by Jason Starr
“Scream and I’ll kill you,” he said, now with the blade against her throat. “Understand?”
She nodded slightly, but it was enough to poke the underside of her jaw with the tip of the blade. She was probably bleeding.
She heard the patter of Elana and Matthew’s feet on the stairs. She wanted to yell out, “Go back,” but when her mouth started to move she felt the blade again.
The kids entered the kitchen and Elana shrieked, like a girl in a horror movie.
Owen cut her off with, “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll cut her.”
Karen hoped Elana’s scream was loud enough for someone outside to hear.
“Do that again, your mother gets cut,” Owen said. “I’m not kidding around either.”
The phone in the kitchen, the landline, starting ringing.
“Did you call anybody?” Owen asked Elana.
“No,” Elana said, but Karen knew she was lying.
“You better not’ve,” Owen said.
Elana crying said, “W-w-why… why are you doing this?”
Matthew was crying too, looking terrified.
“Let’s leave the kids like you said,” Karen said. “Just take me, I’ll go wherever you want.”
“Yeah right, so the kids can run and call the cops? What, you think I’m an idiot, like one of those retarded kids you work with?”
The phone stopped ringing. Karen was afraid that Owen would kill her children. He seemed that crazy.
“No, they won’t do that, I’ll make them promise. We can just go out to the car in the garage, drive away, go to Canada. Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go? Canada?”
“I need rope,” Owen said. Then to Matthew, “You know where there’s rope?”
Matthew looked at Karen.
“It’s okay, tell him,” Karen said.
“There’s some in the basement,” Matthew said, amazingly calm.
Karen was so proud of her son.
Please, God, give my boy a chance to grow up.
“Go get it and come back right away, or I’ll kill your mother and sister, understand?”
“Yes, you stupid asshole,” Matthew said, and he headed down to the basement.
Elana, crying, said, “Owen, please just stop this. Just let us all go and everything’ll be okay, I promise.” She came toward him with her arms out. “Please, Owen, just stop, please just stop.”
“Elana, get back,” Karen said.
But Elana continued toward Owen saying, “Please, please…” and when she got a few feet away, he lashed out at her with the knife, and she collapsed onto the floor. Karen screamed, thinking Elana had been stabbed, but then saw that he hadn’t stabbed her, he’d just backhanded her across the face. Elana’s nose was bleeding.
Karen broke away from Owen, trying to get to Elana, to help her up, but Owen grabbed her again, had the knife back up to her throat. Then Matthew dashed back up into the room with the rope, stopping when he saw his sister holding her hands over her bloodied face.
“Give it to me,” Owen said to him.
Matthew remained, staring.
“Do what he says,” Karen said.
Matthew hesitated for a few seconds, then went over, and handed the rope to Owen and spit in his face at the same time.
Owen, not even bothering to wipe away the saliva, said, “Sit in the chair” to Matthew.
Matthew didn’t move.
“If you make me ask you again your mother and bitch sister die,” Owen said.
“Sit,” Karen ordered Matthew.
Matthew reluctantly sat in a chair at the table.
Then Owen cut off some rope with the knife, gave it to Karen, then said, “Tie him up.”
As Karen started to tie up Matthew, Owen went to Elana, grabbed her by the arm and said, “Get up, come on, get up, you dumb spoiled brat,” and then pulled over toward the table and said, “Sit.” Then he said to Karen, “When you’re through with him, do her, then we’re leaving, okay?”
Karen was tying the knot around Matthew loosely, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to escape, but Owen saw this, and said, “It better be as tight as you can get it, or I’ll kill them instead.”
Elana sobbed, saying, “W-w-why… why…”
“Don’t be afraid,” Karen whispered into Matthew’s ear, “Don’t be afraid,” and she tied him tighter, telling herself that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The reporters were right outside—the kids would be found. Let Owen take her. As long as the kids were okay, she didn’t care what happened to her.
