by Hanna Peach
I yanked my arm from Drake and fixed my eyes on him. “You,” I stabbed a finger at him through the air, “you took my only reason for living from me. He was my only light and you destroyed it.” I climbed off the mattress and started backing away. “You dare to think that all you need to do is apologize.”
“It was a terrible tragedy. I didn’t mean for him to die.” He climbed out of bed, following me, his hands out as if to try to placate me. “I’m sorry, Riko.”
“My fucking name isn’t Riko,” I shrieked.
“Noriko−”
“You should have gone to prison. You should have been hung.”
“It was an accident.”
“You paid off the police, like you paid them off when you killed your father.”
“You don’t know anything about my father.”
“I know he beat your mother. He was a drunk and he beat her for years. He probably killed her too.”
“Shut up!”
“You’re just like him, you sick son of a bitch. You killed Keir. One day, you’re going to kill me too.”
“You can’t think that. I love you.” He stared at me with those beady little eyes, begging me to believe him, to forgive him.
Forgive for give. Give for grief.
Never. Nevernever.
You deserve what’s coming, Drake. You deserve it. Come get it.
I ran out of his bedroom and sped through his rooms to the hallway.
I heard him running after me. “Noriko, come back.”
I led him down the hallway and to the main stairs.
“Noriko, where are you going? Stop.”
I wound my way down the staircase, spiraling down and around, twisting, spinning around. He followed me as if tied to me with an invisible thread, his steps echoing around me as we both went down, down deeper into the darkness.
In the dim light of the ground floor, with only the moonlight filtering in, shadows rose up around me.
Drake grabbed my arm, spinning me to face him. “Please, can we just talk about this?”
“Don’t touch me.” I slapped him across the face as hard as I could. It made a satisfying smacking sound. He stumbled back, giving me the opportunity to yank my hand away, and darted through the main entryway and into the breakfast kitchen.
A dark figure was silhouetted against the floor to ceiling windows. I ran for him, colliding into Carter’s arms. I felt his bag slung over his shoulder.
“Noriko.” Carter pulled me into his side.
“Help me,” I cried. “He’s gone insane.”
I let out a small shriek and pressed further into Carter’s side as Drake’s footsteps sounded closer. “Your gun,” I said to Carter, urgently pressing the bulk of his bag into his side.
“What?” he asked.
I heard a click. The kitchen lights turned on, blinding me temporarily, the harsh downlights glaring off the shiny cream marble countertops like sun on snow.
“What’s going on?” Drake’s voice boomed throughout the kitchen.
“D-Drake,” Carter’s voice trembled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Drake glared first at Carter, then he zeroed in on me, the sheer menace in his eyes sending tentacles of fear through my body. “You’re sleeping with him?”
“I love him,” I yelled, “and he loves me.” I nudged Carter. “Your gun,” I hissed.
Carter fumbled in his bag.
“Hurry. Hurry!”
“You stupid little whore,” Drake roared as he advanced, his eyes narrowed on me, his beast completely unleashed.
I screamed and stepped back behind Carter as Drake collided with him. They grunted and cursed at each other as they struggled. I edged around them back into the kitchen, trying to avoid their elbows. I needed something heavy, a pan or something.
Bang.
The gun went off. I jumped, a scream escaping from my lungs.
Someone had been shot.
Who?
I heard a pained moan. I couldn’t see Carter; Drake was blocking him from my view. I searched Drake’s back. He didn’t look to be hurt.
Carter.
Carter let out another moan then slipped to the floor at Drake’s feet where he remained. The gun clattered to the marble beside him.
Drake spun towards me, his eyes wild, any humanity inside him scared off like a flock of birds with that gunshot. “Look what you’ve done.”
“You’re the one who shot him,” I screamed.
“I loved you.” He pointed a thick finger at me. “I fucking loved you and you betrayed me.”
I’m fucked. I played the odds and I lost. And now I’m fucked.
I grabbed open the closest drawer, hoping to hell that it contained something I could defend myself with. The downlights glinted off the shiny surfaces of metal. Knives. I grabbed for one.
Drake grabbed my shoulders and spun me away from the countertop. All I could see was his right fist coming towards me. I didn’t have time to duck.
It collided with the left side of my face, a fire blossoming out around my cheek and eye. I went flying back, everything blurring around me. I smacked the side of my head against something. A sharp pain exploding into my brain, meeting the pain from my face.
My vision went colorful and sparkly like I had been staring at the sun for too long. I thought I heard a scream over the ringing in my ears then realized it was my own. I felt gravity pulling me down to the cold marble.
42
I blinked, trying desperately to fumble through all of this cotton in my mind. Where was I? What was going on?
“What have I done?” It was Drake’s voice.
I was sitting on the floor, leaning up against the cupboards, my legs splayed. My head felt so heavy. Drake stood in front of me, his face screwed up, staring at his shaking hands. “What have I done?” That’s all he said, over and over, his voice sounding scraped-raw and hollow.
