A Secondhand Life

by Pamela Crane

  Jennifer hung up, then her shadow crossed over me as she stooped to help me up. Once on my feet, she sat me in a chair.

  “Sit, honey. I’m going to check on Landon.”

  Immediately I perked up. “No! He’s dangerous right now. Let the cops handle it. Just keep him away from us.”

  My warning came a moment too late. Landon appeared through the doorway, bloodied knife in hand.

  In sacrificial boldness, Jeremy rushed him and grabbed both his arms. Thwack! A lightning-fast head butt sent Landon to the floor. Jeremy leapt on top of him, throwing punches. They scuffled, while Jennifer screamed for them to stop. The next thing I saw was Jeremy pinned in a vice grip under Landon’s arm and the knife was pressed against his throat.

  “Please, Landon, don’t hurt him! Talk to me, Landon. I know you’re in there, sweetie,” Jennifer implored.

  The vacancy in Landon’s eyes told otherwise. No one was home. No one with a heart, that is.

  “Landon’s dead, Jennifer.” His voice was jagged and heartless. “I’m not the son you thought I was. I failed.”

  “No, honey, you didn’t fail. You’ll never fail me. You’re more precious than you’ll ever know.”

  Clearly Jennifer’s words offered no comfort to this tortured man.

  Outside, the peal of sirens grew closer with each passing moment, hollering their call as an announcement to the rubbernecking neighborhood that drama was happening at number 721.

  Hurry. Hurry, I prayed silently.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Landon threatened. “This ends now.”

  I knew exactly what that meant, and it wasn’t good.

  He was about to kill again.

  Chapter 37

  “Don’t hurt Jeremy, please, Landon,” Jennifer begged. “I know what you think of him, but you’re wrong. He’s a good guy, I swear. We’re friends, honey, and have been for a while.”

  “He’s no good for you, Mom. He’s done horrible things … to children, when my mission has always been to protect them.”

  Jennifer wiped a tear away, leaving a wet trail along her cheek. “Oh, honey, that’s not true. I know what really happened—Jeremy was the victim, sweetie. Please don’t punish him more than he’s already endured.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody, but sometimes it must be done. Sometimes it’s the only way to free someone from their pain.”

  Landon looked directly at me as he said it. Free from pain … the words echoed. And then I became conscious of where he was heading with this as I read his mind.

  Help me, Mia, his eyes beseeched. You know what I have to do. It’s the only answer. The only way to right my wrongs. Or was it Alexis speaking to me?

  Either way, I couldn’t let him do it. No matter what he had done, he couldn’t take this route. It was selfish. An easy way out.

  “An eye for eye. Or in my case, a life for a life. Right, Mom? Isn’t that what the Bible teaches?” Landon crowed. The blade indented Jeremy’s skin as he tensed for the final cut.

  “Don’t you think enough life has been lost?” I pleaded. “Enough blood shed? This won’t put things right. It’s a weak reaction because you’re too tired to think straight. Let’s talk about this.”

  “I’m done talking. And I am weak, don’t you understand?” he screamed. “But I’m not like you, Mia. I can’t fix what I see in the mirror like you can… like you should.”

  His words were terse and urgent. His gaze was fixed on me.

  “Look, the cops will be here any minute, and I’m guessing Evan’s with them. I don’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want any of you to witness this. I know too much that I can’t hide anymore. The voices are too loud. I’m scared I’ll never be good. I just want to be good, to be enough. This is the only way. Mia, you understand, don’t you?”

  And in that awful, sick, life-changing moment, I understood. I knew. I felt it all. This was me I was looking at—the insecure and fearful child in the mirror. Landon was a timid boy beneath the blood covering his hands. But there was just too much blood. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to kill the demon, to let go, to be free. With it, all of Landon’s secrets—about the victims, about Evan, about Alexis, about his past—would die too.

  I wouldn’t tell. I promised him that with a nod. This was his final confession of all the sins he had covered up, and I was willing to be his priest today.

