in case he wanted to follow in Daddy’s footsteps. There was something else driving her then, beyond the mental illness. She was so full of hate…” Oliver’s voice had become faint, and he waited a moment, collecting himself. “She gave us all hell when we were home for the holidays, but Evan copped it every single day. Kendall was fifteen, old enough to walk away when Mom started one of her tirades, but Evan had to sit there and take it. Can you imagine what that would’ve done to a ten year old kid?”
I braced myself for another punch. “Why didn’t his brothers and sisters protect him?”
Oliver winced, stung by the question. His sisters shifted awkwardly behind him.
“We should have,” he conceded. “None of us feel good about that. I spent as much time with Evan as I could, but at the end of the day, I was happy to be out of the house. I think the girls felt the same way. And Evan was devoted to Mom, despite the constant abuse. He understood she was sick. When he reached sixteen, seventeen, I thought he was out of the woods. He seemed happy.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Ollie,” Kendall said. “Don’t let this asshole send you on a guilt trip.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “You’re right.” His eyes hardened
, refocusing his anger. “Evan’s fate was sealed the day he lost his father, leaving him without a protector. And you’re the one to blame for that.”
“You’re clutching at straws…”
“–We’ve got the letter, Johnny. We found it in Evan’s things – he must’ve picked it up from Dad’s study. Lucy was very careful not to spell out any details, but it was obvious what she had in mind. She wanted Dad out of the picture. And wham, all our hatred came back, tenfold.”
“Fucking bitch,” Kendall spat.
“Naturally we assumed Johnny was Ralph Emerson,” Oliver said. “At that stage we didn’t know she had two guys on the side. And Ralph was easy to track down, living the life of fucking Riley with his perfect little family. I paid him a visit one night, just to introduce myself, and fuck was he keen to talk. He spilled his guts before I could even lay a finger on him. He told us how Lucy had pestered him to kill her husband, but he’d always refused. And then he told us about you, the guy she eventually found to get the job done. The lovesick fool she called Johnny.”
“You think she actually cared about you?” Kendall said.
“She was using you the whole time,” Tiffany said. “She molded you into a killer.”
They were wrong, wrong, wrong – but how could I explain that I was merely trying to extort money from their father, not murder him? They weren’t in the mood to let me walk on a lesser charge. I stuck to my denial strategy. “Look, I don’t know anything about a letter, honestly. This is just some bullshit invented by Ralph Emerson. He was probably Johnny all along.”
Oliver shook his head. “No, Ralph might’ve been conspiring with Lucy behind the scenes, but he was never Johnny.” He grinned slowly. “And besides, he’s already been dealt with.”
Hearing him confess to murder so casually made my blood shiver. “Why the long con?” I said, hoping to keep him talking. “Why not kill us both and be done with it?”
Tiffany stepped forward to answer. “We all wanted to be involved. Avenging Dad, and poor Evan, not to mention our family name – we couldn’t just leave it to Ollie. And tracking you down wasn’t easy. Ralph only gave us a name, which you’d changed, and the fact you used to work for the Tribune. In the end, we had to hire a detective. We couldn’t believe you’d moved to San Francisco – just up the road, really. That’s when Kendall came up with a plan.”
Kendall beamed proudly, taking her cue. “It wasn’t enough to kill you quietly in your sleep. You’d die thinking Lucy was this tragic, romantic figure instead of the evil whore she truly was. We wanted you to know about her lies, and Ralph Emerson, and the pain and suffering your stupid infatuation brought on our family.”
“Not that you weren’t doing a fine job of punishing yourself,” Tiffany said.
“Yeah, we had a good laugh about that,” Kendall smiled. “Hiding from the world, still racked with guilt over Lucy. And she never gave a shit about you! God, you even went to the trouble of finding a whore who looks just her. It’s hilarious.”
“You’re a seriously fucked up individual, Sam,” Oliver said. “There were times I even felt sorry for you.”
“That makes one of us,” Kendall sneered. “Anyway, once we got the idea to set Ralph up as your fake office partner, the rest was easy. We had you running round like a lab rat.”
“Better yet, Ralph kindly covered our expenses,” Oliver said. “I milked him for almost eighty grand before I killed him.”
“He even coughed up the family photo album,” Kendall said.
They all joined in to laugh at Ralph’s cowardice. Sensing I was only minutes away from the end, I made a last minute appeal for mercy. “Listen, I’m sorry for what’s happened to your family, but I’m a victim here, too. I’ll admit, Lucy wanted me to kill your father, but I never went through with it, even when she told me he was beating her.”
“That’s a lie,” Kendall said. “Dad was never violent.”
“Yeah, I know that now. But at the time, she had bruises all over her body. I thought her life was in danger…”
“–Save it, Sam,” Oliver cut in. “We don’t care what you thought. The fact remains you killed our father, and every death and misfortune in our family can be traced back to your actions. You don’t get to walk away that.”
I turned to Tiffany. Of the three, I sensed she had the most capacity for mercy. “Please, you don’t have to do this. Didn’t you say my life was punishment enough?”
“No,” she said simply, extinguishing my last glimmer of hope. “Death is what you deserve.”
Kendall left the room with a purposeful stride, and I feared my time was rapidly running out.
