Skin and Bone: A Psychological Thriller

by T. L. Keary

  I couldn’t go out parading through town, causing a huge scene with Ezra.

  Instead, I spent the entire day here, calling lawyers.

  I couldn’t even get anyone on the phone for the most part. I got secretaries and paralegals. All of them telling me I’d hear back from so and so in the next two to three days.

  The others wouldn’t take the time to hear me out over the phone. All wanted me to come in and speak with them in person.

  They all wanted money up front.

  I couldn’t do either of those things.

  I couldn’t risk leaving the house and Charity seeing me.

  I didn’t have any access to any money.

  At least Davis had some luck this morning. He’d called a private investigator this morning, and the man immediately got on the job, diving into Charity’s history and gathering proof of what she’s done.

  I dial the number for lawyer number nine and listen to it ring.

  Davis’ house is new, so doors don’t creak. But I hear it when he gets home and walks across the kitchen.

  The phone rings again for the fourth time, and I sigh, realizing that I’m not even going to get someone on the phone at this office.

  “This is turning out to be such a pain in the ass,” I complain as I hear Davis looking through the house for me. “There’s a reason why lawyers have such bad reputations.”

  I swivel in the seat to face Davis.

  Only my eyes widen as I see my own face.

  I don’t even get a breath in before she lunges forward.

  Something sharp sinks into my neck.

  I drop the phone Davis bought me.

  And before I can even piece together everything that’s happening, a cold, numbing sensation begins creeping through my veins.

  She takes a step back and slips a cover onto the needle, then carefully slides it into the pocket of the dirty, salmon-colored dress she’s wearing.

  I try to leap out of my chair, to wrap my hands around her neck, to violently hurt her.

  I lunge forward.

  But my legs give out and my torso doesn’t have the strength to hold me upright.

  I barely get my hands under me to keep my face from shattering on the floor.

  Pain barks up my wrists, but I can feel it dulling.

  “Get away from me!” I growl, trying with every ounce of strength I have to get my legs under me.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Oh, I tried to put some distance between us,” she says. She bends over, sliding her hands under my arms and hoisting me up. I cringe at her touch, trying to yank away from her. But bit-by-bit, I can’t feel my arms anymore. As she props me up against a wall, my neck barely has the strength to hold my head up. “That’s what the bunker was for. You were supposed to stay there and we were never even supposed to be in the same room.”

  “Yeah, well, stay there and starve to death wasn’t my favorite option,” I spit.

  More and more, my body grows numb. I can’t feel my feet at all. I’m pretty sure my torso doesn’t even exist anymore. And I can only twitch the thumb and pointer finger of my left hand.

  “You’re more surprising than I expected, Sawyer,” she says. In her eyes, I see absolute hatred. Utter animalistic rage. “I would love to hear how you managed to get out of that bunker.”

  “I’ll pass, Charity,” I say, putting every ounce of spite and hatred into my voice. “But you can go to hell.”

  I know we were right the moment I say her name. The color drains from her face. Her lips slacken. Her eyes widen just slightly.

  We were right.

  We were right.

  “You think you’re clever,” she says, her tone dark and hard. “But this just assures that things can only end one way for you, Sawyer.”

  Without another word, Charity turns and walks out of the office. I hear her heading down the hall, checking doors. A moment later, I hear water running.

  Frantically, I search for my phone. I was on the phone when she walked in, I dropped it.

  Please, please, please, I beg the universe. Someone be on the line. Someone please hear what’s happening.

  But I spot the phone just two feet away, and the screen is black, no signs that anyone is on the other end, listening.

  Desperately, I reach out for it. But my limbs don’t even think about beginning to move.

  I hear footsteps and a moment later, Charity steps back into the office. She grabs my wrists and pulls me forward, flopping me onto my chest.

  It would probably be painful, but I can’t feel a thing.

  “What did you stab me with?” I question, desperate to get all the information I can.

  “You know, they watch the hospitals and doctors’ offices very closely,” she says as she drags me back toward Davis’ bedroom. “But no one ever thinks about the vet clinics. They have really potent stuff there, stuff strong enough to temporarily paralyze a bull or a horse for hours.”

  “You said you’re not a murderer,” I say as she drags me across the carpet. “I’m no half-ton livestock.”

  “Oh, I didn’t grab that kind for you,” she says, and I hate the smile I hear creeping into her voice. “This kind is for large breed dogs. It’s not even strong enough to stop your heart or breathing. You’re still talking, aren’t you? It’ll wear off in about an hour.”

  An hour. A breath of relief washes through me.

  But as we head toward Davis’ bathroom, my heart sinks into my numb stomach.

  I hear water running, splashing fast and quick.

  Charity pulls me over the cold tile.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, fear creeping into my voice. She shifts me back, pulling me to my knees.

  “I don’t like getting my hands dirty,” she says as she wraps her arms around my chest, under my arms. She’s surprisingly strong as she deadlifts me from the floor. “But you’re a problem I just can’t seem to be rid of. You and Davis…” She trails off, huffing as she steps back toward the giant tub, quickly filling with water. “Don’t bother screaming for help. I found a way to take care of him, too.”

