For Better and Worse

by Margot Hunt

  Run, my instincts whispered. Escape while you can. Drive straight to your mother’s house, pick up Charlie and then get as far away from Florida as you can.

  I tried to shake the impulse to flee. It wasn’t that it was out of the question—as far as I was concerned, I’d much rather be a fugitive on the run than allow myself to be arrested and prosecuted for an attempted murder I was absolutely guilty of. But it was an option that would require considerable planning. It was not the sort of thing I wanted to do half-cocked and terrified.

  Right now I had to focus on how to best solve the situation I was in now. I had to figure out a way to kill Robert, and still make it look like a suicide.

  For that, I was going to need help.

  I needed Will.

  I picked up the burner phone, looked at it. I knew it was a risk to call Will on it, especially after Robert’s call to Michelle Cole. But I didn’t have a choice. And, I reminded myself, there was only a slight chance that the police would know Robert used this phone. If I used his house or cell phone to call Will, they’d have that information the same day they discovered his body. The only other option I had was to leave, drive home, hope Will was there and then drive back. But what if Robert regained consciousness while I was gone? He might call someone or even try to escape. I didn’t have a choice.

  I dialed Will’s number and waited for him to pick up. It went to voice mail.

  “Shit,” I said out loud.

  I wondered if he was still out, and not looking at his phone or maybe even at home, already asleep. I sent him a text:

  It’s me, Nat, calling from a different phone. Please call me back ASAP. It’s important.

  I waited. It took Will five excruciatingly long minutes to return my call. Finally, the phone let out a metallic trill of notes. I double-checked to make sure it was Will’s number on the caller ID before I answered.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Is everything okay?” Will’s voice said into my ear.

  I was so relieved to hear from him, tears pricked in my eyes. “No,” I said. “I need your help. Are you alone?”

  “I can be, hold on.” There was a pause, then Will returned. “Is Charlie okay?”

  “He’s fine. But I’m in trouble. I need you to come help me.”

  “What’s going on?” Will asked again.

  “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  I hesitated. “I’m at Robert Gibbons’s house.”

  There was a sickly pause, and when Will spoke again, his voice sounded hollow. “You’re at his house? Why?”

  “You have to listen to me. This is important. Okay? Are you listening?”

  After a pause that lasted several long beats, Will said, “I’m listening.”

  “You need to go back inside wherever you are, tell the people you’re with that I’m not feeling well and you need to go home. Then I want you to drive home and put your cell phone inside the house. And then drive here. Do you understand? It’s very important you don’t bring your phone with you here.”

  “Wait, why do I need to—”

  I cut him off. “Will, we don’t have time. Please just do it. It’s important.”

  Will exhaled in a ragged rush. For a few long beats, I wondered if he was going to refuse. But then he said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  The line went dead.

  * * *

  It took Will over an hour to get to Robert’s house, which was about thirty minutes longer than I had thought it would take him. I spent that time wondering if he was going to show up and worrying about what I would do if he didn’t.

  I even, at my darkest, bleakest point, questioned if it was possible that my husband would call the police on me.

  But then I finally heard a car pull into the driveway, the headlights shining in through the front windows of the house. I ran to the door and had it open before Will even had a chance to get out of his car. Although it took him an abnormally long time to open the door and climb out, once he finally did, he didn’t look entirely steady on his feet. I wondered how much he’d had to drink.

  “Are you okay?” I asked when he got closer. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin looked chalky under the greenish glow of the outdoor house lights. He was still wearing his suit and a button-down shirt, but he’d taken his tie off at some point.

  “No, I’m not okay.” Will stared at me, his eyes wide. “I’m freaking out about what I’m about to find inside this house. Why did I have to drop off my phone at the house? And are you wearing plastic gloves? Holy shit, Nat, what’s going on?”

  “Have you been drinking? Are you over the limit? Should you have been driving?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. Is that the worst thing we have to worry about tonight?”

  I exhaled deeply and shook my head. “It’s not.”

  I opened the door wider and stepped aside so Will could enter.

  “Where’s Robert?” he whispered. “Is he home?”

  “He’s in here.” I waved him forward and we walked into the open-plan living room together.

  Will stared at the sight before him—Robert passed out on the couch, his head tipped back, his arms splayed to his sides, snoring with every exhalation.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Will asked, whispering.

  “He drank two glasses of bourbon that I spiked with oxycodone.” I kept my voice lowered, too, although I was fairly sure Robert was out cold. “I thought I gave him enough to kill him. But then I looked in his medicine cabinet and found a bottle of oxycodone there. He must have been taking them for awhile. I think he built up a resistance to them.”

  “Which means what?”

  “My best guess? He’ll sleep for a time, and then he’ll wake up with a bad hangover.”

  I sounded almost flippant, but the truth was, I was so frightened, my entire body was trembling. I looked down at my hands, which were also shaking. I balled them together, hoping it would help me get a grip on my emotions.

