Like Father Like Daughter

by Christina Morgan

  Just hearing him say my name brought bile up into my mouth. I swallowed, and it stung the back of my throat.

  “Me too.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to at least try to get out of there. I tried to run toward the door, but before I could even make it two steps, he grabbed hold of both my arms and swung me around so I was facing him, only inches from his face.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He was no longer smiling. His nicotine-stained teeth gritted in anger, and spittle flew from his mouth.

  “Let me go!” I screamed as I tried to wriggle from his grasp.

  “You little tease. Come here. It’s time I got a proper thank you for all I’ve done for you.”

  He kissed me so roughly, and I was fighting him so severely, I could taste my own blood where his teeth had bitten my bottom lip. I stomped hard on his toe, but he didn’t let go.

  “Let me go!” I repeated.

  “Hold still,” he grunted as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer to him. “Don’t fight me, girl. You know you want me too.”

  “You disgust me!” I shouted in his face.

  He looked genuinely hurt by my words, and for a brief moment, I thought he might actually let me go. Instead, something changed in his eyes. They were already dark and beady, but now there was a rage in them I’d never seen in anything other than an animal.

  “After all I’ve done for you, you ungrateful little cunt!”

  Merle reared back and slapped me with the back of his hand as hard as he could. The force sent me crashing to the hard linoleum floor. I brought my hand to my cheek and felt heat rising to the surface of my skin. He stood over me, straddling me, with both hands clenched into fists.

  Suddenly, his face changed again. Now he looked almost sorry.

  He squatted down and brushed the hair out of my face. His touch made my skin crawl.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’. It’s just…I love ya so fuckin’ much. I thought you’d be happy. I thought you’d love me back. Especially after what I did for ya.”

  “I know! You killed Lindsey! I never asked you to do that!”

  “I’m not talkin’ about that little whore.”

  My confusion must have been evident, for he tilted his head to the side and said, “Oh…ya really don’t know, do ya?”

  “Know what?” I pushed myself back up to my feet, and miraculously, he let me stand.

  He stood up and faced me, again inches from my face. “When I saw what that no-good husband of yours was doin’ behind your back with that little tart…well, I just couldn’t stand by and do nothin’. He didn’t deserve ya. You belong with me.”

  Horror. That’s the only word that comes to mind to describe what I felt in the moment I realized the man standing before me had killed Ryan.

  “You killed my husband?”

  “I did it for you, baby. For us. What did ya expect me to do? He was fuckin’ that whore behind your back. And you didn’t deserve that. I promised to protect you and I did.”

  “But how…”

  “I shot him. That’s how.”

  “But I mean, I didn’t hear the gunshot. How is that possible?”

  He scratched his head, and he looked down at his finely polished, cheap black dress shoes. “That’s the part I regret. I really didn’t know they’d blame ya for it. I promise I wouldn’t have let them send you to jail. I was workin’ on a way to clear your name…”

  I repeated myself, only louder this time.

  “How did I not hear the gunshot, Merle?”

  “Rohypnol. It’s a very strong sedative. Easy to get on the black market. Especially when ya know the right people. It was meant for that asshole, not you. It was supposed to make him sleep. You weren’t supposed to be home.”

  Ryan’s beer. I rarely drank beer, but that night I was out of wine and I was frustrated with Ryan because of our argument. Merle had snuck in and laced Ryan’s beer with Rohypnol. That also explained my pounding headache and the dizziness. And like he said, I wasn’t supposed to be home that night. I was supposed to be out of town for a deposition. How had he known that? Then another thought occurred to me. The gun. Apparently, the gun I’d found in Mike’s house was not the real murder weapon.

  “Merle, what happened to the gun?”

  “Oh, that. That’s an easy one. Soon as I left here, I drove out to Lock Eight and threw the gun in the river. All that rushing water. There’s no way they’ll ever find that gun. Even if they do, I wore gloves, so, no prints.”

  It all made sense, but it didn’t matter now. I had to get out of there.

  I sprinted across the living room toward the kitchen. This time I must have caught him off guard because he was a split second behind me. He caught me right before I could make it to my phone. He grabbed it, smashed it on the ground, and stomped on it.

  “Nice try, darlin’. If you’re not gonna thank me, I guess I’ll just have to take my thanks where I can get it.”

