I Said Yes

by Kiersten Modglin

  He asked her if I could live there, but she said no. If you want my opinion, he shouldn’t have had to ask. It’s his money that pays for everything. He told me she doesn’t even work. But nope. She didn’t want me there. I wasn’t her child, and she wanted nothing to do with me.

  He told me how she wants children of her own—their own. A child to replace me. I didn’t want that to happen. I couldn’t let it. I wanted her gone, I didn’t want more of a reason for him to be attached to her more than me.

  For a while, he let me sleep in his office overnight. He’d come in early and get me to leave before the rest of his team showed up. But then he got fired because one of the sluts in the office wanted to fuck him and he said no.

  Can you believe it? He said no and they still fired him!

  Bunch of assholes.

  He was going to be just fine, though. Dad was a fighter. He would come out on top, he promised. He just needed time to figure everything out, and I wanted to help him.

  I’d never hurt anyone before, not unless you count arm wrestling my best friend Dylan in school, but I knew what needed to be done in order for my dad to be happy again, and that’s all I wanted.

  I followed the girl home from work, the one who told all the lies about him, after he told me what happened. Once I’d found her house, I watched her, learned her routine. I’d seen it on Criminal Minds, how to stalk. I was excellent at it. I’d always been good at keeping quiet. When I was young, Mom would bring me to work with her when she couldn’t afford a sitter, and she’d tell me to keep quiet in the office. Most days, no one even knew I was there.

  I took my time coming up with a plan of what to do with the girl. That’s how killers always get caught, they aren’t patient. But I was. I waited a week, made sure I had everything planned out, and then I knew it was time. I made my move.

  I remember the way my hand felt, pulsing with power as it connected with the wood of her door.

  I remember her eyes, wide with fear when she saw me. “Do I know you?” she asked. She’d met me three times, and she didn’t recognize me, stupid bitch. She was just like all the other women. I couldn’t offer her anything, so she forgot me.

  “I’m here for Mark,” I said, pulling the gun from my jacket pocket. It was heavier than I’d expected. I’d never actually shot it, but the guy I bought it from showed me how it worked. It was a lot of money, and I don’t have a lot. Not yet. I had to trade one of Mark’s watches for it, but I’d planned to put it back before he even noticed. Besides, this was more important.

  “Mark?” she asked, her head cocked to the side, eyes crossing as they stared at the barrel. “What are you talking abou—”

  I didn’t let her finish. I squeezed the trigger, shutting her up once and for all. The shot shook my arm and it hit her cheek, but she fell to the ground and didn’t move. I remember her scream, the way it stopped short when the bullet connected. I stood above her, watching the blood pour out of her face and pool beneath her.

  I’d done it.

  I’d killed her.

  With her gone, Dad’s job could be saved.

  Then everything would be okay.

  Well, once I got rid of Hannah.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Him

  I went to Dad’s house that night to tell him what I’d done, to tell him I’d saved him. I could hear them yelling inside. I could hear Hannah screaming at him. Him defending himself. Why did he love her so much? I still don’t understand it. She was cruel to him.

  I guess she’d found out about the girl from work, but she didn’t know he was innocent. I sat on their porch for a long time, listening to them fighting. It was all I could do not to go inside and help him, but he’d made me swear not to let Hannah ever see me. He told me she’d lose it if she did.

  I waited and waited, hoping she’d go to bed. Finally, when it got quiet, I knocked on the door. I could see Dad moving around in the living room. He lifted his head, but instead of a smile on his face, he frowned at me.

  He was angry that I’d showed up. I told him what I did. I told him that the girl was dead, that I could take care of Hannah if I needed to. I was inside of his house for the first time, and it just felt right, you know? I knew I was supposed to be there all along.

  It was like the start of our lives together. Father and son forever.

  I could see Hannah’s body at the top of the stairs. She was drunk. Passed out like a whore. Dad said she’d always been a drinker. I knew then what I needed to do. What I had to do to fix everything. All it would take was one shot. One shot and she’d be out of our hair forever. It was that easy. I was going to take care of it all. I showed him the gun and told him my plan.

  But he wouldn’t let me do it. He told me we had to leave. He told me the police were on their way for me and he wanted to protect me. There was no time for finishing off loose ends right then. We grabbed the keys and headed out the door. He didn’t even pack anything because I was all that was important to him left in the world. We were going to run away together.

  But when we got going, he was swerving all over. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. I don’t remember crossing the lanes, but I remember the way the headlights looked on the concrete wall that we hit.

  I tried to grab the wheel, but his head fell onto me. He was so heavy for being so thin. Muscle, I guess. The next thing I knew, we were upside down and there was glass everywhere. I’d banged my head, but I could still see. I yelled for Dad, but he didn’t answer.

  I yelled and I yelled and I yelled, but he wouldn’t answer.

  That’s when I realized he was dead. And I was alone again.

