by Elise Sax
Behind me, the doorknob turned and the door began to open. Suddenly, I was imbued with superhuman strength. I pulled myself up. Right before I ducked through the window, I turned to see Roman enter the bathroom and give me a threatening glare.
I sailed through the window and landed hard on my knee in a bush, right before Ruth rolled out of the way. Draco helped me up and we both helped Ruth up.
“Run like the wind!” I yelled.
We hung on to each other for support with Ruth in the middle. With her hurt hip, Ruth hobbled. With my hurt knee, I had to hop on one foot, and Draco just needed guidance, since he was half-blind.
“Unless they’re running after us in quicksand, there’s no way we’re going to outrun them,” Ruth said.
She was totally right. “You’re wrong, Ruth,” I said. “It’s just a matter of attitude. We can outrun them.”
“Between the three of us, we have four good legs and five eyes. We’re doomed,” she said wisely.
“We’ll outwit them,” I told her. “Make a left at the hedges and a right at the creek. They won’t find us.”
He didn’t find us. We made it back to the car. I drove us back into the Historic District, using my left foot for the pedals because my right knee was killing me.
“I have a busted hip and I’ll never get my Louisville Slugger back,” Ruth complained.
“Do you think I’ll lose my eye?” Draco asked. “Will I need an eye patch?”
“You’re both going to be totally fine. We’re just bruised a little. Take a shower and a couple Advil and you’ll be right as rain.”
“I think my hip bone went through my pelvis,” Ruth said. “I’m pregnant with my hip bone. I’ve become a carnival act.”
“Do girls like eye patches?” Draco asked.
I couldn’t get through Main Street to Tea Time because it was packed with people, celebrating in the street. “What’s going on?”
“This must be the resistance celebration,” Draco said. “I’ve been out of touch, but we were going to party once DICK was chased out of town.”
“I heard that all of the DICK people had their driver’s licenses suspended,” I said.
“Phase Three,” Draco said. “It worked better than the bubble gum.”
“I’m still finding bubble gum in every nook and cranny at Tea Time,” Ruth said.
“Collateral damage,” Draco said. “Couldn’t be helped. The ends justify the means.”
“Is that what they’re going to teach you at Stanford?” Ruth asked. “You majoring in Ayn Rand? Perfect. Another spoiled, middle-American male, bowing at the altar of Atlas Shrugged. Just what this country needs.”
“You don’t like the DICK people either, Ruth,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but just because they’re Nazis doesn’t mean that I get so nutso that I make the town miserable. Collateral damage? Shame on you, kid. Shame on you. If I have problems with them, I tell them in a mature, calm way.”
I parked about four blocks from Tea Time and we hobbled, limped, and stumbled our way down the street. Teenagers were whooping it up, throwing confetti, and dancing to music I had never heard before. It took us twenty minutes to walk the four blocks and that’s when we saw the charter busses. A long line of cardigan-wearing people were waiting to board and they didn’t look happy about it.
Defeat.
I knew it well.
A group of teenagers were sticking their tongues out at the line of cardigans and calling them horrible names. At least I thought they were horrible names. I had never heard the words before. I guessed I really was getting old, since I didn’t recognize the teenagers’ language or their music.
“This town is damned!” one DICK member shouted, unable to handle the teenagers’ jeers for one more second.
Another cardigan-wearer pointed in our direction, singling out Ruth. “Her! She’s the dildo woman! She started this!”
“She cursed the town with her indecency, spreading it to the youth!” another DICK member shouted about Ruth.
Draco and I were each supporting Ruth, as she stood between us with her arms around our shoulders. I felt her tense and she was breathing hard, like a bull ready to charge.
“Remember you’re mature and calm,” I said.
“Shut up, Gladie. Nobody’s mature and calm around Nazis,” she said and ordered us to walk her across the street to face her accusers.
“Look what you’ve done to this town,” one of the DICK men spat at Ruth. “Look at the youth. They’re wild heathens!”
