by Andrea Joan
“For once in my life?! Are you for real right now, Carl? When have I ever not done exactly what you told me to do? I was your damn puppet for the first twenty years of my life, so fuck you!”
“You may have a point there, daughter. You were always a weak little bitch when it came to me, weren’t you? If only it had stayed that way, at least you would be living until tomorrow.”
He can’t be serious. He has to be playing some type of twisted game with me. No way he’s going to kill me. This is insane. I’m gripping the porcelain of the bathtub so hard my hand slips into the water.
Why is my bathtub filled with water?
“Carl, I don’t know what game you’re playing right now, but we both know you’re not going to shoot me in my own home. You can’t get away with something like that.”
“You’re right. I’m not going to shoot you. But I’m going to help you die.”
He’s severely unhinged.
“Here’s how this is going to work.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an orange bottle, tossing it to me, and instinct causes me to catch it. It’s a bottle of Xanax. Noah’s bottle of Xanax. “You are going to swallow that entire bottle. Then you’re going to get undressed and get into the bathtub.”
Normally some Xanax and a warm bath sounds like a relaxing time, but there has to be more than thirty pills in here, and that’s when it clicks what his plan is. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
“You’ve lost your damn mind, Carl. You think you’re going to get me to swallow a bottle of Xanax and drown myself in a bathtub? First, no one’s going to believe I killed myself. Second, if you want me dead that bad you’re going to have to do it yourself, asshole.” I’m grasping the bottle so tight that it cracks slightly under my hand.
“Well now, that is where you are wrong. Suicide is completely believable. In fact, I’m sure some tabloids are even predicting it. I can see the headlines now. ‘Troubled Hollywood Star Commits Suicide Amidst Former Bodyguard Scandal and Truth About Mental Illness.’” He uses the gun to swipe across the air; he’s actually using a gun to pen an imaginary headline.
“That’s a little wordy for a headline, don’t you think?” Jesus, I need to shut up. And unfortunately, he’s right. People will believe that.
“Always were a smartass, weren’t you?”
“It’s a gift,” I deadpan. At this point I’m thinking if I can just keep him talking, Liam will get back, hear Carl, and call the cops. I just need to keep him talking long enough, which shouldn’t be hard; he loves the sound of his own voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe people will believe it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give you an out and do your dirty work for you, though. And what’s the point of all this anyway? Why do you want me dead? Is it because I hurt your fragile ego by firing your worthless ass? Get over it, Carl! Move on, stop being a deadbeat and try finally working for a living!”
“You really think that’s it? Give me a break. It’s because you’re worth more dead to me than alive, you stupid bitch! This would have happened eventually, just like it did with your mother. And if you had just settled with Jeff like I told you to, at least you would have bought yourself another few years of life.”
Oh my god. “What does this have to do with Jeff? And what do you mean with my mother? Are you telling me that my mom didn’t kill herself?” Bile rises in my throat as I try and process what he’s just told me.
“Not that it matters now, but no she didn’t. She probably would have eventually because, let’s be honest, she was insane. On meds, off meds, it didn’t matter. I just sped up the inevitable because I was sick of dealing with her shit. At least I was able to cash in on her life insurance policy.”
“That’s why you had your friend at the police department rule it an accidental drowning. Not to save her reputation, you did it to collect the money.”
He crouches in front of me on the floor and lifts his hands to brush some hair behind my ear. I flinch away. “You always were smart, never told you as much because what’s the point, but you certainly are.”
I ignore that comment altogether, mostly because that seems like the least important thing right now, especially since he happens to be the sole beneficiary on my life insurance policy. He’s forgetting one thing though.
“I don’t understand how this plan will work for you. My life insurance policy doesn’t pay out if I commit suicide, and that’s how you want this to look.”
“No, it won’t. I won’t make a dime off your policies, but your will on the other hand…”
My stomach drops. He’s right. To him and only him I am absolutely worth more dead than alive because he gets it all. Every dime I have. Every investment. Every dollar I make from movies and merchandising, even after my death. He’s set for life. My lower lip trembles as tears start to fall. My father actually wants me dead. For money.
“I don’t understand. Why now? Why not do it years ago if all I am to you is a damn piggy bank!” I push him hard, not worrying about the consequences because I’m that mad. With any luck he’ll beat me and leave bruises, so that at least if I do die today people will ask questions.
“Because you started to change the rules, Skylar! You started to take passion projects instead of ones that could make us money. You stopped listening to my decisions! Then you fired Jeff without talking to me first, refused to settle the lawsuit with him. Wouldn’t let me hire your next bodyguard and hired that boy instead, then your slut-ass let him talk you into firing me! You were icing me out. This is your fault.”
“What is it with you and the bodyguard thing?! What does Jeff have to do with any of this?” I’m somewhere between screaming and crying and in shock. How could I have missed all this? He’s wrong. I was never smart.
