Skin and Bone: A Psychological Thriller

by T. L. Keary

  Move on, I think once more.

  “I’d been in the office when she got inside,” I say, bringing us back to the present. I turn, nodding toward the office. “She attacked me, stabbed me with a needle. I immediately started going numb. She told me it was a dog paralytic.”

  I kind of thought Ezra wouldn’t be able to look at me, but he does. He stares straight into my eyes, his slightly wide, his gaze intense.

  “She dragged me down the hall,” I say, stepping that way. He follows behind me, Davis just behind him. We step into Davis’ room, which hasn’t been slept in in weeks. We go into the bathroom. The police tape hangs from one side of the doorway now. Davis had been given permission to enter just a few days after everything went down. But neither of us could face cleaning it all up. And the police wouldn’t permit anyone to enter the house beyond us three. No cleaners were coming to take care of it all.

  Ezra makes this weird sound when he walks in and takes it all in. Like a gag. He raises his fist to cover his mouth.

  “She dragged me into the bath tub and started filling it up,” I say. And suddenly my body feels cold and numb. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to warm my limbs. “She sat me up but kept my head below the level of the tub. I couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. She sat and talked about it all as she watched, and I could see the water level getting higher and higher.”

  There’s still two inches of water in the tub. It’s still the same water I nearly drowned in.

  There’s still blood splattered all over the bathroom. Mostly against the white tile rising up from the tub. But there’s a ring of red covering the tub, where it hit the water. Slowly that water evaporated, but it left traces of Charity’s injuries everywhere.

  “The water was already covering my mouth and nose when Davis got here,” I say, my eyes rising up to meet his. We’re very nearly in the same places as that day, me by the tub, him in the doorway. I could very nearly crack from all the memories and emotions that fill me. So much has happened, and so much led up to that point.

  Ezra nods his head, his fist still covering his mouth. He steps past Davis, exiting the bathroom as fast as he can.

  “And the bunker?” he asks, his form quickly retreating down the hall.

  Davis and I glance at each other before following him back into the heart of the house.

  “It’s on your Walker development you said?” Ezra asks. He goes to the door, poised as if ready to leave.

  “Yeah,” Davis confirms. “But there’s not much to see anymore. She went back and torched the inside.”

  Ezra considers that for a moment, nodding his head, though I can tell he’s deep in thought.

  And then, without saying a word more, he pulls the door open and walks outside.

  Davis and I once more glance at each other. He lunges for the door, pulling it open.

  But Ezra is already down the driveway, pulling the door to his truck open. He slips inside and immediately backs out down the drive, his officer barely able to keep up with him.

  It’s hard to worry about an adult. Because you can’t control them. You can’t treat them like children. You can’t lock them up and force them to make good decisions.

  All you can do is say words, be supportive, and hope and pray they can take care of themselves.

  Ezra doesn’t answer his phone for the rest of the day. We keep tabs on him through the officers watching him. After he left Davis’ house, he went to the Walker development. He checked things out there. Then he went to work and stayed there nearly until dark.

  Then he went home.

  I feel as if we’re just waiting for Ezra to snap. He’s not dealing with this. His reactions are all off from what everyone expects. He’s angry in all the wrong places.

  But I keep telling myself that it’s progress that he came to the house today and asked to see what Charity did.

  Yet something still twists in my gut. And instinct inside me still screams that something else is going to go wrong.

  I go to bed that night feeling completely sick.

  At six o’clock the next morning, Davis’ phone sounds through the bedroom and before I’m even awake, my stomach drops with dread.

  I roll over toward Davis and watch as he reaches over for his phone.

  “It’s Ez,” he says, groggy but concerned.

  He shows me the screen. There’s just one text there.

  Can you come over? I need to talk.

  I cast a worried look at Davis, and he looks at me with the same measure of worry.

  We don’t even say a word as we both fly out of bed and dress in a flurry. Within four minutes, we’re walking out the door, our own protective officer in tow. The few minutes it takes to get to Ezra’s house feel like they take forever. Neither of us says a word, each lost in our own thoughts of what to expect when we arrive.

  We park in the driveway and neither of us hesitates as we walk up the front steps. I take half a second to consider if I should be going inside. But Ezra came and saw me yesterday. We talked.

  I’m getting a little tired of babying him.

  Our officer must have radioed to Ezra’s, because he doesn’t seem alarmed when Davis walks right into the house.

  “Ez?” Davis calls as we walk in. The house is quiet and calm.

  “He’s in the shower,” the officer says. “Been in there for a while this morning.”

  Davis looks over at me, and worry instantly fills his eyes.

  He steps down the hall, toward Ezra’s bedroom. Hesitantly, I follow behind. Davis pushes the door open, looking around. “Ez?”

  I stop at the doorway, my heart hammering in my ears. I hear the sound of water running in the shower.

  Davis turns, pushing his way into the bathroom.

  Only, he steps back out just two seconds later.

  “He’s not in the shower,” he says, his words hard and cold. “Water was left running.”

  All my organs disappear. My entire body turns cold.