  “Yes, Landon, I understand. Go be with your sister. Alexis is waiting for you.”

  With my blessing, Landon pushed Jeremy forward on his knees and drew the blade across his own neck, a symbol that only I could comprehend. He wasn’t worthy of dying the same way he’d killed the innocents—a stab in the side. No, he was vanquishing the evil within in this way, a fitting end.

  Jeremy backed away from the spreading puddle of gore and, striking the wall, slowly raised himself against it to his feet. He inched over to Jennifer, her mouth frozen open in a grotesque silent scream, and drew her close, averting her view.

  For a moment I felt time cease, then I ran to Landon and clung to his frail form, watching the life waver in his eyes, feeling his ragged breaths as I firmly pressed the towel to his neck.

  “Don’t be afraid, Landon. You’re going to be all better now.”

  He smiled. “I know. You are too,” he said gutturally, his voice wispy and frail.

  I grinned down at him knowingly. “Yes, because of you.”

  By now the sirens wailed outside the house. Jennifer scurried to the front door at the sound of footsteps stampeding up the front porch.

  “It’s Landon,” I heard her say. “He … he’s in the kitchen. Badly hurt.”

  “The paramedics are on their way.” Evan’s voice. He had come, just as Landon had foretold.

  Evan and another officer entered the kitchen, their guns drawn. Landon’s eyes met Evan’s in a frank, unspoken exchange, a naked, vulnerable little boy looking to a big brother for understanding. Evan holstered his gun and took a hesitant step forward, then knelt down beside us.

  “Hey, buddy. What’d you do to yourself?”

  Landon coughed a barely audible chuckle. “Don’t worry, man. Brothers forever, right? And brothers never tell. I’ll see you on the flip side.”

  Evan nodded weakly and gripped Landon’s hand in a man-shake. “I love you, man.”

  The sentiment of the moment wasn’t lost on me. Landon was closing the chapter that had probably held Evan captive to his Good Samaritan for years. I didn’t know the details—if Landon had been blackmailing Evan all along, or how deep Evan’s involvement went. Right now I didn’t care. Alexis’s murderer had forfeited his own life, and my father wasn’t coming back, and that was enough for me.

  Evan’s eyes met mine for an infinitesimal second, long enough for me to read the guilt and embarrassment and regret in them. He gave Landon’s hand a final squeeze before he rose.

  It was all I could do to look at the obscene gash in Landon’s throat and to listen to the gurgle of words coming so painfully from his blood-filled mouth. “You’re a strong woman, Mia,” he said, “but no matter what façade you put on, I know the real you. Don’t hide that scar anymore. Be proud of it, okay? For Alexis.”

  “Okay, I will. For you both.”

  “Thank you, sis,” he said with his final breath.

  His eyes drooped lazily closed, and I imagined him peacefully sleeping—at last the restful, deep sleep that he had been longing for. As his limp hand fell to the cool linoleum floor, I couldn’t help but be proud of him. Maybe in another context his choice would have been selfish, but today it wasn’t. Today he chose to bury the past with him, a past full of painful memories and waking nightmares. The Triangle Terror hadn’t been a terror after all, but a victim to his own mental illness.

  At least he got the final say.

  Chapter 38

  After Landon’s suicide, Evan suggested everyone head down to the station for questioning. A police cruiser and ambulance were parked in front of 721 Willoughby Wa
y as I strode out the front door with Evan leading the way. Blue and red lights strobed hypnotically against the windowpanes. As I headed to my car, Evan waved for me to follow him.

  “How about you ride with me?” he suggested with a firmness that gave me no alternative.

  His offer made me uneasy.

  “Alone?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

  He opened the rear door of a black Chevy Impala for me to enter and stepped aside waiting. Likely he wanted to know exactly what I knew, and what I planned to do about it.

  “I would prefer to drive myself,” I asserted.

  “This isn’t a choice, Mia. Get in. Now. Don’t make a scene.”

