by W. Winters
Only when I see it’s him do I look back at Liam.
The blood drains from my body when I see he’s not moving. He’s face-down, his arm at an awkward angle. “Liam,” I call out, but he doesn’t answer.
The gun is hot in my hands. A sickness grows in my stomach.
I shake my head over and over. What happened? I didn’t. I swear I didn’t shoot him.
Mason’s father grips me again and I stumble backward, desperate to get away from him. My legs kick out as I scramble across the floor.
“Leave me alone!” I yell at him, still holding the gun, but pointing it toward the ground. He isn’t dead. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t mean to pull the trigger.
He lets me go and says with nothing but compassion, “I saw what happened. It was an accident.” He almost whispers the words. His eyes are wide as he nods. “It’s okay, I saw it.”
His words are comforting.
It was an accident. I swear it was. I look back at the body on the floor, my vision blurred from tears. It was an accident. How did this happen? Why are they here?
Too many questions scream in my head. Too many things are so very wrong. I look up at him with desperation and say, “Please, help me.” My face crumples as the sobs start. “Save him.”
What have I done?
Mason
The door is already open as I storm into the house. Everything rages inside of me. I drove as fast as I could. But it’s not fast enough. I’ve never prayed so much in my life as I did on my way to her place.
Bang! I swear I heard a gunshot, and I’ve never felt so cold in my life. The only thing keeping me from dying inside as I race through the first floor of her place, is hearing her cry. It means she’s still alive.
“Jules!” I call out her name just as I get to her living room, all the way in the back of the townhouse.
My world spins as I stop short in the room. My father’s hands are on Jules’s shoulders, and Liam is dead on the floor.
“It was an accident,” she whimpers over and over and Jules’s hands shake as the gun falls to the floor.
“It’s all right,” my father whispers into her ear. “I saw it,” he says and looks up at me, “it was an accident.” His statement is firm. Just like his grip on her. He nods and I can already see the wheels spinning. He set this up. It’s the ending he wrote. Liam the villain, and he gets to be the hero. Liam’s wife gets his properties, then my father can buy them. Jules and I have our villain and he’s in the clear.
Everything clicks into place. Each event, everything he’s done and how he’s played each piece.
I take a careful step forward, so aware of how close he is to her and the gun. Too close.
“Mason,” Jules cries out. God I want to go to her, I desperately want to hold her, but as I take another step closer, my only goal is to get between the two of them. To keep him away from her.
This all ends tonight. I won’t let him live to breathe the same air as us. His greed is deadly. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.
“Stay behind me,” I say as I rip Jules away from my father, grabbing her hand and forcing her behind me. I kick the gun behind me as well as I keep my gaze on him. His cold gray eyes darken and narrow at me.
“You can’t pin this on me,” he huffs. Naturally he’d think I was trying to save her and destroy him. It’s all he’s ever thought. Everyone’s always out to get him. This time I am.
“Stay away from her.” I swallow and say, “It was you.”
My father’s eyes dart to the gun behind me and I take a step to the right, keeping my arms out as Jules grips onto me. “Mason,” she whispers desperately, her cries waning as she realizes there’s still reason to be afraid. That this isn’t over.
“Jules,” I say although I stare straight ahead, keeping my eyes right where they belong. “He’s the one who wrote the note. The one who set me up to meet your husband. He set Liam up and used all of us. All for a fucking payout.”
All over a chunk of property in New York City that Anderson bought out from under him. One corrupt man upping the ante in a game he couldn’t afford.
“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” my father says easily. “It wasn’t meant to turn into this, Mason.”
Jules releases me, letting out a gasp from behind me. I can’t feel her, I can’t see her, but I can’t turn around. I have to keep my eyes on him. On the liar and murderer and sinner I was born from.
He raises his hands defensively, as if giving up the fight and says, “I swear to you, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.” All the lies, the spinning of a delicate web woven with manipulation and deceit.
“I don’t believe you,” I tell him. “I think you didn’t care how many people had to be sacrificed.”
The corner of his lips twist into a wry smile. “I certainly didn’t intend for this, Mason.” He shakes his head and adds, “Never.”
“And Mom?” I ask, feeling the rage come back to me. Knowing this isn’t the first time. I don’t know how many lies he’s told, or how many people he’s killed. “Did you intend for her to die, or was she just a casualty of your games?”
The mention of my mother gets a rise from him, his eyes heating and his expression morphing into a snarl. “Your mother was a whore,” he sneers. It’s all I can take.
I heave in a breath as my body lunges for him. No punches, no hits. I wrap both of my hands around his throat. The weight of my body makes us topple over, both of us crashing to the ground as my blunt nails dig into the thin skin around his neck. I grip him with everything I have in me. My teeth clench and every muscle in my body is tight as I squeeze the life from him.
He tries to slam his fist into me at first, but he’s not the young man he once was. I lean forward, balancing my weight as he tries to buck me off. I have him pinned.
Finally, he reaches up to his throat, desperate to pry away my fingers. His nails scratch at my skin, but I have no intention of letting go. All the desire in me focuses on leaning my weight into his throat. But the victory is stolen from me.
