Seven Lies (ARC)

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Seven Lies (ARC) Page 21

by Elizabeth Kay

ane,” he said. “This is crazy. Are you going to help me or what?”

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  I shrugged. I didn’t know yet. I wasn’t planning not to help him

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  but I also wasn’t planning to help.

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  “You’re just going to leave me lying here in pain? Or— fucking hell,

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  worse still— you’re just going to sit there and stare at me? All because 16

  you think I groped you? Well, let’s work this back, then, shall we?”

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  I don’t think I nodded. I don’t think I consented to the barrage of

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  abuse that followed.

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  “Did I do it? Did I grope you?”

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  I could see that his vehemence, his animated rage, was causing him

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  pain, and yet he didn’t slow down, not at all, not for a second.

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  “Well, let me tell you this, then. I wouldn’t touch you if you were

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  the last woman in the world. I can’t think of anything worse. The

  24

  thought of it actually makes me feel a little bit nauseated.” He paused

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  and panted. “Or I mean that could be the result of my fucking head

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  wound, but it doesn’t look like we’re doing anything about that yet,

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  now, does it?”

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  He winced. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I thought he

  29

  might be finished, but he wasn’t.

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  “Did I say that I wanted you? Not a fucking chance. But how ador-

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  able. That you think someone might. That’s nice, that is. That’s nice,

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  right? To have that self- assurance.” He roared with the pain and then

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  blew the last of the air from his lungs in a brief burst before continuing.

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  “Well, let me tell you something else. You’re going to need it. Because

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  you want to know what happens next? I’m going to the hospital and my

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  wife will be right there by my side. And she’s not going to like hearing

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  about this. You are on borrowed time, Jane, so borrowed.” He made a

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  high- pitched squeaking noise, but it still wasn’t enough to stall him.

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  “So this is fine,” he continued. “Let’s wait this out. Because we both

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  know who wins here and it isn’t you.”

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  “That’s not true,” I replied. I felt sort of angry, but mainly agitated.

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  I wanted him to stop.

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  “Well, let’s just wait and see. Because I know what happens next,

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  Jane. It’s not even about you. It’s about me. This is my time.”

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  I reached out to rest my fingers against his neck. He flinched away

  15

  from my hand and then groaned, a sort of agonized growl, overwhelmed

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  by the pain. His cheek was so swollen, the skin stretched and shiny like

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  a balloon, his eye blackening and bloodshot.

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  I tried again and this time he didn’t move; he stayed perfectly still.

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  “Come on now, Jane,” he said. “What are you doing? Come on.

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  That’s enough now. Please.”

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  He was speaking through his teeth, deliberately holding his face

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  static, trying to minimize the pain. I could feel him vibrating beneath

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  my fingers.

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  “What are you doing, Jane? I need help. Can you just— ” He flinched

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  again. “Can you just take your hand off me? Take it off. Right now.

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  Come on.”

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  It felt sort of wonderful.

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  I look back on that moment and I don’t recognize the woman sitting

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  there on the floor with her fingers against the neck of an injured man. I 30

  don’t recognize her smile. I don’t recognize her eyes. She feels like an

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  entirely different person.

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  I stroked his neck with my index finger and then with my entire

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  palm. He was silent then and there was no more movement. I could feel

  01

  stubble sprouting across his chin, see the five- o’clock shadow cast across 02

  his face, the result of not shaving for a day or two. He closed his eyes. I 03

  could see his chest rising and falling, hear the breaths as he sucked

  04

  them in and threw them out. I ran my palm up toward his cheek.

  05

  I wondered if Marnie’s palm had been there, too, on mornings to-

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  gether in bed or during their first kiss. I placed my other palm on the

  07

  opposite side of his face and held his head steady. I inched my fingers

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  into his hair, feeling the film of grease at the roots.

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  “Please, Jane,” he whispered. “That’s enough. I’m sorry. I didn’t

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  mean the things I said. Let’s just— We can forget all of this. I promise.”

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  “I can’t help you,” I replied. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I just can’t.”

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  “Then go,” he insisted. “Just get out. I’ve had enough. Go.”