“You really are naïve. I made money off of them. They fed me stories about what you were doing when you were out, when you were with your friends, when you were in your house and didn’t even know they were there. They gave me the stories and I sold them to the tabloids. Then that idiot Jeff went and got caught sneaking into your room and ruined everything. You fired him and finally got fed up with my hires. Decided you needed to take matters into your own hands.”
“That’s why the lawsuit,” I whisper, almost to myself as it all starts to fall into place.
“It was actually brilliant if you think about it. I figured you would settle just to make sure the story went away. Bullshit or not, you knew people would believe anything about you given your track record.”
“But Jeff tried to warn me. Why would he even go along with this?”
“Because Jeff has a problem with hookers that I’m sure his wife and kids would have been none too happy about.”
“You were blackmailing him. Jesus, you really are fucking insane. You know what? Fuck you, Carl! I made your whole life easy! You preyed on me and used me and degraded me, and if you think for one second I’m going to make this easy for you then you are sadly mistaken. You want me dead, man up and pull the trigger your fucking self!”
So much for buying time for Liam to get back. I may as well have dared him to kill me. I thought that would piss him off. His temper always got the better of him if I challenged him, but no. He slowly walks over to the bathroom counter, grabs an empty glass with his gloved hand, fills it with water, and sets it back down.
“You will swallow the pills, Skylar, and you will get in the water, and you need to speed it up.”
“Fuck. You,” I spit in his face. Literally.
He casually wipes my saliva away with his arm. “How ladylike.”
“Go to hell.”
“Skylar, if you don’t take those pills I have to go to plan B.”
“Go ahead then. Shoot me. You and I both know you’ll get caught eventually.”
“Not if I make it look like a murder-suicide.”
“What? You’re going to kill me and then yourself? Hell, that might even be worth getting shot for.”
“Not me, Skylar. Your boyfriend. He should
be here soon, right?” No. No, no, no. “I put a bullet in your head. Wait for him to get back, then put a bullet in his.”
“That looks like murder, dipshit.”
“You think I don’t know where to aim on your head to make it look like you killed yourself. Or on his, for that matter? Let’s see how these scenarios sound to you because I think to the police they will sound very believable. Liam comes back, sees you dead on the floor with a gun in your hand, and given this is the second love he’s lost he is so consumed with grief that he shoots himself, not wanting to live through the pain again. Or maybe he decides to break up with you, and in your fragile state of mind following your mental breakdown, you kill him, and then take your own life.”
“No way. You’ll never be able to make the evidence match those bullshit stories. And Liam has a family, people that love and know him. They will never believe that’s what happened.”
“They know him, but they don’t really know you, do they?” he cocks his head to the side surveying me. “Not to mention, I don’t need them to believe or disbelieve it. I just need the cops to put the pieces and assumptions together. And given your behavior splattered all over the tabloids the last few years, or Liam’s past and problems with anger, is it really that unbelievable? Are you willing to bet his life on it?”
I’m going to be sick. I run to the toilet and throw up. Carl is right. I have no choice. Either I die alone, or Carl kills Liam.
His voice is oddly soft when he speaks now, almost as if he’s attempting to comfort me. “Skylar, you know this is the best way for you.” He starts to rub a hand down my back and I almost throw up again. I push back from the toilet and step away from him.
“How do I know you won’t kill him anyway? How do I know after I swallow these pills and drown in the tub that you won’t shoot him the second he walks in the door and make it look like he killed himself?”
“Well, I would say trust me, but we both know that means nothing. All I can tell you is I won’t kill him because I don’t need this to be messy. Like you pointed out, there are risks to my plan B, and while I’ll do it if you leave me no choice, I can promise you I don’t want to. There are too many variables if I kill Liam. Too many unknowns. Not to mention the unfortunate leak of that video of us in the parking garage. I think I explained it away enough, but you can never be too sure. I won’t risk my future that way.”
A sociopath through and through. But oddly enough, that is the most comforting answer he can give me.
“You need to make the decision fast though, Skylar,” he says, looking down at his watch. “The longer you wait, the greater the risk for Liam.”
This is my only choice. There is no way I will let him kill Liam, and whether or not I believe Carl will keep his word doesn’t matter. This is the best option to keep him alive, even though my death may kill him anyway.
I nod in surrender; succumbing to defeat. I can’t believe I’m about to die. I don’t even want to buy time anymore knowing that if Liam walks in the door, Carl will kill him.
“Good girl. Now the faster you are, the better for Liam, Skylar.”
“Wh-what do I do?”
“I need you take the pills.” He takes the bottle from the ground where it fell after I threw up, and pops the top. He takes my wrist, flips my hand over, and dumps the entire bottle into my palm. My tears drop down onto some of the tiny orange pills, causing a few to start to dissolve. When he puts the glass of water into my other hand, I just stare.
“Skylar, you need to put the pills in your mouth now and drink.”
“I don’t know if I can swallow them all at once.”
“Then take a few at a time, but the longer this takes the worse it gets for Liam.” He’s still speaking with a calm tone, as if I’m a sick child he’s trying to help. It’s disgusting and I start to cry harder.