Bang! Bang!
My body tenses with the shock and fear. Two bullets have been fired. The noise rings in my ears as my father stills beneath me. His eyes are wide and lifeless, staring at nothing. His nails no longer digging into my hands.
Jules shot him. Once in the forehead, the other just an inch from his nose on his left cheek.
I stare at his face, the vision distorted by the blood dripping from the bullet holes down his weathered face and onto the carpet. Even knowing he’s dead, I can’t relax my grip around his throat.
Tell me! I scream in my head as tears prick the back of my eyes. I just want to hear him admit it. I want him to tell me to my face how he plotted my mother’s death. How he hired someone to make it look like a suicide. My body trembles as I come to terms with the fact that it will never happen. His secrets will never be told, and my fingers loosen as I take in an unsteady breath.
It takes a long moment for me to glance up at Jules, who’s eerily quiet only to see that she has the gun still pointed at him.
“He’s dead. It’s over, Jules.”
Something in her seems to snap at my words, and she drops the gun as if it’s burned her hands. She backs away, shaking and covering her mouth with horror.
The blood drains from her as the realization sets in. “Don’t scream,” I tell her.
“Look at me,” I tell her and she does as I command. “It’s okay.” I swallow down every insecurity. For her, I’ll be strong. I’ll take care of this. “It’s okay,” I repeat and hold her gaze until she nods back although she’s still on edge and drenched in terror.
I wipe the gun off on my shirt, getting rid of her prints and trying to think straight. The cops will be here soon. There’s no doubt in my mind. She needs an alibi. “Run, Jules.” I set the gun back down where it fell and rise to take a step closer to her. She’s still trembling and can’t take her eyes from the bodies on the ground. I reach out, grabbing he
r shoulders and shaking her slightly to get her attention. “Go to the Westin. You left me last night. Everyone knows that. I came here to get you, but you weren’t here. I’ll call the owner of the Westin.” I nod as I speak, as if reassuring myself and her. I know for a fact the owner was in my father’s back pocket and now he’ll be in mine since I have my father’s little black book. “He’ll do what I tell him to if anyone asks. You checked in last night and that’s where you’ve been.”
Jules shakes her head, the implication of what I’m saying setting in. “Mason,” she says and sucks in a breath. “No. You can’t.”
“I can and I am,” I tell her, staring deep into her eyes. My beautiful Jules, my sweetheart. I should have known it would end like this. It’s how it should have started. With me killing my father and letting everything else go.
“I love you,” I tell her, “even if you can’t be with me. I love you.”
She stares deep into my eyes, and I can see how much it tortures her. We were never meant to be. It was my mistake. I deserve this pain. She parts her lips, I’m sure to explain, I know her so well and I’m certain that’s what’s coming. But I don’t need it. She doesn’t have to explain it to me; I already know. I press my finger to her lips, silencing her and then giving her one last kiss.
She leans into me as I pull away and it makes the pain in my chest grow that much deeper. I look down at her with the tears soaking her lashes until she finally peeks up at me.
We share a look, but it only makes her cry harder. We both know it’s over.
I hold her, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her hair until she’s able to calm herself down. The clock is ticking, and the time we have is already up.
She gives me the saddest smile when I pull away again for the last time, and says, “You’re always cleaning up my messes, aren’t you?”
“It was never your mess, Jules.” She can’t stop the tears flowing freely down her face as I tell her, “I’m so fucking sorry.” I drop her hand and take a step backward as she covers her face with her hand. I say, “Know that I’m sorry. Know that I love you.”
She nods once, licking the tears from her lips as I tell her to go, listening to the sirens getting louder and louder.
I watch her disappear, and I don’t regret it.
She needed me to let her go. I know that now. I’m only capable of destroying her. She deserves so much more than that.
Jules
The truth is, everyone can kill.
Some born to defend, others for thrill.
What would it take? It’s not that hard.
Threaten you? Or leave you scarred?
How much can they push you,
How much can they take?
Until you pull the trigger,
And you finally break.
I’ve never hurt like this before. Like my soul’s been gutted.
I can’t get the look in Mason’s eyes out of my head. A darkness sets in around me as I close my eyes. The vision of his handsome face displaying nothing but hopelessness is only replaced with something more morbid.
I killed a man. Two.
The first I could convince myself was an accident. I was terrified; I felt threatened. I swear it was an accident.
The second, though… I shot his father out of anger. I wonder if this is what Mason felt like almost a year ago when he killed Jace. If that rage that consumed me was the same for him. I shot his father because I wanted to. That is the only explanation.
I shift on the sofa and pull the chenille throw closer up to my neck. My shoulders brush against the armrest until I get my head right on the pillow. I can’t go to the bedroom. I can’t go anywhere in this hotel room without feeling like the cops will burst through the doors at any minute. I’ve only spoken to them on the phone. I can’t imagine they believed my lies. Even as I said them, I could tell they sounded nothing like the truth. Because I’m a liar now. I’m a murderer.
