Singletary’s death comes at a particularly inopportune time for the Republican Party, who were counting on—
‘Oh my God,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry. I figured you knew.’
Tommy stared at the floor. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Well, at least you weren’t too close to him, right?’
‘Sofia, I had drinks with him last week.’
‘You did?’
Tommy closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sun. ‘That’s where I went last Saturday. To meet Mark. There were some things we had to discuss.’
‘Tommy, what the hell is going on? You left for a week and no one really knew what you were up to. Then Becky takes off with the kids. And now your friend from thirty years ago, who you suddenly wanted me to research, dies right after you see him?’
‘Sofia—’
‘Tommy, we’re friends. Maybe I can help you. Just tell me what’s going on.’
‘You’re right,’ Tommy replied, squeezing his temple. Just a day ago, he was willing to do anything to make sure the story about Rade never got out. Now his desperation was so intense he was on the verge of telling everything to a second person. ‘Can you come over?’
‘On my way.’
Sofia disconnected the line as Tommy re-read the top part of the story. And again. Making sure the name was spelled the same way. Making sure it was really Mark they were talking about. Mark Singletary. Holy shit, Tommy thought. I stayed in his house less than a week ago. I sat in his office and had whiskey with him.
Tommy finished reading the article, which offered no more information on the actual cause of the accident, then re-read the first paragraph yet again.
Why would the car suddenly swerve? A million reasons, Tommy thought. The most likely one was that Mark fell asleep at the wheel. It must have been late at night. Maybe a little too much to drink? But the witness said he hadn’t been swerving prior to the accident. Suicide was also possible. Maybe Mark was convinced the story about Rade was coming out. Maybe Mark had other hidden gems that were about to be discovered. Who the hell knew?
Tommy Googled the story to find any other information on what happened. Google smugly told him it had found over four hundred articles on the subject. Tommy read the first five displayed and found many variations of the same information. None of them said – or even hypothesized – why Mark’s car flew into an embankment.
Or why he was driving alone.
That thought grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and shook him. Why didn’t he have a driver? Where was the guy who had been waiting for him outside the Charleston house last week? Did State Senators often drive themselves around, especially late at night after a fundraiser?
Tommy walked downstairs, the slapping of his bare feet loud in the empty house. The lights downstairs were still on, just as he’d left them the night before. An empty house was bad enough. An empty dark house was unbearable.
Like a rat trained to retrieve a food pellet, Tommy went through the motions of firing up his espresso machine: turning it on, checking the water levels, and making sure there were enough beans in the silo. He looked down at the phone again and checked for any relevant mail, meaning any kind of message from Becky. Something.
Nothing. Just a collection of e-mails from his editor wondering where the hell he was and if work was progressing on the latest draft, considering it was all due when they were several months younger.
Tommy put his phone on the counter and waited for Sofia. He felt himself grow old as he stood there, doing nothing but trying to avoid his own thoughts.
Ten minutes later Sofia arrived.
He opened the door and took in the sight of her. She looked how she did when she was most likely to make him catch his breath: kinked hair back in a ponytail, no makeup, perfect smooth cheeks leading to wide green eyes. She walked into the foyer and took a sip from the cardboard Starbucks cup she was holding.
He fought back tears as he walked up and hugged her.
‘Yeah, good to see you too, Tommy. Want to tell me what the hell is going on?’
‘I do,’ Tommy said. ‘But I’ve only told one other person, and that was Becky. She hung up on me and I haven’t heard from her since.’
‘That’s why she took the kids and went away?’
‘No, she thought I was having an affair. Which I’m not.’
The word ‘affair’ hung in the silence, and in that brief moment the weight of their own relationship pressed down on him. He’d had an affair with Sofia, yet they still worked together. He’d also spent his whole writing career under the influence of another woman, a woman who’d been in the shadows but had just stepped out of them. He so easily welcomed women into his life, but had difficulty letting them leave.
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘So what you told her was worse?’
Tommy shut his eyes and nodded. ‘Just … just stay and listen to me, OK? And try not to storm out of the house when I’m done talking.’
‘No offense, Tommy, but I’m not your wife, so I have a much higher tolerance of bad behavior from you than Becky has. I mean, I have my limits, but they’re pretty high.’ She gave him a smirk. ‘As long as you haven’t fucked any kids, I think we’ll be OK.’
Tommy immediately started laughing which, in the span of seconds, turned to tears. Hot, scalding tears that tore at his eyes. He didn’t understand why he was crying, but it felt so goddamn good. Such a release. And so much more meaningful to have it in front of someone who cared about him.
Sofia took a step back. ‘Jesus, Tommy, I was joking. Tell me you didn’t.’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said through his hands. ‘God, no, of course not. I … I don’t know why I’m … I don’t know what else to do.’
Sofia turned and went to the liquor cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of expensive tequila; she had given it to him when he signed the contract for The Blood of the Young. It was still unopened, but she quickly changed that. She pulled out two shot glasses and set them on the counter, then poured out two perfect shots, each the color of a honey sunrise.