But I suck it up, put my hand to my mouth, and throw all of them back. I quickly drink the water, trying to get them all down faster, but I start to gag. Carl slaps his palm over my mouth as I’m trying to swallow, working his fingers down my trachea.
“You have to get them all down, Skylar. They can’t come back up or this won’t work.” I relax my throat as best I can and when I finally feel they are down, I push his hand off my mouth.
“See, you did good. Now I need you to get undressed.”
“What?”
“You need to get undressed so you can get in the tub.”
“Does it really matter if I kill myself naked or dressed?” I point out, not wanting to get naked in front of him. He’s never made me feel uncomfortable in a sexual way, but it just feels like an added violation I don’t want.
“Skylar, undressed and in the water. Now. The clock is ticking.”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t care.”
I start to strip, waiting for the impending feeling of the drugs I just ingested. “Is money really this important to you? You made millions off of me. How could that not be enough?”
“It’s never enough for me. I owe creditors, I owe bookies. Had a gambling problem since before you were born. You were a convenient way to help fund my addiction. Money, spending, gambling, those were the only things I ever really loved.”
Somehow, even with shaky hands, I’m able to get my clothes off and slip into the water in under ten seconds. It’s actually pretty warm, thank god for small favors.
“You’re pathetic, and eventually you’ll run out again. Then what will you do, huh?”
“You won’t be around, so you don’t have to worry about it, do you?”
I shake my head. I don’t know why I’m bothering. When he takes a seat on the side of bathtub, I try and scoot further away. He gives me a lingering look, not at my naked form, just at my face. Almost as if he’s committing it to memory.
“You always were a beautiful girl, Skylar, I’ll give you that. Just like your mother.”
“Shut up! You don’t get to talk about her or me.”
Nodding once he says, “Fair enough. Now look, it can take half an hour for these pills to kick in and we can’t risk Liam coming back and finding us. I also can’t risk you throwing them up. So I’m going to need you to get under the water and I will hold you down until you stop breathing, okay?”
I start to cry harder. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I finally got my life together, fell in love even, only to have it all taken from me.
“I-I can’t do this. I don’t think I can do this,” I choke on a sob.
“Skylar, yes you can. You are almost there. Drowning is supposed to be the most calming death there is. It won’t even hurt. I promise. Your mother barely even thrashed. Now get under the water and make sure not to fight me. I can’t leave any bruises on you. Remember, this is for Liam.”
I hate that he says that. I hate that he dares to bring Liam up in that way, as if he’s doing him some sort of favor, but I know he’s right. And my last thought as I sink to the bottom, letting the water come over me, my last wish as Carl’s hands press against my sternum to hold me down, is that Liam hates me. That he hates me for killing myself. Because at least if he hates me he can move on and forget he ever loved me.
I SENSE IT THE second I walk into the house.
It’s the same unnerving feeling that took root when I got about a mile down the canyon road and noticed a black Escalade parked on the sidewalk near a neighbor’s house. First, you don’t typically see cars just parked on the sidewalk in this neighborhood. They pull into the gated houses. Second, something about that car was familiar. I know black Escalades are popular around here, around fucking anywhere really, but it still irritated me for some reason. When I hit mile five it finally clicked why it made me uneasy, and I turned right the hell around. The flashes of Skylar getting slammed into a similar black Escalade with a hand around her throat, her fucking father’s hand, play through my mind. In the time it takes me to get back home, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m being paranoid. Fucking ridiculous. Sk
y will probably fucking laugh me right out of the house and send me back on my way to get that burger.
But when I make it to Sky’s bathroom and see a man standing with his back to me, I realize it was not paranoia. I also realize I know who that man is.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, and where is Skylar?” Most people that have a hand with a gun in it swing toward their face would be cowering or pissing their pants. I’m not most people though. Carl may as well be threatening me with a squirt gun right now for all I give a fuck.
Because my only concern is Skylar. And I want to know where the fuck she is.
Right fucking now.
“Shame you didn’t come a little later,” he says as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I would’ve at least been able to keep my promise to her not to kill you.”
I walk up to him without breaking my stride. Right until the barrel of his gun is in my chest. “This is the last fucking time I ask. Where. Is. Skylar?” He finally has the courtesy to at least look nervous and my body begins to vibrate.
With rage.
Anxiety.
Sickness.
Fear.
I’m fucking terrified. Not because a whackjob holds a gun to my chest right now, but because there is no sign of Sky. And I fear I will kill him before he gets the chance to tell me where the fuck she is.
“I will shoot you, boy. Don’t doubt it.”
I push harder into the barrel.
He doesn’t scare me. Because if she’s dead, I’m dead. There is no other outcome.
So without wasting another second, I snatch the gun away from my chest and twist his body away, hearing the pleasurable crack of his wrist. He immediately crumples to the floor, holding his arm to his chest, screaming in pain.
“Motherfucker! You broke my fucking arm!” he wails.
When I pull him off the ground by the collar of his shirt and stick the barrel of his own gun to his forehead, he shuts the fuck up.