  “How much did you give him?” Will asked.

  “Four hundred milligrams. I thought it was enough, especially combined with the booze, but probably not if he was already addicted to them. Do you remember Robert was in a car accident a few years ago? That may have been when he started taking the drug.” I shook my head and wrapped my arms around myself. I suddenly felt very, very cold. “Hell, his drug use may be the reason why he and Venetia got divorced in the first place. Or maybe he started taking them after his divorce, to dull the pain.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Nat. What have you done?”

  I was surprised by how quickly my fury spiked up at these words. But then, anger always lived on the edge of fear.

  “I did what needed to be done,” I said.

  “What, put him in a coma?” Will shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re going to be in when he wakes up?”

  You’re. The word spoke volumes. And fine, yes, I was the one who’d created this mess. But Will knew why I had done it. For Charlie. For Tate, even. For the sake of every other kid Robert could have harmed.

  “This isn’t the time for recriminations.”

  “Why not?” Will turned on me, looking angrier than I’d ever seen him. “This seems like the perfect time to me!”

  “I need your help to finish this.” I bit out each word. “I can’t move him on my own.”

  “Move him?” Will looked around, perplexed. “Where were you thinking of moving him to?”

  “His car.”

  “His car?”

  “Stop repeating everything I say. This needs to look like a suicide. If we put him in his car, with the pills and the bourbon, then do that thing where you run a hose around and turn the car on so that the carbon dioxide kills the person inside, I think it will work. The police will assume that he
was suicidal. That the booze and drugs in his system were there to dull the pain of the moment.”

  “The thing with the hose?” Will sounded distraught. “What thing with the hose?”

  “You have heard of people committing suicide by sitting in their cars, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but they don’t exactly teach you how to do that in high school driver’s ed class.”

  “I’m sure we can figure it out.” I was trying to be patient. I knew this was a lot to spring on him all at once, but we didn’t have that much time. “Basically we need to run a hose from the exhaust back into the car.”

  “Without killing ourselves in the process,” Will added.

  “That would definitely be ideal.”

  “Where’s his car?”

  “It’s in the garage. I already checked. His keys are on the counter.”

  Will shook his head, his expression suddenly blank. “Are we really going to do this?”

  “We don’t have a choice. If we don’t finish this, he’ll wake up and he’ll know that I tried to kill him. I’ll go to jail for the rest of my life. You probably will, too, because no one will believe that you weren’t in on it. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Will rubbed his hands over his face and suddenly pulled them away and looked down at them. “Aren’t we shedding DNA just being here? What about our fingerprints, and hair?”

  I held up my hands, still in their plastic gloves. “I’ve been cleaning.”

  “Do you have gloves for me?”

  “No, but just keep track of where you touched, and I’ll wipe it down.”

  “I want gloves!”

  “You have got to calm down.” I pulled off the gloves and handed them to him. “Here, take these. If the police think this is a suicide, they’re not going to waste their time fingerprinting the house, anyway. And even if they did, we’ve been here before.”

  “We haven’t been here in years.” Will snapped the green gloves on. “So, what do we do? I take his feet, you take his shoulders?”

  “I was thinking the other way around. The head end is probably heavier and you’re stronger than I am.”

  We walked over to the couch and stood looking down over Robert’s prone body.

  “He’s put on weight,” Will remarked. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Maybe we could get the comforter from the bedroom, lay him on that and drag him out to the garage,” I suggested. “The floors are all tile from here to there. It would be easier to slide him than to carry him.”

  “You don’t think he’ll wake up when we move him?”

  And then, as though Will’s words magically came true, Robert suddenly stirred. He groaned and lifted his head, pressing his hands to his temples. He looked blearily from me to Will, then back again.

  “Will,” he said. “When did you get here?”

  Will looked up at me, alarm registering on his face. “Um, just a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” Robert looked confused. “I didn’t hear you come in. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Will glanced at me again. I didn’t know if it was possible for him to look guiltier than he did, even though he hadn’t done anything yet. “Nat said you were feeling a little...” He trailed off, clearly searching for a word other than drugged.

  “Drunk.” Robert closed his eyes. “I’ll be okay. I just need to rest for a bit and I’ll be...” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his body, turning onto his right side. He settled in with a deep sigh, and the snores recommenced.

  “Has he been like that all night?” Will asked.

  “No, that’s the first time he’s woken up.”

  “Shit, now he’s seen me. Do you think he’ll remember that later?”

  “What are you talking about?” It was my turn to stare at Will. “There isn’t going to be a later. We have to finish this now.”

  Will blinked. “Okay. We’re going to have to turn him onto his back.”

  I held my breath, expecting Robert to waken again, while Will gently pressed on Robert’s shoulder. But Robert’s eyes remained shut, his breathing heavy, as he obediently rolled onto his back.

