by Lilah Grey
“Whatever happened to us?” His voice seems distant, as though we’re across the room and not a few feet away from each other.
I finish shredding the paper coaster and move on to the napkins.
“Are we really going to talk about this now?”
I can smell his cologne as he leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him.
He shrugs. “We don’t have to, but I’ve always been curious. One day we were together and the next we weren’t. I tried to find out why, but you wouldn’t talk to me. You’d shut down and shut me out.”
I’d laugh if I weren’t so mad. I drop the napkin onto the shredded remnants of the coaster and stare at him for a moment, stewing.
“You kissed Sarah Locke. My best friend.”
Adrenaline spikes in my chest, and I can feel my hands beginning to shake as I remember the night.
He falls back against the booth. Ridges form across his forehead as he knits his eyebrows. He lets out a quick, airy laugh. “I’ve never kissed Sarah Locke in my life.”
I know what I saw; it was seared in my mind.
“I saw you. I saw Sarah in your Mustang. I saw you kissing her in the driveway.”
He remains silent, his face scrunched into a frown, but after a few moments, it relaxes. A smile forms on his lips and he laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
I want to reach over the table and strangle him.
“Fucking Hunter,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as he looks up at the ceiling.
He lets out a deep groan as his gaze returns to me. “Hunter. My brother. You didn’t see me kissing Sarah. You saw Hunter.” He looks off toward the bar. “I swear I’m going to kill him.”
“No,” I say, my voice as shaky as my hands. “It was you.”
It was dark when I saw them kissing in the driveway, but it was definitely Sarah. I’d known her for most of my life and could pick her out of a crowd with ease. Her wavy auburn locks gave her away. Why would Damian’s little brother be in his car?
Damian’s arms are crossed below his chest. His head is tilted down, but I can still see the smile on his lips.
“They’re married, you know.” His eyes flick to mine. “Sarah and Hunter. They’re expecting their first child in a few months.”
My stomach drops, and I fall back against the booth. Hunter wasn’t built like Damian. He wasn’t as athletic, but he had the same mop of blonde hair and similar facial features.
“Hunter was always trying to find ways to get into my Mustang and take it for a spin.” He shakes his head, letting out a laugh. “I had to lock my spare key in my room when I began to notice the mileage creeping up after a few away games.”
He offers a tight smile.
“No matter. What’s done is done.” He switches into business mode. “I looked into this locket you were asking about. We didn’t find one. Are you sure it’s not in a drawer or something in the house?”
I’m still reeling from what Damian just told me about Hunter. Did I have it all wrong?
“Libby?” It takes me a few moments to register Damian’s voice. “Did you hear me?”
I glance at him. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Margaret wasn’t wearing a locket. It might still be in the house.”
An uneasiness settles over me. Margaret never took it off. Not in the shower, not for bed, not even for me. I remember asking her if I could hold it.
“Maybe when you’re older, dear.” She patted my head and then walked away. I was fifteen…
I hated that locket. She loved it more than me. A stupid piece of metal. I wanted to throw it in a river and watch it float away, never to be seen again.
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take it off before.”
Damian shrugs. “All I can say is check the house.”
Oh well. It didn’t matter much anyway. Sure, it would’ve been nice to get rid of it myself, but it’s gone. That’s all I really wanted.
“That’s quite a pile you’ve got there,” Damian says, nodding to the shredded paper in front of me.
I hadn’t noticed that I started again, but I stop as soon as Damian mentions it.
“I was hoping you could help me tie up some loose ends.”
“I don’t know how I can help.”
“That's alright. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you if you don't mind.”
He smiles at me, and I try to ignore the fluttering sensation building in my chest.
“Sure.”
I had no idea what happened. Margaret was fine when I left for work and dead by the time I came back. What happened during that gap was a mystery to me.
“Has Luke mentioned to you why he was at his mother’s house?”
“He told you about Margaret, right? About how she was poisoning me.”
Damian frowns. “No…”
He lets the word hang in the air as he pulls out a small pad from his pocket. He dips the nib of the pen between his lips, and then begins scribbling notes onto the pad of paper.
Luke should’ve told Damian when he was brought into the station for questioning. Why hadn’t he told him?
Damian looks back up at me as he twirls the pen between his fingers. “How did Luke find this out?”
I’m surprised, but I launch into the story anyway. I tell him everything Luke told me, about the night he left, about the journal. I tell him everything up until the moment Margaret attacked Luke. All I was giving him were details that he should already know, but his furrowed brow tells a different story.
Damian remained quiet for most of my story, asking only a few clarifying questions as he scribbled notes. As I told him the story, I began to doubt it myself. The only evidence that Luke and I had on Margaret was circumstantial. I thought some of it was compelling, but it wasn’t enough to prove that she was poisoning me.
Did I have it all wrong again?
“I was never that sick before.” At this point, I'm not sure whether I'm trying to convince Damian or myself. “It was terrible. Absolutely awful. You saw me.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“It started when my dad and I moved into that house. With Margaret.”