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  I felt a sudden surge of anger. Was I really— seriously— being thrown

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  out of that flat for the second week in a row? No. I was not. I was abso-

  15

  lutely not. Because I was the one in control and I was the one who was

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  going to make the decisions. No one was going to tell me where to go or

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  what to do or if I was allowed to be there anymore. And certainly not

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  Charles. He’d said his bit and now it was my turn. This was my moment.

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  I took a deep breath.

  20

  “I’m not going, Charles,” I said, very calmly. I didn’t want him to

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  know that I was angry. I didn’t want him to feel any more afraid than

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  he already did. “I want to stay,” I said. “I’m going to stay.”

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  I guess I must have known by this point what it was I was going to

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  do. I didn’t want to alleviate his sense of fear because of some undue

  25

  sense of compassion or empathy. I wanted him to feel less afraid so that

  26

  his final burst of horror was all the more intense.

  27

  “Fine,” he said. “Stay, then. It’s not as if there’s anything I can do to 28

  stop you.”

  29

  “No,” I replied. “There’s nothing you can do at all.”

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  He closed his
eyes.

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  This was not my finest hour. I don’t need to tell you that, I know.

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  And there’s not an awful lot that I can say in my defense. I simply en-

  02

  joyed watching him suffer. I liked that his shoulder was dislocated, that 03

  his right arm was completely useless, and that it was causing him pain.

  04

  I liked the sight of the blood on his forehead, the thought of him lying

  05

  there unconscious for hours, the idea of him concussed. I liked his bro-

  06

  ken ankle and his swollen cheek and his bloodshot eye. I liked him so

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  much better than I’d ever liked him before.

  08

  I held his head firmly between my hands, my palms flat against his

  09

  skin. There were tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.

  10

  You have never hated anyone the way I hated Charles, so I know

  11

  that you can’t understand how satisfying this moment was for me. I had

  12

  that giddy feeling, that drunk, wild happiness. It was something I had

  13

  never expected to experience around him.

  14

  I moved my hands a little and he groaned.

  15

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

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  “Jane,” he croaked.

  17

  I shifted onto my knees so that my weight was above him and then

  18

  repositioned my hands. He knew, I think. It was then that he knew.

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  I took a deep breath. In for six, hold for six, out for six. I looked

  20

  away and up the stairs, at the carpet runner, cream bordered by blue,

  21

  and at the wooden banister varnished a mahogany brown. And then, in

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  one swift movement I rotated my hands and I heard a loud crack and his

  23

  neck fractured beneath me.

  24

  When I looked down, his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful,

  25

  his jaw relaxed, his forehead uncreased; the pain was gone.

  26

  It had worked. I hadn’t been sure that it would.

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  01

  02

  03

  04

  Chapter Nineteen

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  k

  06

  07

  08

  09

  10

  I

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  swiveled around and I scooped my things— my phone, my house

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  keys— back into my handbag. I picked up the small gold key, the one

  13

  that had allowed me into this flat whenever I’d wanted, and I placed it

  14

  quietly— I didn’t know why I was being so quiet; it just felt appropriate—

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  into the little bowl on the side filled with a dozen other keys.

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  I turned off the light. I stroked my top over the switch. I knew that

  17

  it was highly likely that my fingerprints were everywhere in this apart-

  18

  ment already, but it felt right to be cautious. I unchained the door and

  19

  rubbed the metal carefully, pushing the fabric of my cardigan into the

  20

  grooves of the chain. I opened the door, wiped the inside handle,

  21

  and then let myself out.

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  I stepped into the hallway, into that puddle of darkness, and I pulled

  23

  the door shut behind me, listening for the quiet click of the lock. And

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  then, finally, I exhaled.

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  I moved a few feet down the corridor, toward the door to their

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  neighbor’s apartment, and sat on the floor, my back against the wall and

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  my knees bent in front of me. It was brighter there; it didn’t feel quite 28

  so frightening.