“See, this is how it could’ve been all the time around here,” Owen said. “With a man around here, a real man in control. That’s what you guys have been missing. Somebody who makes rules, knows how to discipline. But now we’re gonna have to wait to have our happy family, but don’t worry, it’ll happen, it’ll happen.”
Then Karen’s empathy skills kicked in, and she felt what he was feeling. It was what she did every day at her job—she got into the heads of the autistic kids she worked with; she understood them.
“You’re not angry at us,” Karen said.
“What?” Owen was confused.
“This isn’t about us, it’s about your stepfather, isn’t it? He hurt you and you want to hurt us to make up for it. It’s okay that you feel this way, it’s natural. Anybody would feel the way you do right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to act on it. You can be stronger. You can rise above it.”
Karen was straining for the right words to connect with Owen, but it was so much simpler to interact with non-verbal kids.
“I said we’re leaving now.” He gave her more rope. “Tie up the little bitch, tight, then we’re outta here.”
While Karen tied Elana, she whispered, “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay,” and she was thinking that when she left the house with Owen, or even when they were in the garage, she’d start screaming for help as loud as she could and someone would have to hear her. She didn’t care what Owen did to her, she just wanted her kids to be okay, to not suffer anymore.
“Hurry up, and no fuckin’ talking,” Owen said.
This switch in Owen had been sudden, something must have sparked it. Things had been so frantic since he came into her bedroom, saying they had to run away, that she hadn’t been able to think it through, but wasn’t it weird, very weird, that this was happening while the police were searching for Deb? There had to be some connection, some logic.
Then it hit.
“You called her Debbie,” Karen said.
“What?” Owen asked, but he’d obviously heard her.
“Before,” Karen said, “when you said people had the wrong idea about the whole thing, you called her Debbie, like you know her. You do know her, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Owen said.
Karen knew she was right. It explained why Owen was suddenly so desperate to get away, and why Mark had been so lost in his marriage, and maybe why Deb had been acting so paranoid.
“Are you close to her?” Karen asked Owen. “Is she a friend?”
“Shut up,” he said.
She was on the right track; she could feel his thoughts, sense his panic. “Do you know where she is? Do you know what happened to her?”
“Oh my God,” Elana said to Owen. “It was you.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Owen, enraged, slapped Elana in the face.
“Leave her alone!” Matthew shouted.
Owen slapped Matthew too.
Karen shouted, “Stop it! Stop it!”
Owen had his hand back, ready to hit her too, but he stopped before he did.
“Don’t make me do it,” Owen said to her. Then, as if he was talking to himself, or maybe to a voice in his head, he held his hands over his ears and shouted, “Will you shut up and stop it with the fucking giggling already?!”
The doorbell rang. Karen hoped the reporters had heard the screaming and were suspicious what was going on. Or maybe it was a cop.
&nbs
p; “You can’t get away,” Karen said. “Just do the right thing and turn yourself in. You can get help. You can be happy.”
The bell rang again, a steadier ring.
“She doesn’t like you,” Elana said, crying. “Nobody likes you. You’re a fuckin’ psycho.”
“That’s not true,” Owen said to Karen. “Tell her.” He put the knife back up to her throat and, with his face maybe an inch in front of hers, said, “Tell her the truth. Tell her you love me, or I’ll slit your throat right here in front of your kids. Say, ‘I love you, Owen.’ Come on, say it. I said, ‘Say it.’
His face was sweating. His eyes were wide, crazed.
“I-I…”
“Say it. Say it.”
“I-I love you, Owen.”
“Louder.”
“I love you, Owen.” Karen was sobbing.
“See?” Owen said to Elana.
Now Matthew was crying with Karen and Elana. The doorbell was still ringing.
“Will everybody just shut the fuck up?” Owen said with his hands over his ears. Then he said to Karen, “Come with me, and make a sound, I’ll slit your throat, understand?”
The bell was ringing repeatedly.