My throat begins to constrict as I become more frustrated. I didn’t want to believe that my body was that frail. It’s Margaret’s fault that I was getting sick.
“I was fine when I went to Millwood.”
I hang my head, staring at the back of my hand resting on the table.
Damian reaches over and places his hand on mine.
“Thanks for sharing.” he says.
I pull away from him and fall back into the booth. The synthetic leather creaks and moans under my weight.
“Do you still have Henry’s journal? I’d like to take a look at it.”
I nod. “It’s back at Luke’s apartment.”
“You’re not still staying with Luke, are you?” The words spill from his mouth so fast that they catch me off guard.
I take a few moments. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just want you to be safe.”
I can feel myself bristling. Why was everyone so worried about me? I wasn’t the frail girl they wanted to make me out to be. I could take care of myself.
“What do you mean I’m not safe with Luke? He didn’t kill Margaret.”
Damian pulls back. “I’m not saying that—”
“But you’re implying it.”
He sighs. “All I’m saying is that something’s off. Doesn’t it seem strange that his mother, who has been supposedly poisoning you for years turns up dead the night Luke reappears? According to the story you just told me, she’s the reason why he was kicked out.” His eyes get glassy as he begins to speak in a softer tone.“He’s always cared for you deeply. How far do you think he’d be willing to go in order to protect you?”
I had no idea, but I knew he wouldn’t kill his mother for me; I tell Damian exactly that.
He leans in. “What do you really know about Luke?”<
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I'm done. I don't want to hear any more. I got most of what I came here for and that was enough.
I slide out of the booth. “I know he’s not a murderer.”
“You may be right, but I’m following the evidence and it’s leading me right to Luke.”
“Evidence? What evidence?”
Damian shakes his head.
“He’s not who you think he his. He’s got an explosive temper.” He snorts. “He’s keeping information from us. He’s hiding stuff. What more do you need?”
I gape at him for a moment and then turn around and head for the door. I can hear Damian slide out of the booth to follow me.
“He’s lying Libby. He lied to me and he’s lying to you now.”
I raise my hand in the air and wave him off. Just as I make it outside, he grabs my wrist.
“Let me go,” I screech.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this but you need to know. You need to know that you’re not safe around Luke.”
I listen to Damian as he tells me some of what they’ve uncovered.
The more he talks, the less I’m convinced that I’m right about my stepbrother.
18
Luke
I know something’s wrong from the moment my driver pulls into the garage. Olivia’s BMW is missing. I gave her strict orders to let me know when she and Libby left the apartment, but I haven’t received a single message from her.
My insides feel like they’re knotting, coiling into a tighter and tighter ball with every step. The elevator chimes, and its door slides open. Up and up I go…
The uneasy feeling swells as I open the door to my apartment and see the phone I had Olivia give to Libby on the floor, cracked and shattered.
Clever girl, I think as I drop my suitcase in the entranceway and head toward the living room.
The TV's on, but Olivia's the only one on the couch, conked the fuck out. I grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a seated position, but she falls back over almost immediately. I pick her back up, holding her in place this time.
“Where is she?” I boom, shaking her.
Her brow furrows, and a frown appears on her face as she smacks her lips. She opens her eyes for a brief moment, but they're glazed over; they close again seconds later.
She lets out a groan and falls back down.
It’s pointless to try anything else, so I head to Libby’s room. She’s gone, of course. Why can’t she just listen to me?
I nearly trip over my suitcase as I rush out the door. There’s only one place she’d go. I’m in such a hurry to leave that I forget the keys to the loaner.
“Fuck…” I mutter under my breath just as I reach the car.
I count the floors in my head as the elevator ascends.
Could this elevator move any slower?
I make a mental note to never live in a high-rise penthouse again.
After grabbing the key from my bedroom, I check on Olivia one last time to make sure she's okay. I don't know what Libby did to her, but it was certainly effective. Olivia's gone, blasted into space with no hope of returning to Earth anytime soon.
I start the car and pull out of the spot. The tires squeal as I punch the gas and leave my apartment behind. I’m not a religious man, but I pray to God that this rusted death-trap makes it all the way to Milton.
LIBBY
I can hardly stomach what Damian told me.
I understand the bits and pieces and how they all seem to lead to Luke, but when I put everything together, there's something missing. It doesn't sit well with me because I know Luke. At least, I thought I knew Luke.
Can a person really change that much in five years? Would he really kill his mother to protect me?
They found a slew of narcotics in my stepmother’s toxicology report, including the medicine Luke needed for his heart condition. The police found the pills in his car when they searched it, and they’re on their way to Austin to search his apartment for the rest.
There was no reason for Margaret to have those pills or the rest of the drugs they found in her system. They found blood underneath her fingernails which they were going to test against Luke’s DNA once they obtained a warrant. He was the last person to see her alive, and he had a history of violence in Damian’s eyes. He lied about the argument with my stepmother. He told them it was about money and not about me. He was hiding information…
It didn’t look good for Luke, but even so, parts of it just didn’t add up.