‘It’s nine in the morning, Sofia.’
‘I know it is. But I think this will help. And I think I’m going to need one as well.’
‘Yes, you are.’
They each reached for their shot and held it delicately before them. Under his breath, Tommy counted to three, and on three they let the tequila burn down their throats. It wasn’t Tommy’s accustomed practice to do shots, and certainly not in the morning, but he had to admit it was a damn fine tequila.
Two empty glasses slapped the counter. Tommy wiped his mouth. Sofia didn’t.
‘From the beginning,’ she said. ‘Tell me from the beginning, and don’t stop talking until you’re done.’
And then, for the second time in less than a day, Tommy told his story.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Thirty minutes later, Tommy stopped talking. He looked at Sofia, who said nothing. Telling her had been a relief, but now that he had finished his story he questioned if he should have done it at all. He was sure she would remain quiet, but why had he needed so desperately to tell her? Was it because he craved some kind of sympathy? Becky had hung up on him. Did he need Sofia to tell him he wasn’t a horrible person? Or was it because Sofia was different? An ex-lover, but a current confidante. Sofia knew him intimately enough to understand him, but was still removed just enough not to judge him for the myriad faults he had.
She stared at the empty shot glasses on the table, their insides streaked with tequila wisps.
‘Please say something,’ Tommy said.
It took her another minute before she spoke.
‘You told all of this to Becky?’
‘I did.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She hung up on me. I haven’t spoken to her since.’
Sofia stood from her chair in the kitchen and walked away from him, pushing her fingers up through her thick hair.
‘Don’t wal
k away,’ Tommy said.
‘I’m not walking away. I just need to move. I … goddamnit, Tommy. This is all really true?’
‘All of it.’
She turned to him. ‘And you’ve never once thought about contacting the police?’
‘I think about it every day,’ he replied. ‘I obsess over it.’
‘Yet you don’t ever call.’
Tommy looked at the floor. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Tommy, if this is true, there’re two killers out there walking around. Freely.’
‘I know.’
‘And you don’t call the police? Why?’
‘You know why,’ he said.
‘I want to hear you say it.’
Tommy took a long breath and let it drain from his lungs. ‘Because I don’t want to lose everything. My family. My career. Because I’m scared.’
Tommy lifted his gaze and saw her looking at him. No, she wasn’t looking at him, she was judging him. She was trying to reconcile the man she knew with the man she just met.
‘Bullshit,’ she said.
‘Bullshit?’
‘Yeah, Tommy. Bullshit. You’re not scared of losing everything.’
Confusion washed over him. ‘What are you talking about?’
Her tone stiffened. ‘I mean, sure, OK, you’re scared. I get that. You’ve built up this amazing career and you have this wonderful family, and this would expose a dark part of your past.’
‘Sofia, what I did back then was a crime, and everything I’ve done since then, especially in the last week, has just made things worse. I’m … I’m in it too deep now.’ Like a desperate gambler going deeper into debt hoping for the big payoff, he thought. Yet that never seemed to work.
‘It’s not too late, Tommy. Go to the police now, before it gets worse.’
‘How could it possibly get worse?’
‘Tommy, you have to. I’m sure you’ll be fine, as long as you don’t wait any longer.’
‘Really? How do you define “fine”? Prison? Divorce?’
‘But you told Becky everything, so by your own logic, you’ve already potentially lost your family. It wouldn’t even have mattered if she heard the name of your old girlfriend associated with your trip to Charleston. The reality is much worse. The reality is what will make you lose your family.’
The words punched Tommy in the gut. ‘I didn’t lose them. Damn it, Sofia, I didn’t lose them.’
‘When we slept together, it was a mistake. I’m not going to say I regret it, because I don’t. But it was a mistake, and you nearly got divorced over it. So you know what it feels like to nearly lose everything you love. Why would you do it all over again?’
‘This isn’t just about divorce. This is about my kids growing up hearing their father is a criminal. It doesn’t matter whether or not I had anything to do with it. People will call me a murderer, and my kids will hear it.’
She didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Yet everything you’ve done since the moment you let her back in your life has only dug the hole deeper and deeper for you.’
Now Tommy stood. ‘Let her back in my life? I didn’t let her come back. She just came back.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Tommy paused. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Sofia took a step toward him, and to Tommy that one step seemed somehow aggressive. Defiant.
‘You need her,’ Sofia said. ‘You want her in your life, because she’s always been there.’
‘Sofia, what the h—’
‘Your whole career is because of her. It makes perfect sense. Every book you’ve ever written has been about her. Every villain that has paid for everything in your life is her. She is your success.’ Another step closer. ‘Your face lit up when you talked about her, Tommy. You looked excited. Energized.’ Closer. ‘She’s your muse, Tommy. She’s your fucking muse.’
‘That’s not true,’ he whispered. The words sounded flat, hollow. He repeated them, but they felt just as impotent.
