by Abigail Haas
She went down.
Victory coursed through me. Oliver released me, whooping. ‘You got her!’
I reeled back, gasping. The gun was heavy, too heavy in my hands, and I quickly threw it down.
I’d done it. I’d killed her.
Oliver grabbed his pack and took off, loping through the trees until he reached the body. I stumbled after him, my heart pounding. Just a few seconds, just one split-second choice, and now I couldn’t take it back.
When I reached them, the deer was writhing on the ground. Blood was blossoming, a dark stain on the snow.
I stared, hypnotized.
I’d done this.
‘She’s in too much pain.’ Oliver was on his knees beside her. ‘You need to finish it.’
‘What? How?’ I asked. I glanced back at our makeshift camp where I’d left the gun, but Oliver opened his pack and brought out a knife. Ethan’s knife, I recognized, the one I’d sliced through the air just an hour ago, admiring the weight of it.
I hadn’t thought for a moment about its real purpose.
Oliver unsheathed it and held it out to me, the blade glinting in the setting sun.
I looked from the blade to the deer and back again. ‘I can’t.’
An impatient look skittered across his face. ‘Finish what you started,’ he told me, but I couldn’t do it, not with the deer wheezing and kicking limply on the ground. There had been space between us with the gun; I’d pulled the trigger, it had gone down. Neat and simple. Remote. But this, this was bloody and gruesome and real.
‘No, please.’ I swallowed. ‘Just put her out of her misery, Oliver, please!’
Oliver turned back to the deer. He took hold of her jaw from behind, pulling her head back against him, and then drew the knife across her throat in one swift stroke.
Blood spurted from the wound. I watched it flow, red streams in the snow. Then the deer’s motions faded; the kicking stopped, the breathing stilled. I watched life slowly drain from her body, until Oliver slowly placed her head back on the ground, and she was silent.
Dead.
I exhaled the breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. It was over.
He straightened up. ‘Congratulations,’ Oliver smiled. ‘Twenty pounds of meat, a nice hide.’ He circled her, assessing. ‘You bagged a good one.’
I shivered, turning away. He was talking so impersonally, as if moments ago this hadn’t been a living, breathing being.
A life I took, for no reason except to know that I could.
‘Don’t.’ Oliver’s voice was sharp.
‘Don’t what?’ I asked.
‘Don’t quit on me now and go spiralling back into your little “what have I done?” pity party,’ Oliver replied. He took my arm in a firm grip, pulling me back around to look at the body, at all the blood.
‘Don’t,’ I murmured weakly, but Oliver held firm.
‘You can’t play that innocent act with me now, I was there, remember?’ His eyes drilled into me. ‘I watched you take the shot. I felt your heart race as you pulled the trigger. It was your choice. You did this. So own it. There’s nothing wrong with it.’
Nothing wrong.
I took a breath, steeling myself. ‘I did this.’ I echoed, still staring at the wreckage, getting more real by the minute. All year, I’d been cleaning up other people’s messes, but this damage? It was all mine.
I swallowed, the sick guilt receding, replaced with a curious glow. It took me a moment to figure out what it was I was feeling, it had been so long since I’d felt the sensation: a boldness, a sharp victory that made me clench my fists at my sides.
Power.
I’d done this. I’d pulled the trigger. I’d taken this life, because I wanted to.
‘Welcome to natural selection,’ Oliver told me, his lips curving in a conspiratorial smile. ‘The strongest survive, the weak are culled from the pack. It’s all just a part of this beautiful thing we call life.’
I looked at him, my heart pounding. I wanted to be like him, so sure of himself, somebody who made the decisions and left other people to deal with the fallout. I wanted to be reckless and brave, the way I felt I was, deep down inside.
I took two quick steps towards him and reached up to take his collar.
‘Easy, tiger,’ Oliver smirked, stepping back.
I stumbled, off-balance, but he caught me, his hands closing around my wrists. I felt a damp stickiness and, when I looked down, I saw the blood on his hands.
He released me. ‘Your first kill,’ he murmured. He pressed his fingertip against my mouth and I felt the smear of blood, wet on my lip.