I’m not the woman people think I am. I don’t belong here and I don't deserve to get away without punishment. There’s no denying that.
It’s one thing to mourn the loss of a loved one. It’s only natural, much like a breakup, but you have no way of going back, no way to mend the broken pieces. They simply don’t exist anymore except in memories. Consuming your thoughts with no way to recover, other than to move on. Which, in itself, is a tragedy.
It’s quite a different thing to mourn the loss of yourself. To realize you’re no longer who you once were or who you wanted to be. Your identity has vanished, and staring back at you in the mirror is someone else entirely.
The faint sounds of the TV get louder as a commercial comes on and it makes my skin prick. I turn to face the lights, but I’m not watching it. I don’t even know what’s showing, it’s all blurred. I wanted to turn something on to try to fill the hollowness in me. As if simply hearing something and someone else would make me feel less alone. As if I could somehow ignore my own reality by getting lost in a movie.
When Jace died, this method worked well. I’d turn on a heart-wrenching chick flick just to convince myself that the movie was the reason I was crying. The movie was why I felt the way I did and I could turn it off, if only I wanted to.
It’s not working today, though. I’m all too aware of my current state. I bite down on my thumbnail, looking past the television and over at the curtains, hiding the view from the only window in the living room of the hotel penthouse.
I’m not the sweet good girl I was brought up to be.
And I never will be again. My stomach churns and I roll over to my side, trying to ignore the overwhelming guilt.
I try to convince myself that it’ll be okay, that it was all a mistake or an accident or someone else’s fault, but I’ve never been a good liar.
My throat dries and seems to close as I try to take a breath of air. It’s all too much, this burden, this truth. Mostly the fact that I’m going to get away with it.
I wonder if Jace felt like this back when he sentenced that woman to death? I think back to each morning in his last days with me. But nothing was different. He was the same as any other day. The same smile, the same kiss. The same lightheartedness about him.
He had no remorse. I bite the inside of my cheek wondering how he could go about his days as if everything was all right. Nothing is. And nothing has been for so long.
I can’t hide that any longer. I can’t run from it.
When did I become this woman? One willing to kill. Eager to, even.
I can’t answer that, because I’d never been in this position until Jace died. All of my life, I’ve been handed everything easily. Even if I was grateful, it wasn’t right.
I’ve never had to fight for a damn thing. I’ve never felt the need to defend myself. Maybe this woman, the one who kills out of anger, the one who’s quick to end what threatens her… maybe I’ve always been her. I just didn’t know it, because she was dormant deep down inside of me, comforted by the fact that she didn’t need to act.
Life was kind to her, but not anymore.
My phone goes off by my thigh, making me jump as it rips me from my thoughts. Instinctively, I look to the door first. Where the cops should be coming any minute. They had to know I was the one who really did it. All the evidence is there in my home. I should confess.
They’ll take me away and force me to pay for my crimes.
I’m expecting it. I want it. I want this all-consuming dread to leave me. I want the guilt to wash away. I want to be tried for my sins and sentenced as I should be.
Even if I sat on a jury and heard my story, I don’t know how I’d find myself.
I’m guilty of so much, been baptized in the blood of other people’s victims.
Maybe at this point, I’m insane. Maybe that will be my plea. It doesn’t make me any less guilty.
I’m just as much of a murderer as Mason is.
And even more so than Jace, in a way.
I answer the phone on the last ring.
; “Hello.” I expect it to be the police, but it’s Kat.
“Are you all right?” I close my eyes. It’s good to hear her voice.
“How could I be?” I ask her with a pain she can’t even imagine. She has no idea.
“It’s going to be okay. I just got a call.”
“From who?” I ask as I sit up straighter and pull my knees into my chest. “About Mason?” I need to know. “Is he going to be okay? Mason’s going to be okay, is that what—”
“Calm down,” she says, cutting me off. I sit uneasily, waiting for her to speak.
“What did you hear?”
She’s quiet a second longer than I can stand. “He’s in interrogation,” she says. “They can charge him with obstruction now though, but that’s it.” My throat tightens and makes my words come out in a higher pitch than I intended.
“Obstruction?” I blink over and over, feeling light-headed.
Kat continues, “That’s what I’ve heard. Nothing is set in stone yet.”
My heart races erratically.
“It’s not… I can’t.” I struggle to speak, to breathe even. “Kat, you have to help him. You have to help me.” It’s my chance to confess. To tell her everything. I throw my head back and I rock with the need to let it all out.
“It’s okay, he didn’t do it.”
“I know he didn’t. They can’t keep him. They can’t charge him with anything,” I say, pleading with her as if I know how this all works. But I have no idea.
“Kat,” I say as my voice cracks again and the words are right there, threatening to come out.
He’s taking the fall for me, because he loves me.
And I’m letting him. God, it hurts. It’s so wrong. I bury my face between my knees, hating my reality.
He said he loves me; he’s taking the fall for me. I didn’t even have the balls to tell him how I feel in return. He said I love you, and I said nothing. He must know. He has to. What we have is real and tangible. But I need to tell him.