“Stay where you are,” Karen said to her kids. “I love you both.”
Owen led Karen toward the front door. Karen was thinking about screaming for help. Maybe Owen would kill her, but then whoever was out there would know what was going on, and at least the kids would be saved.
But was this the right thing to do or would it get them all killed?
Karen was about to do it, she was about to scream, when Owen looked in the peephole and said, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
JUST AN hour ago Owen was having dinner with his new family, starting to connect with his future sexy wife, and then he got that call from that cop, Detective Walsh, the same one who’d once given him a hard time about Melanie, and he knew they’d caught on about Deb. But that was okay—he was a cool-under-pressure kind of dude. When he’d gotten the call, he was smart about it. He didn’t talk long, like maybe ten seconds, and then he shut the phone off, hopefully before they could trace it. Then he came up with the new plan—Canada—and it was looking good, he was actually seeing himself and Karen there, living a happy as hell life, but now Mark Berman was ringing the doorbell. Seriously? What the fuck did he want?
“Who is it?” Karen asked.
Owen still had the knife to her neck. He didn’t want to kill her, he wanted to love her, but he’d wanted to love Melanie and Deb too, and look what had happened to them.
He brought her back to the kitchen and said, “It’s just Deb’s idiot husband. Did somebody call him?”
Looking at Elana, he knew it was her. When she went into the bathroom before she’d had her phone with her.
“You little bitch,” he said, “was that a nice thing to do to your future stepfather?”
He wished he had time to take off his belt and whip her, give her what she deserved.
She was crying again, like a fucking baby. Yeah, she was gonna cry a lot. Just wait.
Meanwhile, Mark was still ringing the doorbell.
Karen was saying shit like, “It’s over now, can’t you see?” and “People are out there, you’ll never get away,” but he didn’t want to hear any more of it.
“Do what I tell you to do or I’ll give you all what you deserve,” he said. Then he heard the giggling, louder than ever, and he said to her, “And you stop it too. I’m warning you, bitch.”
The bell wasn’t ringing anymore. Good, Mark had given up; the plan was still on track. They’d leave the kids and go to Canada in Karen’s car. Maybe the reporters out there would see the car leave but, whatever, they’d switch cars somewhere, make it over the border to Toronto. Wait, wasn’t Niagara Falls up there? They’d go to Niagara Falls first, get married, check into a hotel. Yeah, he could see it clearly now, him and Karen, looking at the waterfall, holding hands.
Then he saw that Karen was looking past him, toward the other side of the kitchen, and he turned and saw dumb-ass Mark Berman standing there, holding a baseball bat.
“Where is she?” he asked.
Owen grabbed Karen, had the knife close to her throat, and said to Mark, “Get out of here, you’ll get us all killed.”
“I know you two have her someplace. Is she here?”
Karen said, “Mark, what’re you doing?”
“I just want my wife back,” he said, coming closer with the baseball bat. “I know she’s here.”
He thought Karen had Deb in here? Jeez, the guy had his head farther up his ass than Owen had ever thought.
“Take one more step, I’ll do it,” Owen said. “I swear to God I’ll do it.”
“Mark, just leave,” Karen said.
“Shut up,” Mark said. “I know what’s going on, okay? I know you and this maniac here have been fucking.”
“What?” Karen said.
“Is that true?” Elana asked her.
“No, it’s not true,” Karen said.
“Hey, don’t lie to her,” Owen said, seeing Niagara Falls, hearing the water.
“Oh my God,” Elana said. “Oh my God.”
“Mom, watch out!” Matthew yelled.
Idiot Mark was charging at them with the baseball bat. He tried to swing it at Owen, but Owen grabbed the barrel with one hand, and jabbed the knife into Mark’s neck with the other. Owen wasn’t surprised by how much blood there was, and how bright red it looked. He flashed back to his room, the day Melanie told him it was over for good and he’d jabbed those scissors into her throat to shut her up. His mother came in and saw him, with blood all over him, and he was happy because he’d wanted her to see what he’d done. He wished she were here now, to see this—Mark squirming on the floor in a puddle of blood, Karen and the kids screaming.