Holding onto Draco and me, Ruth stood as straight as she could and narrowed her eyes. “Listen to me, you two-bit Eichmann wannabe. Where you see wild heathens, I see young people with a true understanding of what it means to live in a free society and their responsibility to participate in civil disobedience in order to maintain that free society. You wouldn’t understand democracy if it bit you on your bony ass. If our town has to scrape some bubble gum off the benches, it’s worth it if it means ridding Cannes of your invading species of mold that has tried to creep its way into our souls, trying to turn them into diseased, gangrenous mounds of putrefaction…just like your souls. If you even have souls. So, you leave the young people of Cannes alone. They are the best this world has to offer. They are the generation of hope and promise. They will not be silenced and their growth will not be stunted. Not by the likes of you cardigan-wearing know-it-all prudes. As for me, if I want to own every dildo on the planet, I will. In fact, I might start selling them next to my collection of hand-crocheted tea cozies and I might even change the name of my shop to Dildos-R-Us. Be gone, you low-life, vanilla bean, melba toast excuse for human beings!”
The teenagers had become quiet during Ruth’s tirade. When she finally finished, they erupted in applause and cheers and lifted her into the air, as if it was a mosh pit at an outdoor concert. “Let me down, you heathens!” she shouted at them. “You good for nothing teenagers, let me down! My hip! You’re killing me!”
“I’ll help her,” Draco announced and ran after her as she was tossed from teenager to teenager down the street.
My phone rang and I answered it while the charter buses roared to life and the DICK people quickly finished getting on board. “Hello?”
“Gladie, darlin’, you wouldn’t believe the day I’m having.”
Draco ran after Ruth and disappeared into the crowd, but the teenagers were tossing Ruth faster than Draco could run. The charter buses finally left, thankfully going in the opposite direction.
“Are you having a bad day?” I asked Lucy.
“Well, I came back rested and refreshed from the spa, but that stupid Italian chef that Harry rented gave me a hard time. Now I have knots in my neck the size of softballs, because of the stress.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, adjusting my weight off of my knee, which had swollen so much that it was pushing against the material of my track suit.
“You know what that pasta cooker accused me of, Gladie? He said I stole from him. Let me say that again, because I’m sure you didn’t understand it. He said that I…stole…from…him.”
“He did? That’s crazy. Aren’t you paying him a fortune? What did he say you stole?”
“Two knives. I guess they’re special kinds of knives from Germany, but who is he kidding? Why would I steal knives? The last time I cooked was twenty-three years ago when I made macaroni and cheese out of a box.”
Through the crowd, I saw Roman coming my way. We locked eyes and he sped up, walking in my direction. Oh, crap. I had to get out of there fast. Luckily, Roman was slowed down by the crowd. I didn’t have much time to make my escape.
“Lucy, I’ll call you right back,” I said and hung up. I hopped away as fast as I could, taking the side streets on my way home.
It wouldn’t be hard for Roman to find out where I lived, but Fred was at my grandmother’s house and he could protect me. I could also call the police, but all I could tell them was that while I was breaking and entering, Roman
scared me with a mean look. Besides, the police were busy trying to maintain peace in the Historic District.
I hid in the bushes a couple houses down from my grandmother’s and looked out for Roman. There was no sign of him. I was sure he would find me eventually, but for now I had out-hopped him and was in the clear.
My knee was worse and it took me forever to hobble the rest of the distance to my grandmother’s house. Across the street, the construction workers were gone for the day, but a truck had parked in the driveway and two men were carrying out something large.
“Careful! Careful!” Spencer shouted at them. “That’s a custom-made couch!”
“We know. We built it,” one of the men said.
Spencer continued to order them around. “That’s right. You got it. A little to the left. Now a little to the right.”
“This isn’t our first delivery job, you know,” one of the men said.
I limped across the street. Spencer was happy to see me, assuming that I was coming from Grandma’s house. “Look, Pinky. Our couch has arrived. Come on in and see how it looks in our house.”