  “He’s not here,” Davis says loudly, directed at the officers. He stalks through the house, one room at a time.

  Ezra’s gone.

  A look in the garage and we find his truck parked inside.

  “He’s not here!” Davis yells as he grabs a framed picture sitting on a bookshelf. It’s of Ezra and Charity, looking just like me. He throws it across the house. It hits the edge of the island, and shatters to pieces.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I spent the night here.

  In reality, I was down to my last one hundred dollars. I couldn’t afford one more night at the motel. But I also knew that every day I stayed in the same place was a risk. Someone could spot me. Someone might alert the police.

  I couldn’t have that happen.

  So I’d packed up all my things in the backpack. I’d taken a pillow and a blanket from the motel, and I found myself a secluded spot in the grass, perfectly out of view, and I’d camped out.

  Not that I slept well.

  My mind kept playing through all the possibilities. I was prepared for anything—acceptance or betrayal.

  But in the morning, as soon as I’d woken up, my stomach had heaved when something smelled weird. I’d dashed into the bushes and thrown up the little food I had in my stomach.

  Morning sickness had arrived.

  Which was great. It was something physical and real that Ezra could see.

  The sun had already risen up and over the trees. The days are long in Washington in the summer, and with it being only a few weeks past the summer solstice, I’d been woken by the sun at just before five.

  I wait on the opposite end of the football field from where Ezra and I met before. I already walked the block three times, making sure there are no signs of police. There’s been absolutely no one around, not a soul to disturb this empty high school.

  And like a beautiful miracle, I watch Ezra walk through the open gate at eight o’clock. He wears a pair of blue jeans that hug him in all the best ways, and a plain wh
ite t-shirt. His hair is wild though, like he’s been running his hands through it, over and over again.

  I can’t help it. Despite everything that’s gone wrong, I still smile when I see him. My heart flutters. There are butterflies in my stomach, which just means that I lean over the bushes and throw up again, even though there isn’t anything left.

  Maybe pregnancy isn’t going to be as beautiful as I’d always imagined.

  But it will all be worth it when I hold this child, knowing it was Ezra who created it.

  I watch him for a full minute, my eyes scanning the way behind him. He walks into the stadium, his eyes searching for me. He steps onto the bleachers, walking down along the row. He scans for me, entirely missing my observation spot.

  I’ve never looked harder in my life. I’ve never listened so closely.

  But I hear nothing. I see no one.

  I listen to my gut. I have to trust my instinct.

  Ezra has come alone.

  He’s ready.

  I step out of my spot and start toward him. Ezra’s eyes immediately jump to me, but from this distance, I can’t read his expression.

  Thunder, thunder, thunder. My heart goes crazy with anticipation. My palms are slick with sweat.

  He steps forward, and we meet a third of the way across the field.

  “You came,” I say, a wistful smile filling my face as I look up into his caramel eyes.

  There’s already emotion in his eyes. But Ezra doesn’t hesitate even a second before he reaches forward and wraps his arms around me. He hugs me tight, pulling me into the most heart-melting embrace we’ve ever shared.

  “It’ll be okay, Ez,” I say, looking and reaching up. I caress my palm against his cheek and his eyes slide to meet mine. “I will take care of us. I’ll make it okay. We’re going to be a family and we’re going to be happy. And everything is going to be fine.”

  I hate the conflict in his eyes. The agony.

  I know this is hard, changing all the hopes and plans he had for our future.

  But he nods and he brings his hands up, cradling my head as he pulls my lips to his.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to do this again, but I sink into the kiss, letting it fill and consume me. I breathe him in, letting my hands slide to his arms, down around his waist. I cling to him, tighter and tighter.

  I’ll never let him go. I’ll take care of him for the rest of my life.

  “I love you,” I say against his lips.

  Ezra’s kiss slows, but I feel his soul, tangling with mine, reaching to a place down, deep within me. We’ve shared it all. We’ve created a new life together.

  “Come on,” he says, taking half a step away from me. His hand catches mine and he pulls me toward the gate. “We need to get out of here.”

  My heart soars.

  It’s happening.

  Our life. Our beginning.

  I step forward, following after him as he pulls me toward the gate, to our getaway. To our fresh start.

  There’s just one car in the parking lot, a few stalls down, one I don’t recognize. But Ezra couldn’t bring his own truck. The police might track him with it, we might get spotted.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask as we approach. I feel lighter already, airy. Like I could fly, and I’ll never be sad again.

  “I know of a place in Montana,” he says, and the readiness in his voice, his take charge attitude sends a spike of love and lust through me. “It’ll take all day to get there, but we should have somewhere to sleep by nightfall.”

  “Montana is beautiful, I’ve heard,” I say. “But we need to find somewhere to eat soon. The morning sickness hit this morning, but I’m still starving.”

  Ezra grabs the door handle and begins to pull.

  But I see his eyes shift to a point over my left shoulder.

  His expression changes.

  My stomach sinks.

  And it all comes undone.

  “Charity Cooper, place your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

  A dozen police officers swarm out from the edges of the parking lot, every single one of them with a gun pointed straight at me.