  “They’re going to figure this out,” I say as full-fledged fear and panic rip their way up my spine. “Ezra will realize and he’s going to hate you for forever. He’ll never, ever forgive you.”

  Davis.

  Davis.

  I have to believe she’s lying. She’s messing with my head.

  Davis is fine.

  He’ll be here soon.

  But there’s something in Charity’s tone that seems too confident. If I could feel anything, I think all the hairs on the back of my neck would stand on end.

  A scream rips from my chest as she drops me into the tub with a slosh and a splash.

  “It’s been weeks, and Ezra is nothing but happy,” she says as she steps one foot into the tub with me and rearranges me, lying me back, my knees bent.

  My head is below the level of the tub.

  The water level is already up to my hips.

  At this rate, I’ll be fully submerged in about four minutes.

  “He’s going to be nothing but overjoyed when I tell him in two weeks that we’re expecting.”

  “No,” the word whispers from my raw throat. “No…”

  Charity nods and a smile grows on her face. “Well, I guess I can’t say one hundred percent for sure yet. But we certainly gave it our best shot this weekend.”

  “You’re sick,” I spit the words out. “You’re insane. Demented. What you’ve done is disgusting.”

  “No, what I’ve done is incredible,” she says, sitting on the edge of the tub. A smile pulls on her lips, lips that look just like mine. “I’ve fixed all the hurt you created and gotten everything I’ve ever wanted. All you ever did was think about yourself.”

  “Look at yourself!” I scream at her. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met! You thought you deserved Ezra so much you completely took someone else’s identity.”

  “I gave up everything to ma
ke Ezra happy,” she says, her voice very calm and even. “I’ve thought of nothing else but him this entire time.”

  If I could shake my head, I would.

  She believes everything she’s saying.

  The water covers my stomach now. With a downward glance, I see it begin climbing up my chest.

  “Even if Ezra chooses to be blind to the differences,” I say, determined that if I’m going to die, I’m at least going to put doubt in her head, “someone else will realize. There is too much history you missed. There are people in this town that know things about me, things you’ll never be able to fake. You’re going to mess up, Charity Cooper. Someone will realize. And you can’t steal my DNA. You’re going to be caught someday.”

  She just gives me a little smile. “I don’t think I will. Because once Ezra and I are married, once we have a beautiful child together, why would anyone ever question or doubt? People really don’t want to concern themselves too much about the past. People like staying in their lane when it comes to the important things.”

  “You’re wrong,” I say. My heart is racing, as if galloping me faster and quicker toward death. The water now comes up to my chest. Little by little, I feel it tickle the bottom of my chin. “We’ve already sent evidence to an attorney. We’ve already got someone digging into your past, gathering proof of your surgeries and your sick attempt to turn yourself into me.” Half of that is a lie, but I grasp for anything I can.

  Charity just reaches over and turns the water on higher.

  “I hope your conscience eats you alive,” I spit words out as fast as I can, knowing I have precious seconds as the water rises up over my chin, teasing the bottom of my lip. “I hope you can’t stand knowing you killed me and I hope you off yourself, knowing you shouldn’t be living or breathing on this earth.”

  “Oh, my conscience can withstand a lot,” she says. “You’ll never even know. My uncle Brad was worse, but he trained me to be better than him. I won’t think about you again after I bury your body.”

  As the water rises up over my lips, I press them together, now only able to glare death at her.

  You’ll never even know.

  It’s a brand new kind of torture. Her planting that thought in my head. Making me wonder what else she’s done that I don’t know about.

  She smiles serenely, and she truly does look happy.

  Her biggest problem is about to be eliminated.

  Davis might be dead.

  She’s about to have Ezra all to herself.

  I feel water tickle the bottom of my nose, and I suck in just one deep breath before it slips inside, begging to be let into my lungs.

  “I hope you enjoyed your time being Sawyer James,” Charity says. “Do you think it’s true, what they say? That you never really appreciate what you have until it’s gone?” She cocks her head to one side, something I would never do. “I hope you enjoyed your nearly thirty-one years as her. But it’s my turn now, and I promise, I’ll value every second of it.”

  The water fully covers my nose now, and within seconds it will cover my eyes.

  Don’t breathe, don’t breath, my brain screams to my instincts over and over again.

  But I can already feel the clock ticking, counting down until I won’t be able to fight the instinct.

  I’m going to try.

  I’m going to suck in this water.

  It’s going to fill my lungs.

  And I’m going to drown in this bathtub.

  “I promise, I’ll take good care of Ezra,” Charity promises, looking intently down at me as she slowly kills me.

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  I don’t even process the words before there’s a deafening crack and Charity’s left shoulder jerks forward, hard.

  Blood sprays across the tub, splattering the wall to the side of me, hitting the water, covering my face.

  I can’t do a thing but watch in horror, holding my breath.

  Charity grabs the big bottle of Epsom salts sitting on the ledge of the tub, twists, and throws it.

  My eyes find a bloodied Davis standing in the doorway.

  The bottle hits him in his chest, right in the center of all the blood. He doubles over in pain.