  Will exhaled. “Okay. Let’s see if we can lift him. You get his legs.”

  I nodded and stood poised over his feet.

  “Let’s do it on the count of three,” Will said.

  Will tucked his hands under Robert’s shoulders, while I did the same with his legs. I remembered from my boot camp class at the gym to lift through my legs, so I squatted down, ready to carry the weight up through my glutes and quads.

  Will began to count. “One, two, three.”

  As soon as he said three, we both began to lift. Robert’s eyes flew open again.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick, the words slurring.

  This time, Will didn’t look at me. Instead, he grinned down at Robert, as though they were two buddies at a party that had gotten out of hand. “We were going to carry you up to bed, buddy. We didn’t want to leave you here to sleep it off on the couch.”

  “Why not? I sleep out here all the time.” Robert lifted his head and looked at me. “Wait, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly.

  But Robert’s brown eyes were suddenly disconcertingly clear. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?” I really did try to keep my tone as light and casual as Will’s had been.

  Robert continued to look at me, his expression a mixture of fear and dawning realization. I dropped his feet and took a step back.

  “You have to believe me, I didn’t plan on... Anyway, I didn’t hurt Charlie,” Robert said. He was still looking at me, his expression now beseeching. He had managed to stop slurring his words. “I know it’s not considered socially acceptable, but it’s normal. Beautiful, even. It’s just another way to teach young boys...well, how to learn about their bodies. How to become men. It shouldn’t be so stigmatized—”

  Robert’s voice was silenced when Will picked up an aqua throw pillow off the couch and pressed it down over Robert’s face. Robert’s body flailed, his leg kicking out. He somehow missed me, but knocked the ugly dolphin sculpture off the coffee table and sent it flying to the floor, where it shattered on the hard tiles. Robert made a sound, deep in his chest, that was somewhere between a scream and a groan, muffled by the pillow. Will held on, pressing down with all of his body weight, his face red with the exertion. It went on for so long, far longer than I would have thought it would take.

  And then, finally, Robert’s body went still.

  Part Two

  Will

  Chapter 18

  Robert stopped moving. I waited a few more moments, using as much body weight as I could to press the pillow down on his fucking face, my breath shallow and ragged from the exertion. Finally, I staggered back, pulling the pillow off him. Robert was staring up, his eyes blank and unseeing, his mouth slack, his body still on the white sofa.

  I was pretty sure he was dead.

  That I had, in fact, killed him.

  Oh, my God.

  My heart began to race, and I could hear a white whirring noise in my ears as tendrils of panic snaked through me. It was just like one of those horrible dreams, the one where you’re running from the police, falsely accused of committing some sort of terrible crime and know if they catch you that you’ll spend the rest of your life imprisoned for a crime you didn’t commit. And then you wake up, sweating and terrified, and trying to remind yourself that none of it was true.

  Except that this time, the committing a crime part was true. And it wasn’t just a bad dream.

  I had killed someone, and there was nothing I could do to take it back.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. What had I done?

  “What the hell did you just do?” Natalie’s voice—sharp, angry, disa
pproving—cut through my shock.

  “What?” I turned toward her slowly, my voice higher than normal. “What did you just say to me?”

  Nat stared at me. Her eyes were round, and her short, dark hair was ruffled up and damp with sweat. “You killed him!”

  “I know! Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that the whole point of why we’re here?”

  “No. The point was to make it look like a suicide, so that the police won’t investigate it as a murder! Wait.” Nat crouched down beside Robert’s still body, and pressed two fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. I stared at her, not comprehending how she could touch his lifeless body. Just looking at it nauseated me. “Jesus. I think he’s really dead.”

  “Again, I thought that was the point.” I bit out the words. “Come on, we have to get out of here. What if someone shows up? We can’t be here!”

  “Hold on, let me think.” Nat stood up and ran her hands through her hair. She stared at Robert’s body for a few moments, hands on her hips, surveying the room. “We need to clean up first. Maybe we can still set it up so it will look like a suicide.” She shook her head. “Although the medical examiner will probably be able to tell that he was suffocated to death.”

  To death.

  I couldn’t stay in the room any longer with Robert’s body. I turned and stumbled away. I wasn’t sure where I was heading—just away from that room, that horrific scene—but I found myself in the kitchen. I blinked at the mess—piles of dirty dishes, food containers, and there was the unmistakable odor of something rotting in the garbage. I looked around wildly, then saw a bottle of bourbon on the counter. I grabbed it, and after finding a glass in the first cupboard I looked in, poured myself a large glass. I closed my eyes as I drank, grateful for the warmth spreading through my core and the dampening sensation it had on my panic. I poured another few fingers of bourbon in my glass and sat down on one of the bar stools lined up along one counter.

  Nat came in and looked at me. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You still have to drive home.”