  He grabbed my tank top and ripped the fabric right down the middle. Oh, God. He’s going to rape me. I fought with every bit of strength I had in my body. I kicked and punched and wiggled so much he had a hard time keeping hold of me.

  “Keep still! I’ve waited two years for this! I want my thank you and I want it now.”

  He grabbed hold of the top of my jeans and yanked them down. I continued fighting him as hard as I could, but he was so much stronger than me. I had always heard people say not to fight. To just let them have what they want and get it over with. But I just couldn’t do it. The thought of this disgusting man putting his hands on me was just too much for me to bear. So I continued to fight. I wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

  “Hold still!” he shouted as he fumbled with my underwear.

  I kneed him between the legs. He crouched down but didn’t let go of me.

  “You bitch!” he growled.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the knife block. I reached my arm out as far as I could but it was just beyond my reach.

  He finally got my underwear off and I was certain my luck was out. He was going to rape me. I wasn’t going to let it happen. I stretched and reached so hard my shoulder muscle felt like it was going to rip. Finally, I felt the handle of one of the knives. I fumbled with my fingers while Merle tried to force my legs apart. I squeezed my thighs as tightly as I could. Then my hand was around the grip of the knife. I slid it quickly out of the block and without hesitation, plunged it deep into his chest. Right in the heart. He stumbled backward, grabbing at the handle of the knife. He looked up at me with eyes wide as saucers.

  “You stabbed me.”

  “Damn right, you crazy fucking psycho!”

  Merle slumped down against the kitchen counter and slid down onto the linoleum floor. He stared at me with eyes black as night.

  “But…I love you…”

  He fell over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His body twitched once. Twice. His arms fell to his sides. Then stillness.

  I slowly crept over to where he was lying, afraid he was going to pop back up the way they do in horror movies. But when I bent over him, it was obvious he was dead. His eyes stared back at me, but there was no life left in them. Just to make sure, I grabbed his hand and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

  I had to call the police, but Merle had smashed my phone. My nearest neighbor was over a hundred yards down the road. I found my jeans and pulled them back on. My top was torn, but I didn’t care. I had no time to worry about appearances, so I flung open the door and ran down the sidewalk barefoot, holding my shirt together with one hand. I ran down the hot blacktop road as fast as I could until I finally reached my nearest neighbor.

  I pounded on the front door with the bloody palm of my hand over and over without stopping until finally someone opened the door.

  An elderly woman in a pink muumuu looked shocked when she saw me.

  “Dear Lord, child. What happened to you?”

  I had never t
aken the time to get to know our neighbors; Ryan and I liked the fact that we lived alone in our little neck of the woods. So I didn’t know her name. All I knew was that I was happy to see her.

  “Please call 911. Ask for Detective Jim Dorne. Tell him it’s Libby Carter. Tell him…”

  I swayed on my feet. Looking at the concerned expression on my kind neighbor’s face was the last thing I remember before I passed out in her arms.

  Chapter 23

  Two Months Later

  I sat on the beach with my toes in the sand, Philippa Gregory’s latest Tudor novel in my hands—I’d had my fill of crime and horror. The sound of the waves crashing against the beach and the sun’s warmth made it hard to keep my eyes open. I placed my bookmark in the middle and closed the book, leaning my head back against the padding of the beach chair. Ryan would have loved it here, I thought. Ryan and I always said we’d move to the Outer Banks when we retired. I’d run a little bookstore while he took our pontoon out to let tourists catch glimpses of the dolphins as they bobbed in and out of the water.

  But that would never happen. Ryan was gone. I was there all by myself and would be for as long as I needed to be. I needed time to think, time to heal. I still had money left from Ryan’s life insurance; the individual policy finally paid out once I was cleared of his murder, and I had used it to rent a little bungalow in Avon, North Carolina. I could live on it for a little while, but not forever. Eventually, I knew, I’d have to get back to gainful employment. But I’d had my fill of the legal world, so I thought perhaps I’d put my sleuthing skills to good use and get my PI license. Make a legitimate business out of catching cheating husbands and bond jumpers.