  All of my internal organs are gone and I take a step back from Ezra, taking him out of the line of fire.

  “Ez,” I breathe, my eyes sliding back to him as slowly, my hands rise to the back of my head. I take another step back from him.

  His eyes are huge, filled with terror and perplexity and conflict and agony.

  “You called the police?” I breathe. My words come out breathy and small. I can’t think straight right now, not when I’m consumed by confusion and betrayal.

  “I’m sorry, Charity,” Ezra says, and just then, his face breaks. Emotions fill his eyes. He too raises his hands behind his head. “I didn’t… I didn’t…”

  But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m roughly grabbed from behind and suddenly my face screams in pain as it hits the pavement.

  “Careful!” Ezra roars. “She’s pregnant!”

  I don’t know what to think. His demand for my careful handling. His concern over our child.

  “Ez,” I breathe again, looking at him from below as my hands are yanked behind me and handcuffs are snapped around my wrists.

  “Charity, I…” Ezra says, but our view of each other is cut as the police swarm, putting their bodies between us.

  I’m yanked to my feet and the cuffs dig painfully into my wrists.

  But I don’t feel it.

  My eyes are desperately trying to find Ezra. To know. To understand what is happening.

  I find his eyes through the chaos. His are bloodshot. Tears are streaming down his face as he looks at me.

  “Sawyer,” the word breathes out over his lips.

  I think he’s calling to me. Until I realized his eyes are focused over my shoulder. And I turn.

  There she is, standing off to the side, watching everything unfold.

  Jealousy floods through me as I take her in. Her perfect blonde hair that doesn’t have to be dyed. Eyes that are exactly the right shape. Just the right height of five foot six.

  Everything I’ve ever tried to be.

  I look back at Ezra, and I crack, seeing him looking at Sawyer James.

  The officer behind me jerks me forward and I realize that the parking lot is now swarming with police cars. I’m shoved toward one.

  But all of my insides freeze when I see Davis Knox standing to the side of one of the police cars.

  For a moment, our eyes meet. I see something smug in his expression. I see hatred. I see victory. I see disgust.

  I’ve never wrapped my hands around a throat before, but the moment I see him, I lunge forward, determined to end his life.

  But I forget.

  I’m cuffed.

  The police officer behind me yanks me back, nearly knocking me sideways.

  I take only a tiny bit of satisfaction that Davis takes one step back away from me.

  I meet his eyes just once more before the officer shoves me inside the police car.

  Davis thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s saved the day.

  He doesn’t know that he’s just ruined a family. That he’s just destroyed something that would have disappeared and taken care of itself.

  I make a vow then. If I ever see Davis Knox again, I will kill him. With my hands. And I will make it very, very messy.

  “Thank goodness for modern technology, right?” I hear one of the officers say. I look out the window as it’s shut in my face and see one of the officers walking with Davis toward Ezra. “These tracking apps make our jobs a little easier these days.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know if it was stupidity or a cry for help,” Davis says, his voice low and dark.

  More officers are headed my direction, or at least toward the cars. Through them all, I can hardly see Ezra or Davis.

  But the crowd parts just as Davis walks up to his brother.

  “You okay?” he asks, his eyes evaluative.

/>   Ezra doesn’t say anything. And through the chaos, his eyes shift from Sawyer, who still stands there frozen and silent, to me.

  He stares at me, and my heart races. It sprints for him, the man I’ve loved for nearly half of my life.

  “Ez,” Davis says, a hard edge forming in his voice. “You okay?”

  But Ezra just keeps looking at me.

  I let a sad smile form on my lips. I hope he can feel it, that even with how it all ended, I’d do it all again, just to have those four weeks together. To create this child together.

  “I have to know, Ez,” Davis says. His voice has dropped lower, more dangerous. “Were you really trying to get me to follow you? Would you really have gone with her?”

  It all sparks inside of me then. Hope. Joy. Love.

  Ezra didn’t call the police. He didn’t set me up.

  He might have gotten scared and done something to tip Davis off.

  But he didn’t betray me.

  I don’t get the chance to hear his answer though. Because just then, two officers slip into the car, and they don’t even wait three seconds before they pull forward, and I lose sight of Ezra.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sawyer

  Even though she’s been caught, it still feels like my whole life is all about Charity Cooper.

  In the weeks that follow her capture, everything is about the trial. And then suddenly it doesn’t happen. She pleads guilty, confesses to everything.

  I’m not told what they offered her that got her to do that, but I’d bet everything on it having to do with Ezra. And maybe the baby.

  It’s still horrifying to me that she was successful in conceiving. She’s one-hundred-percent pregnant.

  Charity is sentenced to twenty years in prison, with probation after her release, based on charges of kidnapping, identity theft, and two attempted murders.

  It’s not enough. I don’t want to admit that I cry when I hear that’s all she gets. That she will someday be released.

  Davis swore and argued and made a scene.

  But it was done.

  Once she confesses, the police turn all my things back over to me. I talk to my boss, who has heard everything about what’s going on, because mine and Ezra’s story is all over the news now. I get my old job back without a second question.