He caught me staring at him and he leaned down towards me. “Noriko, I’m so−”
Bang.
The noise ricocheted through my throbbing head. I wasn’t sure what it was. Until I saw Drake’s chest blossoming with blood across his white shirt.
Someone shot him.
Carter was laying on his side, his face pale, blood flowing from his stomach, one hand pressed against it, trying to hold his life in. He was still alive, the gun in his other hand.
Drake dropped to the ground beside me. His head smacked against the marble with an awful crack. His eyes were dull, no more rage left in them. On the glassy marble floor, his blood made a sunset around his body.
Red made a sunset.
A sunset.
Sunset.
What have I done?
Behind him, Carter dropped the pistol. He coughed, blood spluttering up from his mouth.
My head and my face throbbed with pain, but I pushed it away. I needed to stay conscious. I dragged myself over to Carter and placed my hands along with his on his stomach to try to stop the blood from flowing.
I heard the patter of footsteps arriving at the edge of the kitchen. The staff had been alerted. There were several gasps and cursing. But I didn’t look up to see who it was.
“Stay with me, Carter,” I begged him.
He couldn’t die. He couldn’t.
Not another sunset on my hands. Please.
His face morphed from Carter’s into Keir’s. His dark pained eyes staring into mine.
Can you live with yourself after this, Noriko?
The box of guilt in my soul broke open and my stomach twisted as it began to poison my blood.
“Noriko,” Carter choked out. I blinked and I was back in the kitchen with Carter. “I love−”
“No,” I said, “no goodbyes. You’re going to live. Do you hear me?” I heard sirens in the distance. “Hear that? They’re coming for you.”
But he didn’t seem to hear me. “I love you,” he said.
Tears pushed their way out of my lids. “I
love you too,” I lied, just this once more, because I felt it was the kindest thing to do.
Carter smiled. Then he was still.
* * *
I sat in the back of an ambulance parked in the Blackwell Manor motor court. Someone had bandaged the back of my head and tended to my face. My clothes had been taken as evidence so I was wearing too-big tracksuit pants, folded up at the ankles, and a shirt marked “Police” that someone had handed me. At the end of the long driveway the front gates were wide open. Between the gates and me were a mess of police cars and ambulances, their lights flashing a morbid red and blue disco. I wondered if anyone would notice if I just walked away.
A police officer stopped before me, blocking my view. He was as old as my father had been. He had the same black hair going gray in touches at the temples, a pleasant kind face, but he was clean-shaven. My father had a beard. I loved my father’s beard that tickled when he kissed me.
“Mrs. Blackwell?” he said.
“Please. Just Noriko.”
He introduced himself but even as he said his name it slipped from my mind’s grasp. He handed me a glass of water in a plastic cup, which I took in a trembling hand. “When you’re ready, can you tell me what happened?”
I went too far. I went too far and they paid the price. All the men who loved me paid the price.
I took a sip of my water, before I spoke. “Drake was my husband. He was…a complicated man. For our entire marriage he kept me in that mansion for…it must be over six months now. He never let me leave. No friends, no contact with the outside world. I think…it made me a little crazy.”
The officer nodded slightly.
“Carter was my therapist. He fell in love with me. He was going to rescue me. He was going to get me out. But…it all went wrong. I was supposed to meet Carter at the back entry, which I made sure to leave unlocked. Drake followed me to the downstairs kitchen where he saw Carter and me. He was so furious. He came at us. Carter had a gun. They fought over it. Carter was shot. I thought he was dead.”
I took a shaky breath. And another sip of my water.
“Drake came at me. He punched me here.” I lifted my hand to my swollen face and hissed at the pain when I touched it. “I fell back. I hit my head on the counter. I don’t know if I blacked out for a second or not. Maybe I did. I opened my eyes to see Drake above me. Then Carter shot him. I crawled over to him, tried to stop the bleeding but… it was too late.”
The officer was nodding. He believed me. He had no reason not to. All of the evidence would have supported what I said. And what I did say was the truth. I didn’t lie. But I left out all of my responsibility in all of this. All the things that nobody could prove.
“Is there someone you can call?” he asked.
“What?” I asked.
“This house is a crime scene. You can’t stay here tonight. Is there someone you can call? Someone you can stay with?”
“No.” My limbs drained of blood. “I have no one.”
43
“Noriko,” a familiar voice called out. I looked around the detective to see Filipe trying to push his way through the crowd.
“Ma’am,” the detective said, “do you know him?”
I nodded.
The detective signaled to the cop holding Filipe back to let him through.
“Who are you?” the detective asked as soon as Filipe joined us.
“I’m Filipe, Mr. Blackwell’s driver. Have been for over six years now.”
“And you live on the property?”
“No. I just live over in Gaviota.”
“How did you know to come here, then?”
“Loretta, the housekeeper, called me. Noriko, you look terrible. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“What the hell happened here?”
The detective outlined what they had found when they had arrived and told him my story. As he spoke Filipe kept sending strange looks at me. I avoided his eyes. I knew Filipe suspected that I left some details out.