Spencer was like a kid on Christmas Day and Santa Claus had given him his own bag of presents. He was so excited that he didn’t recognize that I was injured. We followed the delivery men into the house. Spencer barked orders at them to put the couch in just the right place. They removed the plastic from the couch and Spencer inspected the fabric to make sure it was in perfect shape. When he was finally satisfied, he shook the delivery men’s hands and let them leave.
Spencer wrapped his arms around me. “Doesn’t the couch look wonderful in our beautiful home?”
“It does,” I said truthfully.
“The television will be on this wall.” He pointed at the wall opposite the couch. “Can’t you just see us in the evenings, cuddling on the couch, watching TV next to a roaring fire in the fireplace?”
“That sounds nice.”
“We’re going to get every channel. I found a satellite dish company that offers three hundred more channels than its closest competitor.”
“I’ll never stop watching TV. It sounds perfect.”
“The house is really coming along. Don’t you think so, Pinky?”
“It’s beautiful.” All of the major renovations were done and it looked nothing like the cursed house that I had known for the past year. I could almost forget about the death and destruction I had witnessed in the house. Perhaps the love between Spencer and me could erase all of that. Perhaps the house was no longer cursed. “I love the house, Spencer. Really.”
“I think we’re going to be very happy here, Pinky. If you don’t spill anything on the couch.”
“I’ll put a towel down before I sit on it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Spencer arched an eyebrow and smirked his little smirk. “You know, we’re alone in the house. Just you and me. We could get down and dirty in total privacy.”
“On the couch?”
“Pinky, the couch is sacred. But the carpeting is extra plush.” He kissed my neck. “Please, Pinky. Play naked with me on the carpet.”
“Okay. I guess so.”
He smiled wide and hopped excitedly on his heels. “I’ve got champagne in the wine cooler. I’ll go get it.”
“You have a wine cooler?”
“No, we have a wine cooler.”
Spencer ran to the kitchen, and I sat down on the couch. It was crazy comfortable. Grandma’s furniture in her parlor was at least thirty years old and the cushions had worn thin. But Spencer’s couch was plush, even more comfortable than my bed.
There was a crash in the kitchen. “Uh oh,” I called. “Did the champagne bite it? That’s okay. I’ll play naked with you for a 7Up. I’m easy, but don’t let it get around. Spencer?”
He didn’t respond. I stood up, and that’s when I saw them. Roman and Joy walked into the living room and Roman was aiming a gun at me.
“Did you hurt Spencer?” I started to cry, big tears falling down my cheeks, thinking that Spencer was hurt. Or worse.
“Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?” Roman asked. “Your father was dead for years and everyone was happy. But you had to stir the pot. It’s your fault.”
“Is Spencer okay?”
“And you had to get Adam and Steve involved. You must have known how that was going to end.”
“No. How would I have known?” I said, looking alternately at Roman’s gun and watching to see if Spencer was on his way to save me. “When I came to you, I didn’t know a thing about Rachel Knight. I didn’t know that you murdered her and stole her manuscript.” Roman’s chin dropped to his chest and he took a deep breath.
“You may be a terrible writer, but you knew a good book when you read it,” I continued. “It was good enough to kill for. Well, that’s obvious because it made you rich and famous, not to mention all of the awards. It set you up for the rest of your life. Your life and Joy’s life.”
“Don’t say a word, Roman,” Joy said. “She doesn’t know anything.”
“That was the puzzle piece that I was missing,” I continued. “I couldn’t figure out the murders, my father’s death, until I found out about Rachel and her book. Then, it was easy to put the puzzle together. Once I knew about that, the release party made sense.”
“What are you talking about?” Joy asked.
“Shut up,” Roman told her.
“You were so excited at your big book release party,” I said to Roman. “So excited that it didn’t even dawn on you that Rachel might have shown my father her manuscript.”