A shudder of revulsion trembled through my body, but then his mouth was on me, capturing my lips in a kiss, pulling me closer, tight against his body. I tasted metal, and him, and then there was nothing left in my mind but the dark heat, and the bright, cold snow, and the feeling that I could do anything, anything at all.
Annette and Derek Reznick arrive at the hospital in a fluster of thick winter coats and panic.
‘Chloe? Chloe, thank God!’ Derek races down the hallway, grabbing on to both my arms. ‘What happened? They said there was a fire. Where is he?’
Annette hangs back, her eyes flicking to the deputies Weber left waiting in the hall with me. He’s gone for now, out to examine the wreckage now that it’s not just a fire site, but a crime scene too.
I don’t need the official report, I already know what they’ll find.
How much is left? I wonder. What could be standing now, after the flames? The fire was raging by the time I dragged his body out; the fire crew might have doused the flames, but by now, there would be nothing but charred remains of the brother I’d left behind.
Would there be enough to identify him? To tell what we’d done?
‘Chloe?’ Derek’s voice is hoarse with fear. ‘Where’s our boy?’
I snap out of it. ‘He’s just out of surgery,’ I manage to reply. ‘They operated, I don’t know what exactly, but it seemed to go OK.’
‘Dear God,’ Annette breathes, and then her legs give way and she slumps against the wall. Derek goes to her immediately, steering her into a waiting-room chair. Annette’s shoulders shake. ‘I thought . . . ’ she stutters, hysterical. ‘I thought . . . ’
‘Shh . . . shh . . . Everything’s going to be alright.’ Derek soothes her. At last, her sobs fade. He looks up to again to where I’m standing, stranded.
‘You’re sure he’ll be fine? The doctors said so?’
I nod. ‘He lost a lot of blood, but, they think he’ll make a full recovery.’ I pause. ‘We just don’t know when he’ll wake up.’
Derek closes his eyes a moment, his lips moving in a silent prayer. ‘I’m going to try Oliver again,’ he tells Annette. He pulls out his cellphone. ‘I don’t know why he’s not picking up. I’ve left half a dozen messages.’
They don’t know.
My heart catches. Oh God, they don’t know.
I wait there, my mind racing as Derek makes the call.
‘Son, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but this isn’t the time to go off the grid. You need to call me back, as soon as you get this.’ He paces back and forth on the faded linoleum floor, leaving another message that will never be received. ‘We’re at Hartford Memorial, third floor.’
He hangs up with an exasperated sigh. ‘What’s the name of the boys he was staying with?’ he asks Annette. ‘Maybe we could find a direct number.’
‘I don’t know.’ Annette’s glances over at me and I quickly look away.
There’s silence.
When I look back, she’s still watching me, but this time I’m caught in her gaze, guilt flushing on my face.
Her eyes suddenly widen, flickering with realization. She knows, Oliver’s not staying with friends. She knows, he was a part of this too.
I’m sorry, I want to tell her. I’m so, so sorry.
‘I should get out to the site,’ Derek says, still pacing. ‘Insurance will want to know what happened.
I don’t understand, Chloe, was it a gas leak, do you think? Or were you playing around with candles. You can tell me, I won’t be angry, I promise,’ he adds, looking haggard. ‘I’m just glad everyone’s safe.’
I close my eyes. Not everyone.
‘Honey.’ Annette finally reaches out, and tugs on Derek’s arm. He stops pacing.
‘What is it?’
She looks at me. ‘Tell us, Chloe,’ she whispers. ‘Who do they have in surgery?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Derek looks between us.
‘She didn’t tell us,’ Annette says, her voice rising, high and desperate. ‘She didn’t say who they brought in. Is it Ethan or Oliver?’
I can’t say it. I look down, clutching my hands together. I’m still wearing the ring Ethan gave me, the silver promise band, and I twist it on my finger, over and over.
‘Chloe!’ Derek’s voice rises. ‘What happened? Where are they? Who was in the house with you?’
‘Yes, Chloe, tell us.’ Another voice enters the fray. Sheriff Weber is coming back down the hallway, brushing the rain off his coat. There’s no sympathy on his face now, only suspicion.
Fear clenches in my chest, sharp as ice.
Weber comes to a stop in front of me, eye to eye. ‘We found a body.’ he says quietly. ‘We haven’t identified him yet, but you know who it is, don’t you?’