How was he able to get his medicine and whatever other drugs into her system? Based on the scratches on his cheek, Luke and Margaret weren’t exactly having a tea party. He couldn’t have just slipped her something. Even though it didn’t make sense, I still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. I was beginning to doubt Luke…
I take a long, meandering route back home in an attempt to process everything, but it’s no use. It’s too much for me, and by the time I finally make it to my street, I’m exhausted.
I’m vaguely aware of the man on the other side of the street, standing across from my house. He’s smoking a cigarette as he leans against a street lamp. Puffs of smoke billow above him, disappearing into the night a few seconds later. Although his back is to me, his presence leaves me a little unnerved.
It feels like I’m being watched. It’s the same sensation I felt when I was younger each time I’d rush up the stairs from our basement. If I was too slow, I was certain that a monster would snatch my ankle and drag me back down. It’s completely irrational, but the feeling was all too real.
Apart from my ragged breaths and the sound of my keys jingling as I unlock the front door, the only noise comes from a slight breeze that rustles the leaves of the sycamores that line the street. A stray tendril falls on my face as I tilt my head down. I jut out my jaw and try to blow it away, but it’s not very effective; the hair falls right back down. Oh well.
There’s a swish of feet against grass just as I open the door. My muscles lock up as the footfalls quicken and grow louder, scudding across the cement path before reaching the porch; two arms wrap around me and lift me off the floor, carrying me inside.
I try to scream, but a hand is covering my mouth. A familiar scent floods my nostrils, and seconds later I hear the voice that goes with it.
“Good to see you again, Princess.”
I smell Wade’s breath before I hear his words. It’s sweet with alcohol but putrid from tobacco. I can picture the slimy yellow teeth peeking out from under cracked lips.
He kicks the door shut behind us. I try to scream again, but with his hand still firmly wrapped around my mouth, nothing louder than a whisper comes out.
I kick my legs, twisting and turning my body as he carries me over to the sofa.
“That’s the spirit,” he snarls. “You know exactly how Wade likes it. Squeal for me.”
His arms are still wrapped around me as we crash, face-first, into the sofa. The weight of him on my back is enough to knock the wind out of me. I try to gasp for air, but all I can muster are small, choppy breaths filtered through Wade’s dirty fingers.
“When I saw you walk into Andy’s, I knew tonight was going to be my lucky night. Just had to wait till you left that pig.”
He pulls his hand away from my mouth and strokes my cheek. I turn my head away, but there’s no place to hide. Every direction I turn his hand follows.
“Please, Wade. Don’t do this,” I say before shoving my head behind a pillow.
He wrenches it away and tosses it across the room.
“You’ll be begging for it later. Fucking whore.” He forces his palms into my back as he pushes himself onto his knees. The pressure forces me deeper into the couch.
“Opening up your legs, that’s all you’re good for,” he says, spitting on the floor as he unbuckles his belt.
“Let’s see those hands.”
Before I have the chance to shove them under my body, he grabs them, pulling them together, one on top of the other
.
“That’s a good girl.”
He binds them with his belt and then flips me over onto my back.
I can’t look at him. I force my head to the side, staring at the door, hoping for someone to save me. Hoping for Luke to save me.
But he’s not coming. He’s hundreds of miles away, and I’m all alone.
Hopelessness begins to overwhelm me. Why did stuff like this always happen to me?
Wade slides a hand over my cheek, and then guides my head back to center, forcing me to look at him.
“Ain’t nobody gonna save you.”
Wade stands up and pulls his shirt over his head.
Something snaps inside me as I look at this hideous excuse for a man. I’m tired of being the victim. I’m tired of being abused.
Before I have the chance to think, my body reacts. I spin around on the couch and ram my feet into his gut.
The force sends him backward, still trying to remove his shirt as he topples over the coffee table and onto the floor.
I’m on my feet.
“Fucking bitch,” he yells, finally removing his shirt.
I kick him as hard as I can in his stomach.
He coughs and sputters, but I don’t stop.
I do it again and again, connecting with as much force as I can muster. The next time I swing my foot, he grabs it.
A crazed smile crosses his lips, mirroring the wildness in his eyes. His tongue slides quickly across his lips before he pulls it back in his mouth.
“That’s it. I love ‘em with a little fight.”
He yanks my foot hard, sending me crashing to the floor.
All the air inside my lungs is forced out as my back hits the floor. I gasp frantically for air as I look up at the ceiling, my vision blurry.
Wade appears over me. “I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since you showed up in Buck Wild.”
He bends over and rips my shirt, splitting it in half.
“Don’t do this, please,” I beg, as though asking nicely would put an end to this.
Wade doesn’t have a moral compass. The only compass he uses for guidance is hanging between his legs, and it’s pointing directly at me.
“Blah, blah, blah. Shut the fuck up.”