  With nerves sparking, I obediently slipped into the backseat, separated from the front by a security screen, prepared for the worst. I’d need to assure him that other than a last-minute confession that he was the Triangle Terror, Landon had taken his confidences to his grave.

  I just hoped I was convincing.

  The last thing I wanted was Evan taking matters into his own hands to guarantee that I never told about what actually happened during the accident that killed my father. Ignorance was my best plea, and I’d have to play it well. Besides, I didn’t want more trouble. Twenty-two years and a moment of clarity have a way of cleaning the slate.

  A minute later we were silently cruising down Roxboro Road, but in the wrong direction.

  “Where are you taking me? I thought we were heading to the police station,” I spoke as firmly as I could feign.

  Yet Evan said nothing. Just kept driving.

  “Please tell me what’s going on,” I begged. I had survived too much to lose the game now.

  With stoic resolve he ignored me, until fifteen minutes later he pulled into a vacant lot that appeared to have been a gas station of bygone days. Weeds sprouted from chunks of crumbling concrete, and the vintage pumps had no sign of modern technology. Beneath a film of dirt I could barely make out an outdated Texaco logo on a cracked globe.

  Evan pulled around to the back of the building out of view of passersby. Angst crept up my spine, and my fight or flight impulse roared to life. I tugged on the door handle, but the child safety locks held the door firmly shut. I pressed the button to roll down the windows, but again—nothing.

  My purse. I had it with me. And my phone. As I grabbed it, ready to dial Brad, Evan’s voice stopped me.

  “Mia, put the phone down. I’m not here to hurt you. Just to talk.”

  “About what?” I said, clutching my phone to my chest.

  “Show me your phone isn’t recording this, then we’ll talk.”

  I did as instructed, then tossed it on the leather seat beside me. “Happy?”

  “Not really. One of my best friends died today,” he replied coolly.

  “That’s not what I meant—” I fumbled for words, then gave up.

  “Did Landon say anything … about me?”

  “What do you mean?” I edged around answering his question.

  “Did my name come up in your conversations with him, and if so, what did he say?”

  I had two choices at this juncture: Tell Evan the truth about what I knew, or lie to his face. Each choice had its own set of conflicting consequences, but which one was my safest bet?

  And that’s when it hit me. Screw safe. Screw running from the truth. I’d rather come clean and pay the price with my life than hide in the shadows of lies. Lies took Landon’s life. If only he’d have told someone about his problems, gotten help, maybe he’d be alive today. Maybe he’d never have gotten blood on his hands.

  “I know,” I whispered. Then with bravado I continued, “I know what Landon did for you on the night of Alexis’s murder, and I vaguely know what you’ve been doing for him since. I didn’t ask for details, and to be honest, I don’t care anymore. How you’ve been protecting him doesn’t matter. He’s gone. And I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  A penetrating hush engulfed us. I wasn’t sure what to expect—a gunshot to my head or a reconciliatory hug.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I just want to move on. It’s over. I can’t bring back the dead. And I know you were just trying to help him. Please believe me.”

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you—you know, get rid of all loose ends?”

  What could I say? I was indeed an unpredictable loose end, as far as Evan was concerned. He was perfectly capable of covering up my murder, and what incentive did he have for letting me live?

  There was one thing, though …

  “Because Landon told me you changed. You’re a good guy now. And I believe that.”

  Neither of us spoke for several moments. Perhaps I had given him a good enough reason to let me live. I prayed that was the case, because I didn’t want to go out like this.

  Then Evan sighed, shattering the calm before the storm.

  “I’m going to confess, Mia, to the accident. I’ve already decided this a long time ago but never had the balls to come clean. But if there’s anything Landon taught me today, it’s to do the right thing—no matter how much sacrifice it demands.”

  After everything that had happened, and completely unlike me, I was speechless.