I nod. A sob rises in my throat and I feel tears, hot on my cheeks.
‘There’s a body?’ I hear Derek let out his breath in a whoosh. Annette reaches for him, trembling.
‘Oh God. Who is it, Chloe? Tell us. Please.’
I force myself to look at them. They deserve that much.
‘Chloe.’ Weber prompts me, warning.
I can’t hide it any more. They need to know. The dominos falling, click, click, click.
‘Ethan,’ I tell them, my voice breaking. ‘Ethan’s safe. But Oliver . . . He didn’t make it.’
‘What are you doing?’ I gasp in shock at Oliver. Ethan is crumpled on the ground between us, groaning from the blow. ‘It was under control! I talked him down, he was letting us go!’
Oliver tosses the pipe aside and shakes his head at me. ‘That’s not how this plays out, sweet Chloe. You don’t get off so easy.’
‘I don’t understand!’ I back away, grasping hold of the wall for balance. Oliver has a wild glint in his eyes, something that chills me to the core.
‘I think you do.’ Oliver grins. He’s still got blood dripping from his mouth from Ethan’s blows, a terrifying scarlet smile. ‘I think you know just how this has to end.’
I shake my head, trembling. ‘Let’s go, right now. Get in the car and drive like we planned. He won’t hurt us now!’ My voice twists, pleading.
Oliver tuts. ‘That’s not the Chloe I know and love. What happened to the wild Chloe, the one who would happily take another life?’
‘No, Oliver.’ I shake my head. ‘That was different! That was just an animal!’
‘I thought you were done pretending.’ Oliver baits me. ‘Isn’t that why we’re here at all? You did this, Chloe. You. And now you need to finish the job.’
Finish . . .
I stare at him, finally realizing what he means. He set this up, this whole pretty scene. He lured Ethan here tonight, so I would have to face him. It was all part of his game, moving the chess pieces around.
Our pieces. Our lives.
‘You thought about it, didn’t you?’ Oliver adds softly. ‘All those nights he was pawing at you, smothering. Didn’t you just want to make him stop? Now’s your chance, Chloe. End it for good.’
Ethan crawls to his knees, blocking me from Oliver. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ he looks at up at me, plaintive. ‘This isn’t you, you’re not like him.’
‘Don’t tell her who she is.’ Oliver cuts him off, scathing. ‘She’s not your toy, to pat on the head and fucking smother with all your listless suburban bullshit. Chloe . . . ’ He turns back to me. ‘You can do this. You want to do it.’
I shake my head slowly. I can’t think, not with them both so loud. Not with the knife, still curved, glinting in my hand. ‘This wasn’t the plan,’ I protest weakly, ‘Oliver . . . You promised. You said nobody would get hurt!’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Oliver takes a step towards me.
‘Hey!’ Ethan tenses. ‘Don’t touch her!’
Oliver’s lips curl into a smile. ‘You see that, Chloe? Even after everything, he still thinks he needs to protect you. That you’re so helpless, you need protecting.’
‘Don’t let him get in your head, Chloe,’ Ethan warns me. ‘It’s what he does, he’s sick, you know that!’
‘Stop it!’ I cry. ‘Both of you, please!’
They stop.
There’s silence, nothing but the sound of our breath and my heartbeat, skittering so loud I think it might drown me forever. ‘I can’t,’ I whisper, turning helplessly to Oliver.
His eyes fix on me, fervent and blue. ‘I know you,’ he tells me softly. ‘I’ve seen it, all the dark places inside you, everything you are. I don’t care. You don’t have to hide it any more, Chloe. You can be free.’
Free . . .
That’s all I ever wanted, to be gone from this place forever. Away from the pity and the struggle, and all the dreary days I somehow stumbled into. A life I never meant to be mine.
‘You can be so much more. The two of us, together,’ Oliver whispers, and the words shiver through me, bright with possibility.
Ethan catches his breath, seeing my face change. ‘No, Chloe, you can’t. Please.’ His voice twists with fear and my resolve wavers again.
He was always the good one, better than I ever deserved. Surely, he doesn’t deserve this.
‘Do it,’ Oliver orders. ‘Chloe, I’m warning you. If you don’t, I will.’
‘He was protecting me. He didn’t have a choice!’