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  I took a book from my handbag and I opened it against my thighs. I

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  wasn’t reading— my bookmark was positioned several chapters further

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  forward— but it was reassuring to be pretending to do something. I

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  could hear the soft ticking of the hands of my watch as the seconds slid

  02

  slowly past. Marnie wasn’t expecting me, and so maybe she was taking

  03

  her time; perhaps she’d gone for a drink with a friend or was picking up

  04

  dinner on the way home or walking instead, making the most of the

  05

  sunshine. There was no way for me to know and so I simply sat and

  06

  waited.

  07

  Even so, I was desperately aware that Charles’s body was a couple of

  08

  yards away, lying dead behind their door. I could picture him— exactly

  09

  as I knew he was— sprawled with his ankle twisted, his neck twisted,

  10

  entirely dead. I struggled to make sense of my feelings. I didn’t feel sad-11

  ness, none at all. I didn’t feel satisfaction, either. I didn’t feel very much 12

  of anything.

  13

  I focused very hard on pretending that I didn’t know that he was

  14

  there. I was telling myself that I hadn’t been into their flat— I didn’t 15

  have a key, did I, so I couldn’t have entered even if I’d wanted to— and 16

  that, as far as I knew, he was still as painfully, permanently present as 17

  ever. I convinced myself of things I knew were false. I hadn’t heard any

  18

  noises from the flat: I rang the bell twice, but there was no answer and, 19

  as far as I knew, Marnie and Charles were both still out, he at work, she 20

  elsewhere: the supermarket, the florist, maybe even the library. I hadn’t 21

  seen anything: I had simply been sitting here, reading, knowing nothing.

  22

  No. Don’t smile. Stop it. Now.

  23

  It’s not like I don’t know why you’re smiling. The irony is clear; I

  24

  know that. But if you want me to continue with this story, then you’re

  25

  going to have to try to see these things from my perspective. It was a

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  rash decision, barely even a decision at all. I didn’t choose to do what I 27

  did. I simply did it. So don’t go dwelling on things like motive and in-

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  tent, because there was neither one nor the other. It was instinctive.

  29

  The question that you should be asking— and if you were paying

  30

  proper attenti
on, you would be— is whether, in that moment, I had any

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  regrets.

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  Well, I’m not answering that yet.

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  If you’d have asked it, I might have told you the truth. But you’re too

  01

  busy judging me, aren’t you?

  02

  Anyway. Where were we?

  03

  I was absolving myself— in a subconscious sort of way— of all re-

  04

  sponsibility, rehearsing my lie and pretending that the incident itself

  05

  had never happened.

  06

  I scanned the open page of my book, running my eyes over the lines

  07

  of black ink, absorbing none of the words, none of the meaning, as I

  08

  skipped between paragraphs. I turned the pages and studied the shape

  09

  of the letters: their curves, their bones, their breaks. I couldn’t tell you 10

  how long I was sitting there, filling the time with empty sentences and

  11

  stroking the lines of text.

  12

  Marnie eventually appeared at the end of the corridor. She was

  13

  wearing a raincoat, buttoned up to her chin with a hood pulled over her

  14

  hair and shopping bags hanging from her wrists. She was sifting through

  15

  her pockets— she pulled out a tissue and then an orange train ticket—

  16

  and then she looked up and saw me.

  17

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” She stopped a few feet from her door.

  18

  I stood up but stayed rooted in the glow. “Is it raining?” I asked.

  19

  “It’s just started up,” she said. She buried the tissue and ticket back

  20

  into her pocket. “I wasn’t expecting you. Have you been waiting long?”

  21

  I shook my head and then remembered greeting the doorman much

  22

  earlier in the evening. “Just an hour or so,” I said. “I finished work early 23

  and I had my book.”

  24

  “Are you . . . are you expecting dinner?” she asked.

  25

  She approached her door and reached into her handbag to find the

  26

  key to the flat.

  27

  I had been very calm, my breathing measured and my pulse consis-

  28

  tently slow. But I could feel my heart beginning to throb in my chest

  29

  and sweat bleeding onto my upper lip.

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  It’s important to say that I was not at all afraid of being caught, not

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  at this point anyway. I was aware of it as a vague possibility, but I was N32

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