He thought he heard his mom’s voice, or maybe it was Deb’s, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
The blood puddle was growing.
DRIVING WITH the siren on, Larry made it to Savage Lane in about ten minutes, meaning he must have been going at least eighty on the narrow, windy roads. He’d tried Karen’s cell a few more times, gotten voicemail, and she wasn’t picking up her landline either. He was hoping Owen wasn’t there, but unfortunately his instinct hadn’t let him down so far.
“He’s in the house,” a reporter, a young woman, said as he got out of his car.
“Who?” he asked.
“Mark Berman,” she said. “He went in through the garage. We just heard screams inside.”
Shit, now what? What the hell was Berman doing in there, trying to play Superman?
Larry didn’t want to risk waiting for backup.
“Get the reporters away from the house,” he instructed her. “Now.”
Larry called for backup, then, with his gun out, he approached and heard a kid, a girl, maybe a teenager, scream.
Larry couldn’t get a view into the house through any of the front windows. He didn’t want to break down the door, and wasn’t sure he could even do it—well, not fast enough anyway.
Wait, she’d said Berman went in through the garage, right?
He went around the house, to the garage, and saw that the door to the house was open. There was more screaming now—he thought he heard Karen’s voice.
Rushing in, up the stairs, with his gun aimed, Larry stopped when he saw Owen, holding a large knife with blood on it. Berman was down, wounded. The kids were tied up, and Karen was looking right at him.
Thinking about Stu, about how much he needed him, Larry aimed at Owen’s chest.
“Drop it!” he shouted. “I said drop it!”
Stu was with him, rooting him on, saying, Be strong, buddy, be strong.
Owen’s arm, the one with the knife, moved toward Karen, and Larry fired, knowing he’d gotten him right in the heart, but he fired again in the same spot, just to make sure.
Owen was on the floor, Karen was hugg
ing her kids, and Larry was kneeling next to Mark, telling him to “hang on” and that he was going to be “okay.” Sirens were getting louder and Larry was imagining Stu, hearing about the news, hearing that Larry was a hero, realizing how much he’d lost, and wanting to be with him forever.
He’d have to want me back now. He’d have to.
THE DAY after the night from hell Riley didn’t believe what people were saying about her mom. Even though they’d found a bunch of disgusting texts on Owen’s phone, she didn’t believe that her mom had really been having an affair, an actual affair, with him, and she definitely didn’t believe that he’d killed her.
After her dad got stabbed and Owen got shot to death by that detective, Walsh, there was so much crazy drama at her house with cops and reporters and neighbors coming over to make sure she and Justin were okay that it was a blur for Riley. All she really remembered was somebody, maybe a cop, telling her what had happened and her yelling, “It’s not true, you’re lying! Karen did it! It was Karen!” At some point that night, she and Justin were brought to a neighbor’s house—the Walkers who lived down the road. Her dad was at some hospital, in critical-but-stable condition. The doctors said her dad was “lucky.” When Owen stabbed him it had just missed something in his neck and if it had been like a quarter of an inch in another direction he would’ve died. Riley was happy her father had survived, but she knew she’d never forgive him for having that stupid affair with Karen and ruining their lives.
The next day her grandma Fran and grandpa Allen—her mom’s parents—came from Florida so Riley and Justin were able to move back home. Later, Detective Walsh, who they were calling a “hero,” came to the house to ask Riley about her mother and Owen. He wanted to know if Riley had ever seen them together, or if she had mentioned anything about their affair to her.
“No,” Riley said, “because she wasn’t having an affair.”
They were in the living room. Her grandparents were maybe in the kitchen.
“I understand it’s hard for you to accept,” Walsh said, “but we have text messages—”