“She told me that the book was a secret, that she had only shown it to me. I didn’t know that she showed it to Jonathan,” Roman said.
“Shut up, Roman,” Joy commanded.
“What does it matter now?” he asked.
“Rachel had shown the book to my father,” I said. “Just like Adam had shown him Fart Boy. So, when you proudly gave my father a signed copy of your newly published book, he was happy for you until he read it. Then, I’m guessing it clicked for him pretty fast. He knew you stole the book from Rachel and it wasn’t a big leap to figure out that you had killed her. He called you and set up a time to talk. You knew what that conversation was going to be about and you decided that you couldn’t let him spread the word.”
“Be careful, Roman,” Joy said.
“Why should he be careful, Joy?” I asked. “Because you don’t want him to tell me that you’re the one who killed my father? I already know that, Joy. Being in your house told me everything I needed to know. Your house. Your belongings. Roman’s prison. This is what I’m thinking happened: You found out that Roman killed Rachel and stole her book and you decided to help him for a price. You caused my father’s accident and made all of Roman’s problems disappear. And the price? Roman had to marry you. He did and he’s paid for it since then. Roman, when you first showed me the wreckage of my father’s motorcycle in your garage, I was suspicious. I thought that you had kept it, because it was your way to laud your success over my father’s head, even if the only thing left of my father was that lump of twisted metal. But now I know the real reason you kept the bike.”
“Why?” Joy asked.
“Don’t you know?” I asked. “He kept it to hold over you. Blackmail. If you ratted him out, he would rat you out. It didn’t make his life any better, but it was the small window of freedom in the prison that you had built for him. It’s funny that Roman got everything that every writer dreams of: riches, acclaim, and the world at his feet. But it didn’t change the fact that he lived every day under your thumb and in fear that you were going to let the world know that he was a fraud. And then it got worse.”
“It got worse because of you,” Joy said. “You stuck your nose in. I had heard about you. Nosey Parker. Buttinski. Yenta. You’ve caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people.”
“I’ve been told it’s a gift,” I said.
“Your gift got two
people killed. After today, four people.”
My heart thumped in my chest. There was still no sign of Spencer and I had no idea how to get out of this mess.
“I loved your father,” Roman told me. “He was my best friend.”
“And you didn’t want Adam and Steve to die either,” I said. “But you could have saved them. You could have stopped Joy.”
“No, I couldn’t. You don’t understand who she is. I can’t stop her.”
“You chose not to stop her,” I insisted. “All this blood is on your hands.”
“This has been fun, but we need to wrap it up,” Joy said and took a knife out of her purse.
“The Italian’s chef’s knife,” I said. “He’s missing a couple of them and I figure that all you rich people rent the same chefs. He must have cooked at your house at some point and you stole his knives.”
“He makes good fresh pasta,” Joy said and, without another word, she came at me with the knife. I stumbled backward and my knee gave out, making me fall onto the couch. She slashed wildly and I rolled out of her reach. The knife made contact with the couch over and over, cutting it into shreds, but I couldn’t evade her knife forever.
I screamed when her knife made contact with my arm. She tried to stab me again, but this time I managed to block her and flip her onto her back. She wrenched free of me and stabbed wildly again. Luckily, she missed me, hitting the sofa again. I rolled off the couch and tried to get up and make my escape, but my knee wouldn’t cooperate. Roman waved the gun at me.
“You can’t leave. I’ll have to shoot you,” he said.
But he was wrong. Spencer took that moment to show up. His head was a bloody mess. The blood had run down his face and he wiped it out of his eyes right before he pistol whipped Roman on the back of his head, making him crumple to the ground in an unconscious heap.
I tried to crawl away to safety, away from Joy, but she came after me with her knife. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Spencer yelled.
“No, you won’t,” Joy yelled, grabbing me from behind and putting the knife to my throat.
Spencer shot his gun, hitting Joy’s knife hand. She fell backward onto the couch. The knife flew out of her hand and landed deep into the couch.