“Jesus Christ,” Filipe said when the detective had finished. “As long as you’re okay, Noriko.” He patted my hand. “Do you need somewhere to stay? The wife and I have a spare room.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
“No, Drake, no,” a female voice shrieked out over the crowd.
“What now,” the detective grumbled.
It was Sasha, running through the mess of police cars towards the house.
“Someone stop her,” he yelled out.
An officer grabbed her, halting her progress.
Her eyes found mine through the crowd. “You killed him,” she screamed, pointing a finger at me. “How could you? How could you? You never loved him.” She screamed and kicked as she tried to get past the officers who were all trying to hold her back. “She never loved him. She killed him. She killed Drake. Arrest her, the fucking bitch.”
The detective shook his head. “Poor girl. Grief can make people a little crazy.”
44
After I was cleared to leave, Filipe and I walked to his car parked partway down the driveway. Over my shoulder was a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries, which an officer had escorted me to retrieve from my bedroom. It was the duffel bag I had prepared for when I was supposed to leave with Keir. I never did unpack it after that night.
The tires crackled against the gravel as Filipe drove us slowly out of the manor. When we passed out the front gates I let go of the breath I was holding. A tear slipped from my eye.
It was over. It was finally over. I was free.
If he dies then I’m freed…then we can be together. Always.
At what cost?
There is no cost.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge these thoughts. “Filipe,” I said, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“That’s true. Not since the night…” he trailed off.
…the night Keir died.
I cleared my throat. “How are you?”
“I’m doing okay. I miss the rascal.”
“Me too, Filipe,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
“He really loved you, you know,” Filipe said.
“I loved him. I still love him.”
“It’s a funny thing, love. People will do anything for it.”
I swallowed hard. Was Filipe trying to suggest something? “I guess so.”
“It’s a good thing love means that someone will also forgive you, no matter what you did.”
“I didn’t fire the gun that killed Carter or Drake.”
“I know.”
“The police cleared me. The evidence supports my story.”
“I know.”
“Sasha was just talking crazy.”
“Like the detective said, grief can make people do crazy things.”
“What happened with Drake and Carter wasn’t my fault. Just a terrible tragedy. I didn’t mean for…” my voice trailed off.
It wasn’t my fault.
Drake’s voice echoed in my head like a gong.
Just a terrible tragedy.
I didn’t mean for him to die.
I felt like someone had thrown ice water all over me. I felt like I was waking up for the first time in months. I had been asleep for months and now I was awake. I caught sight of my startled eyes in the small mirror set in the passenger visor and had to look away. I couldn’t stand the sight of myself.
“Maybe I’m not the one you need to convince,” Filipe said quietly.
I stared out the window, trying to keep myself held together. Filipe said nothing else for the rest of the ride.
Filipe lived in a small cottage along the cliffs of Gaviota just outside of Santa Barbara, only a short drive from the mansion. Stone-built and cozy, he lived there with just his wife, Marina. Keir had once explained to me that they had wanted kids but they couldn’t have them.
Marina was a few years younger than Filipe with thick curly brown hair that tumbled down over her slim shoulders and kind h
azel eyes that stood out against her latte skin. She fussed over me like a mother. After making me drink a cup of sweet hot tea she pushed me with gentle hands into the guest bedroom, a modestly furnished room less than a quarter of the size of my Blackwell Manor bedroom. She tucked me into the faded robin-blue sheets, smelling of laundry powder, and backed out of the room, urging me to sleep.
I was so tired, the kind of tired that was weary to the bone. The kind of tired that weighed on your soul. I felt like I could lie down and never get up. But there was a part of me that wasn’t sure I could ever sleep again. When I closed my eyes all I saw was red.
Sunset red.
A sob loosened from my throat. “Keir,” I called out softly, my voice trembling, “where are you? I need you. Please.” I looked around the dark room for him but all the shadows remained mere shadows. I missed him so much I thought I might crack open and die. My insides hurt like someone had their hands inside me and was squeezing tight. I curled into a ball and wrapped myself in the covers.
But at what cost?
There’s no cost. I get freed. Drake gets what he deserves.
There’s always a cost.
Then I don’t care about the cost.
You will.
“You were right, Keir,” I whispered as tears squeezed out from my eyelids. “Please, forgive me.”
I cried and cried until my pillow was soaked and yet still the tears came. But Keir did not.
Sometime during the early morning I mercifully fell asleep.
* * *
“I’ll let her know…actually, she’s just woken up.”
I stumbled into Filipe and Marina’s small living room, sometime that afternoon I think, my head still foggy, my eyes half shut. Marina stood in a faded yellow skirt and cream blouse, a stained apron tied to her waist. She held out the receiver to me, the corners of her eyes crinkled in concern.
Who would be calling me? The police again?
I cleared the cobwebs from my throat before I tried to speak. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Blackwell,” a crisp male voice spoke through the receiver over a little static. “This is Ed Stevens. I’m your husband’s lawyer.”