  Story of my life.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Him

  PRESENT DAY

  My idiot lawyer is droning on about charges and prison again, but I mostly tune him out. I don’t care about me. I don’t care what happens. What I care about is Hannah, and making sure she goes to jail for the rest of her life. Or dies. Either way, I guess. Maybe both. Maybe we’ll both go to prison, and then, if I see her in there, I’ll kill her. “Damon, I hope you realize, the charges against you are serious—”

  “Mark, dammit, Mark! How many times do I have to tell you I don’t go by my first name?”

  “Be that as it may, your legal name is Damon. You are not your father. You are not Mark. To go on pretending otherwise would be a disservice to you.”

  “Fuck you,” I tell him, kicking the table in front of me. It doesn’t move because it’s bolted to the floor, but he gets the point. If I had my gun, he’d be next.

  His fat forehead wrinkles, and he clicks his pen closed. “I have someone here who’d like to see you.” He stands and waddles toward the door, opening it slowly. When he steps back, I see my mom.

  I still have mixed feelings about her. On one hand I love her, but on the other, she’s lied to me my whole life, and now my time with my dad is cut even shorter. Still, I lean in for the hug she offers.

  There are tears in her eyes, and I feel pretty bad about that.

  “I’m okay, Mom,” I tell her, because I am.

  She nods, her lips moving like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. “I want you to listen to Mr. Cavendish,” she said. “We’ve got some doctors who want to help you. He thinks he can get it so they can lessen your sentence if you will agree to get help.”

  I flick a booger across the room and bite the inside of my lip until it bleeds. “What if I don’t want help?”

  “D-Damon, you need help. You know that, right, sweetie? You know that what you did was wrong, don’t you?” She is begging, which Dad says they do when they’re desperate. She’s desperate for me to say yes, but I don’t. What I did was take care of someone I love; that can’t be wrong.

  “I don’t think it was wrong.”

  “You…you killed someone.” She glances at my lawyer, and I see him give her a strange look.

  “People die all the time.” It’s a fact, and I don’t know why I can’t say
that it is. When I was growing up, Mom always corrected me when I told her these facts. She told me I should feel sad about death when my grandfather died, but I didn’t. I’m not really sure what sad means. If it means I wanted to play marbles with him again and I couldn’t, then, sure, I guess I was sad.

  “So?” I roll my eyes at her frown. People make such a big deal out of that stupid emotion: sadness. I don’t get it. It’s honestly not that bad. Anger, now there’s an emotion. Nothing more powerful in the world.

  “Damon, this is serious,” she says, and her voice is louder, which means she’s upset. “You have to do what they tell you. Do you hear me? You have to!”

  “I can do whatever I want,” I tell her, kicking my feet up on the table. “And I’ve told you to call me Mark.” I growl at her, so sick of having to repeat myself.

  “Don’t you want to get out of here?” she asks me, shaking her head as she speaks.

  “If you let me out, I’ll kill her,” I tell her.

  “Damon, don’t—”

  “My name is Mark!” I yell, leaning up in her face. I hope my breath stinks. If she wasn’t my mother, I’d want her dead, too. Anger. Anger. Anger. Anger.

  “Mark,” she corrects with a shaking voice. She takes a step back, a sign of submission. I’ve won. “Don’t say that, sweetheart.”

  “It’s the truth, Mom.” I smile at her the way she hates, so my teeth look like fangs. “And if you’ve taught me anything…it’s that the truth, even when it’s bad, even when it’s ugly, is always worth telling.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Her

  PRESENT DAY

  My lawyer comes back into the room, and I push my feet against the floor to sit up straighter.

  “If you’ll agree to a plea deal, the State will do five years plus a years’ probation.”

  “Done,” I say, “where do I sign?”

  He sits down in front of me, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do this, Hannah. I’m telling you, I think I can get you out of here with no prison time at all. What you did was an accident. It wasn’t premeditated. The State knows it. You know it. I know it. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that, with what Damon-Mark-whatever he calls himself has told us, I could’ve been dead. My husband’s last act on this earth was to spare my life, and he died because of it.”

  “Because he chose to drive drunk.”

  “But he wrecked because of the massive amounts of sleeping pills in his system. We all know that, too.”

  “You weren’t responsible—”

  “I damn well was,” I cry out. “And I have to live with that. My husband was a rapist. He was violent. He was a liar. But he wasn’t a killer. He chose to save my life, and I ended his, and now I’ve seen what his victims do to their children…” I break off, letting out a sob I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t.

  “Their children?” he asks, his head tilting to the side as he tries to understand. “Damon?”

  I nod. “Mark ruined him. The damage he did to Morgan ruined him.”

  “Hannah, I’m no doctor, but I can tell you that what Damon’s got going on goes much deeper than just daddy issues, okay? He needs help. His mother didn’t see that, but it’s not her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It just needs to be fixed.”

  “And what if it can’t? What if she can’t do it? What if it’s done?”

  “What if she can’t do what?”

  “What if she can’t fix him? What if she can’t fix a child like that?”