We sit in an empty hospital room. Two chairs, an empty bed. Sheriff Weber and I.
Ethan’s parents are visiting him in the ICU now. I wanted to go, but I know, they won’t want me anywhere near them, not after the news I just delivered.
Their boy, gone forever.
Derek broke down into loud, messy sobs, but Annette just stood there, her hands folded, her expression blank. And her eyes, burning into me, full of accusation.
She knows.
But of course she doesn’t, I tell myself, trying to stay calm. She can’t. Even Weber here doesn’t know where to begin, pacing back and forth and clearing his throat, wanting to demand answers, but still, not able to forget the good girl I’ve been. The times I’ve brought him coffee and pie; the months I’ve taken his phone messages; the years I slept over with Alisha at his house.
‘Tell me from the beginning.’
‘You said, we should wait.’ I swallow, nervous. ‘For that lawyer to get here . . . ’
‘We can’t wait around. Not now that – that we’ve found . . .’ Weber stops. ‘He’s dead, Chloe. Dead. They’ll be all over this come morning, you understand? Cops, journalists . . . This is serious.’
‘I know.’ My voice twists. Of course I know, I was there, in the midst of everything. The blood and the fear and the cold, sharp truth.
‘I should have you back at the station now,’ Weber adds, pleading. ‘You should be in interrogation, with a tape recorder running. My guys are already asking questions.’
I nod again. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, still twisting Ethan’s ring. ‘I want to help. I’ll tell you whatever I can, I promise.’
Oliver, lying there on the floor; Ethan prone on the gurney. Their features blur in my mind, blonde hair and brown. Two bodies, two sets of clear blue eyes.
One survivor. One way out of this.
History is told by those who win.
‘It was Oliver’s fault.’ I take a deep breath, meeting his eyes. ‘He called me, saying to meet him at the lake house; he said it was important.’
Weber starts taking notes.
&n
bsp; ‘I thought it was kind of weird,’ I lie, my voice growing stronger. ‘I was running errands, so I stopped by. But when I got there, he was acting crazy.’
Weber looks up. ‘What do you mean, crazy?’
I brace myself. ‘He was obsessed with me,’ I tell him, spinning the story that will set all of this to rest. ‘He’d been asking me out for months, showing up when I was working, sending me texts, calling all the time.’
I can feel Weber’s eyes on me, studying.
‘It was my fault too,’ I admit. ‘I kissed him, just once,’ I lie quickly. ‘He was so charming and interesting and . . . But I stopped it, I told him; but he wouldn’t listen. When I got to the house, he was saying how we could run away together, get out of town. He had the knife.’
‘What kind of knife?’
‘Ethan’s hunting knife,’ I whisper. ‘Oliver got it for him, for his birthday. I was scared, and then Ethan showed up. That’s when things got crazy. Oliver was ranting, angry, saying how we had to get rid of Ethan, so we could be together,’ I shudder. ‘He wanted me to hurt him, hurt Ethan, but I wouldn’t. I would never hurt him. Then Ethan lunged and they were fighting . . . It all happened so fast.’ My voice shakes. ‘They were on the ground, and Ethan was hurt, and then Oliver dropped the knife . . . ’
I shudder, remembering the glint of light on steel. The weight of the blade in my hand.
Weber paces, absently rubbing his bald spot. ‘So it was self-defensc?’ There’s a note of hope in his voice. ‘Oliver stabbed Ethan, and he killed him in self-defence.’
‘Yes!’ I cry. ‘Ethan didn’t have a choice. He would never hurt him, but Oliver came at him, and then . . . then I couldn’t tell what happened, they struggled, and there was all the blood . . . Oliver went down and . . . he didn’t get up.’
My voice breaks on the final word and I reach for the end of the bed to hold myself up. Oliver, lifeless on the ground. The flames swallowing his body.
An ending. His life, done.
Weber stops pacing. He looks like he’s aged ten years tonight, everything about his face haggard and worn out. ‘Was he dead when you left him?’ he asks slowly.
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t moving, but there wasn’t time to check. I was so scared,’ I add. ‘It all happened so fast, and then there was fire, and Ethan was bleeding . . . ’ I stop, choking back a sob. ‘I thought we were all going to die!’