Oliver said, “Don’t look so worried, Sam. We’re going to have a little fun before we finish you off. See, I don’t think you realize how fucked up you really are. This nocturnal life you lead – hiding from the sun and wearing sunglasses at night. You know it’s a sham, don’t you? Some bizarre form of penance to help you cope with your crushing guilt.”
I didn’t rise to his bait. He was on another mindless rant.
“No, I can see you’re still clinging to denial. About the murders, and your guilt, and your fake condition. That’s why I’ve come up with a little experiment.”
Kendall re-entered the room. She held a flashlight in one hand, and a hammer in the other. Seeing the flashlight, I became acutely aware of the nakedness of my face. My hands itched to cover my eyes.
Kendall removed a long nail from the back of her belt. She showed it to me, a sly grin on her face. Then she handed the flashlight to her brother, and knelt down in front of me. I could only see the top of her head, but I felt her fingers untying my shoelaces; removing my socks.
“Can you guess what’s coming?” Oliver said, aiming the switched-off flashlight at my face. I closed my eyes in preparation.
“Please,” I said. “This serves no purpose.”
“Sure it does. A lesson in self-awareness is exactly what you need before you meet your maker.”
There was a click, and the darkness behind my eyelids suddenly flooded with that. I heard Oliver step closer. The brightness intensified, and I twisted my head away. Oliver must’ve been holding the flashlight an inch from my face. He chuckled at my discomfort.
“You fucking freak,” Oliver said. “You should see yourself.”
“Ollie, just get on with it,” Tiffany said, sounding uneasy.
“Okay, okay,” Oliver said. “So here’s the plan, Sam. My lovely assistant Kendall is gonna hammer that four-inch nail into your foot while I shine this light in your eyes. The longer you keep your eyes shut, the deeper the nail goes. But the moment you look into the flashlight, the hammering stops. That’s your out.”
I was shaking my head. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m sick of your bullshit, Sam!” he exploded. “For more than a year I’ve played along with your fear of the sun, like it’s a real medical condition, even though it’s all in your head. You don’t want to face the truth, that’s why you’ve spent the last five years hiding from the light. But hey, if I’m wrong and one of your thunderclap headaches is really the worst pain imaginable, then you won’t let a little nail in your foot get in the way.”
My bare feet squirmed on the hard wooden floor. I could feel the point of the nail scratching at the bridge of my right foot.
“Now remember, Kendall,” Oliver said. “You have to stop the moment he opens his eyes. He has to know there’s a way to stop the pain.”
“You’re sick in the head,” I said. “All of you,” I added loudly, directing my voice at Tiffany, in particular. “This isn’t revenge, it’s fucking torture.”
“She’s left the room,” Oliver said, reading my mind again. “Poor Tiff, she never did have a strong stomach.”
“Can we start now?” Kendall said.
“One second,” Oliver said. The glare of the flashlight centered on my eyes. The room went quiet with anticipation. “Okay, ready.”
“Hold still,” Ke
ndall said as my right foot writhed under her grip.
“Remember, just lightly at first,” Oliver said.
I gritted my teeth in preparation, but when the nail pierced my foot, the pain still came as a shock. Sharp. Deep. My scream filled my ears.
“I said lightly,” Oliver groaned.
“Sorry,” Kendall said. “It just kept going.”
“Sonofabitch,” I spat when my scream had subsided. Pain gnawed through the middle of my foot.
“Open your eyes and it stops,” Oliver said. “C’mon, you don’t have to die in agony.”
I shook my head, scrunching my eyes tight.
“Okay, have it your way,” Oliver said. “Kendall…”
Kendall didn’t hesitate. With a heavy clunk of the hammer, she drove the nail down through the sole of my foot. A hot spike of pain shot up through my leg. I screamed again.
“Way to go, sis’!” Oliver laughed. “Jesus, look at that blood.”
“Fuck you!” I cried.
“Hey, you asked for it. Just open your eyes you stupid fuck.”
“He’s already taken the whole nail,” Kendall pointed out. “Maybe he really is allergic to light.”
“No way,” Oliver said. “I know this guy – he’s just stubborn.”
I kept quiet, preserving my energy. I tried to rationalize the searing pain in my foot, telling myself it was only a nail, just a single fucking nail, and not the worst pain imaginable, not even close…
“Let’s do the other foot,” Oliver said.
“No!” I howled.
I searched for Oliver’s face behind the glaring flashlight, hoping a small part of Bruno still lingered, a part that might show me a modicum of compassion. But as soon as I saw the sliver of his smile, I realized I was kidding myself. He had nothing but hatred for me, and what was even worse….
My eyes were open.
I shut them again, but it was too late – the blinding glare was burned into my retinas. My temples began to throb in tandem with my foot, the pressure growing steadily more powerful, like pulsating metal bars being pushed into my skull. I made a groaning noise, sensing what was about to happen. Crack! The explosion came like a thunderclap, jarring every nerve in my brain. My senses shut down, and I plunged into a hellish world, where warring pieces of machinery collided inside my head. It was the same intense horror I remembered – chaos, unrelenting pain, and the fear that this time I might never make it out. For a long moment, I was lost in there, oblivious to my surroundings.