  “What are you even talking about? Damon won’t be allowed to come around you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Even if he gets off, which, between you and I, he doesn’t seem interested in doing, he will still be in a psychiatric hospital for a long time.”

  “But I knew about him. I knew he existed, and instead of telling Mark I knew, I let him keep his secret. Now McKenna is dead because of it. I could’ve stopped this. I could’ve stopped all of this.” I place my face in my palms and shake with sobs.

  He taps the table with his forefinger and leans in close. “McKenna is dead because a very sick boy killed her, not because of you. You couldn’t have prevented that, and punishing yourself isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “I’m not punishing myself, I’m protecting my child!” I shout, looking up at him as my hand moves instinctively toward my stomach.

  “Your…” He stops talking, staring at me in shock. “Are you pregnant?”

  “I haven’t taken a test, but I’m late. And this child belongs to Mark. He has every bit of Mark’s DNA that Damon has. What if Mark’s the problem? What if he’s passed the same problems down to this baby? What if it’s in Mark’s DNA? What if a woman who’s been raped by Mark can’t raise a normal child? Because I think I have been. I wasn’t sure before, but I think so now. What if my child—” I am nearing hysterics when he cuts me off.

  “Let me stop you,” he says, reaching for my hand. “What you’re doing is panicking, and I understand why, but worrying about all these things without any answers won’t help you. What are you hoping for? That you’ll go to prison and it’ll ease the pain of having your child taken away from you?”

  I nod. That’s exactly what I’m hoping, thank you very much. “I forced him to try for a child.”

  “You wanted to be a mother.”

  “What if my child is a monster?” I ask, my voice coming out as a high-pitched whimper.

  He sighs, and I don’t at all like the all-knowing way he is staring at me. “That’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

  I feel my chin quivering as my tears begin to spill over. “What if I’m the monster? How could I have been married to someone like Mark and not have known who or what he was? How could I not have seen the signs?”

  “Are you a trained psychologist?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No one else would be expected to see those signs.”

  “How many nights did I fall asleep holding the hands that had ripped the clothes off some helpless girl just hours before? If I couldn’t see that, how will I see the signs when my child needs my help?”

  “You aren’t responsible for anything your husband did, do you hear me? There are monsters in this story, Hannah, don’t get me wrong. Plenty of them, going back many generations. But you are not one of them. What happened here happened to you, not because of you. And the way I see it, you have two options. One, you can give up. Go to prison. Let your child be raised by someone else while you sit around like a wounded dog and wait for your life to pass you by. Or two, you can fight back. Take your life back. You can say the ripple effect of Mark’s evil ends here.” He shoved his forefinger down on the tabletop. “With you. You can tell the judge your story, go home, and have your baby. You can raise it with love and happiness and joy. You can raise it to not know the bitterness that its father would’ve introduced it to. You spared this baby a lifetime filled with all of that. You did it, Hannah. You protected your child. You can love this baby, and you can learn to love yourself again, too. You can do all that in spite of Mark, not because of him or what he’s done. His touch on your life ends the second you decide it does, and not a moment before.”

  I sniffle, running a finger under my nose. “I think you missed your calling as a trained psychologist.”

  He smiles at me, and his expression is so warm I have to smile, too. “I have kids. Giving advice comes with the territory. Something you’ll learn soon enough.” He shifts in his chair. “I can’t make the decision for you, Hannah. But if you let this happen, if you sign this paper in my hands, he wins. You can glorify what he did in his last hour, saving your life, but the fact is that he lived his life as a monster. He monopolized the bad things that happened to him and used them as an excuse to mistreat and control those around him. Don’t let him control you anymore. Don’t let him win.”

  “What if I can’t do this? What if I don’t have any goodness left in me after what I’ve been through?”

 
; “You do—”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He nods and reaches for my hand, his touch calming down the panic that was beginning to set in again. “I do. I do know that. I know that because you asked your parents to pay for Damon’s lawyer. I know that because you want to see him get the help he needs despite the fact that he’s dead set on killing you. I know that because you want to protect this child, even if it costs you what you’ve wanted your whole life. You are good, Hannah. Mark didn’t take that from you.”

  I nod, chewing my lip as I think. I follow a procedure that Doctor Fremont taught us in therapy. I close my eyes, and I think of all the bad that Mark has done. All the lies and the manipulation. Then, I think of all the good in my life: my parents, my old job, Luis, this baby—the size of a mustard seed—growing inside my belly. As terrified as I am, Mr. Cavendish is right. I need to keep moving. Keep going, if not for my own sake, for the sake of my child, whose mere existence offers me a fresh start wherever I end up.

  “Okay,” I say finally, opening my eyes.

  “Okay?” he asks, a smile growing on his wrinkled face. “Atta girl. Now, let me go back and talk to the prosecutor. I’ll be in touch, okay?”

  I nod, already allowing hope to fill me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt it. Before he reaches the door to call the bailiff back to me, he turns to meet my eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay now. You know that, right?”

  I smile with a grin that shows all my teeth and run a hand across the baby that will save my life, just as I saved his. “Yes.”

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