  “To set the record straight, I never really knew if Landon was the Triangle Terror. I had hoped and prayed not, but a hunch has haunted me since I found him covered in blood the night his sister was killed. At the time I didn’t realize what I was seeing, but ever since then, details about the whole night felt … off to me. My guilt wasn’t in covering up evidence or anything, but not following up on an obvious lead that pointed to Landon. That’s how I protected him all these years—never mentioning what I saw that night. He knew I protected him just like he protected me—through turning a blind eye. Mutual silence. I guess that makes us blood brothers,” he said with a cynical laugh.

  Evan’s vow to confess shocked me, especially since I had assured my silence, but my appreciation for his integrity wasn’t the feeling pulsing through me at that moment. Instead I felt sorrow, pity. While he didn’t mention my father’s death in his discourse, he held responsibility for it. That was his burden to bear all these years.

  “I’m really sorry, you know. You were right.” His voice was etched in sincere remorse.

  There was only one thing I could say to offer solace.

  “I forgive you for what happened to my dad.”

  I heard air mixed with relief exhale his lungs, and from my angled view of his face, I saw a tear slide down his cheek.

  **

  The interrogation was an exhausting ordeal, but it seemed to go well enough that the cops let me go home afterwards with no follow-up required. Mentally and emotionally I felt transformed. I had battled my own demons that day, facing down the thing that imprisoned me since the accident—a scar and the diffidence it created inside me. But it was just a physical blemish, not something that made me who I am. It took a mentally disturbed murderer who gave me a sneak peak at death to show me that. The real scars are never seen on the exterior, but on the inside.

  I had plenty of those too, but nothing I couldn’t overcome.

  That same night Lilly Sanderson, the only surviving victim of the Triangle Terror, confirmed from Landon’s picture that he was indeed the killer. She had ID’d him immediately before being rushed to a psychiatric care unit for the emotional trauma brought about by the resulting media frenzy. I made plans to visit her the next day—if I could get past the paparazzi following my every move—so that I could help her see past the murderer and into the victim that he was. I’d tell her about his personality disorder and how he was sick, never intending to hurt anyone. Maybe humanizing him would help her sleep at night. It was worth a try.

  It was well after midnight when I finally got home, weaving through a slew of reporters waiting outside my apartment. My newfound celebrity status as the Triangle Terror’s confidante inspired me to take an overdue v
acation … somewhere tropical and remote.

  Despite how tired I was, I strode inside with confidence, not letting the shadows chase me. When I opened my front door, I almost thought I was sleepwalking. Certainly I was in a dream … this time not one involving murder but romance.

  Brad stood there holding a bouquet of lilacs, their enticing fragrance permeating the room. Candlelight flittered from various places around the room casting a warm glow, and soft background music added to the ambiance.

  “What’s this?” I asked with a coy grin.

  “You’ve had a rough day, to say the least. I wanted to give you a happy ending. Does this work?”

  I chewed playfully on my lower lip. “It’s a start. You know, lilac is my favorite scent in all the world. How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “You visited my dad’s gravesite, didn’t you? You’re a stalker, you know. That’s unhealthy.”

  Brad laughed good-naturedly. “It’s called research, not stalking. Which I’m sorry about, by the way. I didn’t mean to be overprotective or harassing.”

  I sighed forgiveness. “Water under the dam, or over the bridge, or whatever the saying is. All’s well that ends well.”

  “Enough with the clichés. Get over here and kiss me,” he ordered as he drew me into his arms and touched his lips to mine—first gingerly, but when I didn’t pull back, the sweetness turned spicy. Our tongues clashed as I nibbled his lip and he suckled mine. His lips traced down my jaw line as he guided me to the sofa and pulled me down with him onto it. I straddled his lap as his mouth covered mine, teasing me with his tongue.

  As the intensity burned, I stretched out my neck, inviting his kisses to wander along my flesh. He devoured me, and I raked my fingernails down his back with fevered gratitude, urging him on with murmured groans.

  My hands slid down his thick, muscular arms, savoring their power. When I reached his groin, I tenderly palmed him through his pants, then tucked my fingers under the hem of my shirt. Slowly I raised my arms and lifted the shirt up and off, to Brad’s delight, then unclipped my bra. I’d never felt so bold, so liberated.