  Charity takes her opportunity. Hand over the bullet wound, she darts across the bathroom, shoving Davis as she leaps over him.

  Knocked to the ground, Davis twists, firing off four shots after her.

  The water level rises, filling my ears, and my eyes blink hard against the water. I squeeze them closed, my lungs burning.

  Davis shot her. She’s dead. It’s over.

  I tell myself comforting words as I wait to pass out or swallow two lungs full of water.

  They’re safe now.

  In the water, I hear an echoing sound, heavy and deep.

  Strong hands wrap around my arms, and I gasp for air as I feel it hit my face.

  Davis hauls me up and out of the water, his face wincing in agony. His blood transfers onto me, running down us in rivers.

  Up and over the ledge he pulls me, and we crash to the tile floor.

  “Is she dead?” I ask, my tone desperate and terrified. Frantically, I try to look toward the door, but I’m still entirely numb. “Did you get her? Davis, tell me you got her!”

  With a wince, Davis looks toward the door. “I hit her in the back of the leg, but she got away.”

  “Shit,” I breathe, and I thought I’d burned through all of the adrenaline in my body, but it kicks into high gear again. I feel my left hand twitch.

  “What’s wrong?” Davis asks as he sits up. He grabs me, pulling my head into his lap. “What did she do to you?”

  “She got in the house and stabbed me with a dog paralytic,” I say, moving my fingers as, bit by bit, I feel something. A burning sensation begins in my chest, the pain from being dropped and dragged over the edge of the tub. “She said it was supposed to last an hour, but I can already feel it wearing off.”

  “That psycho,” Davis says. But he groans in pain, holding his side. He tips his head back, hitting the concrete countertop.

  “Davis, what happened?” I breathe, trying to reach for his bleeding face, but I don’t have the strength in my arms yet.

  He pulls a drawer next to him open and grabs a hand towel. He presses it to a cut on his forehead, which seems to be where most of the blood is coming from.

  “After I called the investigator and we had a long conversation, I got in my truck to come back here,” he begins explaining. “I was turning off the main road when I could tell something felt wrong. The crazy bitch cut my brakes. I made it within half a mile before I crashed. The engine caught fire.”

  “Davis, you need to get to the hospital!” I shriek. I can feel my toes now and I make small movements with my ankles. “You’re bleeding everywhere, and your ribs are probably broken!”

  “We need to make sure Ezra is safe,” he hisses. He reaches for his pocket for his phone but hisses in frustration. “Damn. My phone was in the truck.”

  “Wait, you said you made it within half a mile,” I say. “Did you walk the rest of the way here after the wreck?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a hiss of pain.

  “Davis, I…” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

  It’s too much. Too fast. Too life or death at this point.

  “I knew she had to be going after you if she was willing to escalate to trying to take me out,” he says. He looks down at me, and with shaking, bloodied fingers, he brushes the hair out of my face.

  Finally feeling some strength in my arms, I reach up, holding on to Davis’ wrist.

  How did we get here? Just days ago, Davis and I didn’t even really know each other. It had been more than a decade since we’d last seen each other. We’ve probably only ever had half a dozen conversations before this.

  And now we’re here together, a million secrets shared, bloodied and fighting for life.

  We look at each other for several long moments, knowing that what’s
happened is going to change us. But we both feel the clock ticking, and every second we waste is another second Ezra is in danger.

  “We need to call the police,” I say.

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “Where’s your phone?”

  “I dropped it in the office,” I say. Davis shifts, getting to his knees. Carefully, with a lot of pain, he helps me get into a sitting position, my back propped up against the cabinet. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nod, watching as he walks down the hall, obviously in an incredible amount of pain.

  I flex my feet, then curl both my arms.

  I still feel heavy, sluggish. But I feel the numbness wearing away.

  She had to have miscalculated or grabbed the wrong paralytic. She said what she’d given me was for a large dog, but maybe what she grabbed was for a medium or small sized one.

  “Yeah, this is Davis Knox. I have reason to believe my brother is in immediate danger. I need someone to pick him up and bring him to my house. Ezra Knox.” I hear Davis as he walks back down the hall toward me. “Yes, there’s a woman who has been stalking him for months. When I found her out, she tried to take me out by cutting my brakes. The police will find my truck wrecked at the end of my road. And this woman also just tried to drown Ezra’s old high school girlfriend.”

  Davis steps back into the bathroom, his eyes locking with mine.

  “No, I just need someone to go find my brother and bring him to me so we can tell him what’s going on and make sure he is safe.” I see annoyance and anger flare in his eyes. He rubs them with his index finger and thumb. I feel the control he’s exercising right now. “Not until they pick up Ezra first.” A pause. “No, but he is in immediate danger. The same woman who tried to kill me is pretending to be his girlfriend. He is in danger.”

  There’s a long pause while he listens to the dispatcher. I see Davis’ jaw clench and unclench several times.

  “Look, get the police over to his jobsite,” Davis says. His voice is cold and low and dangerous. In that moment, I understand completely why he has such a reputation. He gets things done. He doesn’t take no for an answer. “There is a legitimate psychopath after him. And every second you’re wasting, is another chance for him to fall to harm, and that will be on you.”