‘Tommy, step back and look at things. That’s why Becky hung up on you. Not because of what happened when you were a kid. Not even because of all the lies in the last week. She hung up on you because your whole life has been dedicated to another woman. Don’t you see that? Do you know how much strength it took her to trust you again after … after us? And now she finds out there’s yet another woman. You might not be fucking her, Tommy, but she’s still your mistress.’
‘Stop it, Sofia.’
She raised her voice. ‘It’s true, Tommy. You know it’s true. You haven’t gone to the police because you don’t want this to end, do you? You’re not scared of losing everything, Tommy. You’re scared of losing her.’
‘Stop it.’
But she didn’t stop. Sofia was now thinking out loud, and every word she said was a link in the chain that Tommy always knew existed but never wanted to acknowledge.
‘You practically said it yourself, Tommy. The new manuscript you’re writing now, the story of her coming back into your life. You said it was writing itself. You said it was the best thing you’ve ever written. Isn’t that what you just told me?’
Tommy started to walk away, but she followed.
‘Tommy, you have to end this. She’s going to … do something to you.’
‘No, she’s not,’ he muttered.
‘Can’t you see it? If everything she told you is real, do you really think your friend Mark died in a car accident? She’s getting rid of witnesses. And now you’ve told Becky? And me? Aren’t you putting us all at risk?’
I’m not going to hurt you, Tommy.
That thought chilled him. In Tommy’s sudden haste to unburden himself of his secret, he hadn’t considered the liability that came with his knowledge. But then Mark died, and Tommy was no longer convinced Elizabeth wasn’t trying to cover her tracks.
‘We’re not in danger,’ he said, trying to convince himself as much as Sofia. ‘She needs me.’
‘But not for much longer. Once that manuscript is turned in to the editor, you’re open game.’ The faster she spoke the more the pitch of her voice increased. ‘Think about it. If she actually … if you die, then that will make your book even more anticipated. Tommy Devereaux’s final book, the most haunting one ever. Can’t you see it? Her character will be exactly what she wants it to be: emblazoned into literary culture forever. It’s the perfect plan.’
‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’
She reached out and pulled his shoulder until he turned and faced her.
‘You can’t just ignore me, Tommy. You can’t ignore the simple truth: this is not going to end well if you let her stay in control. You need to end this, Tommy. You need to go to the police.’
‘They won’t believe me!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you understand that? There are too many things I’ve lied about. Covered up.’
She pointed a finger at his chest. ‘This is bigger than you, Tommy. This is about a father still hoping for his son to come home. This is about a monster who has killed thirty-nine – God, I can’t believe I’m even saying this – thirty-nine people. And it’s about another monster who kills little boys. You can end all that, Tommy. You have to end it.’
‘That’s what I’m planning to do.’
‘What, by doing what she says?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘By actually killing that sheriff in Oregon? Can you really do that, Tommy? And what then? Hope she doesn’t kill you? Hope you don’t get caught for killing a police officer? Are you insane?’
‘I’ll take care of it.’
‘And what about the bodies, Tommy? What about all the families wondering what happened to their loved ones? Are they just left to wonder for the rest of their lives?’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t believe this is all really true.’
Tommy turned and walked toward the front door. He opened it, and fresh morning air washed over him, somehow making him even more angry. The air felt so damn normal. Everyday air, the kind he used to breathe when h
e’d leave the house for a run, or head to his favorite coffee shop for a morning latte. He just wanted things to be back to the way they were.
He stood back and held the door open. ‘I think you should leave now,’ he said.
She finally seemed to have nothing to say. She stared at him with anger in her face, which eventually gave way to a look of searing disappointment. Tommy could bear it no more, and he looked at the ground as he repeated his request.
Sofia passed through the doorway and was a few steps on to the gravel pathway when she turned around.
‘This is bigger than you, Tommy.’
Tommy said nothing as he shut the door in her face.
THIRTY-NINE
He woke, feeling the coolness of the leather couch under his face. He didn’t remember going to sleep, and he had no idea how long he’d been out. The position of the shadows along the living room floor suggested it was late afternoon. Of what day he wasn’t certain.
He knew he hadn’t slept during the night. Tommy had written, and he’d written everything. The laptop hummed next to him, and Tommy reached out from the leather couch and swiped his finger along the touchpad. The screen came to life and Tommy saw the last words he’d written.
Tommy said nothing as he shut the door in her face.
He thought of the look in her eyes as he dismissed her. Sofia was just trying to help. Trying to be a friend, convince him of the right thing to do, and he had shut her out, just after he had been the one to let her in. Not even let her in. Beg her to come in.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could hide within himself. He had become very good at disappointing the women in his life.
His cell phone was on the side table. Tommy realized he could reach it without actually having to sit up, so he did. It was cool to the touch. He had turned it off the moment Sofia left, and now he was ready to connect back to the world. After the phone booted up, Tommy checked the time and did the math.
The Boy in the Woods Page 20