  I had made my peace with everything that had transpired in July. I killed a man, but it was in self-defense. No charges were brought, and obviously, the charges against me for Ryan’s murder were dropped shortly after the events that unfolded in my house that night. Detective Dorne found all the evidence he needed to satisfy him and Gaines that Merle had killed both Ryan and Lindsey. They found the Rohypnol in his apartment, along with a very disturbing diary that recounted every single detail of what he’d done.

  Thanks to my anonymous tip, Mike Thompson had been arrested for a sundry of felonies, including possession of an illegal weapon and many counts of possession of narcotics with intent to sell. But he was innocent of Ryan’s murder, as well as Lindsey’s. A small part of me felt guilty for having him arrested, but the other part hoped at least now maybe he would straighten his life up. It’s what Ryan would have wanted.

  All of this happened thanks to my father. I hadn’t talked to him since the day I met with him in the prison. I couldn’t help but blame him for everything. Regardless of his intentions, he had set loose a mad man to watch over me, and that mad man had killed my husband. My magnanimous mother was still insisting I forgive him.

  In fact, that morning, I had received a text from my mother begging me to go see my father. He had called nearly every day for the past two months. He wanted to see me, wanted to explain, insisted he had something to tell me.

  As I sat there on the beach, I couldn’t help but wonder what else he could possibly have to say to me. But Mom swore it was important, and against all my better judgment, I decided I needed closure. I would go see my father one last time. Whatever he had to say to me, I’d listen, and then I’d tell him goodbye. Forever.

  ***

  I boarded the plane from Charlotte to Lexington at seven a.m. a week later. The flight was a little over two hours, and thanks to last minute booking, I sat in a middle seat next to an obese man who stank of Cheetos and coffee. He talked nonstop about his mother and her arthritis, even when I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

  We landed at Bluegrass Airport around nine thirty, and I stopped at the Starbucks kiosk on the way out for a double tall caramel macchiato. I had reserved a rental car, so I stopped by the Hertz desk and picked up the keys to a Volkswagen Jetta. The swarthy attendant with a thick Kentucky accent showed me to my little red sedan.

  I plugged my phone charger into the USB port so I could play some of the tunes I had downloaded on my new iPhone. After moving to North Carolina, I had signed up for a new AT&T plan and changed my number. No one had it now unless I wanted them to—just Mom and my best friend Dani. I chose the Mamma Mia soundtrack and sang along to some of ABBA’s greatest hits as I drove along the highway toward Big Sandy Federal Penitentiary.

  Since moving to the beach, I had finally found a form of happiness. I could sing again, laugh again. I missed Ryan. No matter what he did before he died, he didn’t deserve to die at Merle Jackson’s hands. I often thought fondly of our eight years together, and instead of crying, I tried to smile.

  As for Lindsey, I couldn’t say I had completely forgiven her. As I had told Dr. Lange in our last visit together, it’s nearly impossible to forgive someone who doesn’t want your forgiveness. If she had been sorry and asked me to forgive her for what she’d done, it might have been easier. But I had come to terms with everything. Accepted it all and come to realize she was only human. A very fucked up and desperate human, but a human nonetheless. So I tried to let go of the anger. I even came to believe she didn’t deserve what happened to her, either. But she was dead now, and she had more than paid for her sins.

  When I arrived at the prison, I went through the same routine I had been through the last time I had visited Randy. This time, I left my purse in the car and locked it, so I didn’t have to wait for the correctional officers to rummage through it. I made it through security pretty quickly and was ushered along with the other visitors into the brightly lit visiting room.

  This time, Randy was one of the first prisoners who entered. They took the cuffs and leg shackles off and he ambled over to the same table I’d sat at the last time. I liked the window there, even though it was covered in crisscrossing metal bars. He sat down across from me and smiled.

  “Libs.”

  I sighed. “Elizabeth.”

  “I know. I keep forgetting. I’m sorry, Elizabeth. How are you?”

  “I’m great, actually. Can we get to the point, Randy? Mom said you’ve been calling almost every day. That you have something to tell me?”

  “I do. But first, I wanted to say how happy I am you’ve been cleared of Ryan’s murder. Your mom says you’ve moved. Where to?”

  “I’d rather not say.” Randy was the last person I wanted to know where I was living now after what happened with Merle.

  “I understand. I do. Elizabeth, I just wanted to say how very sorry I am. About Merle. I had no idea…”

  This is what I had prepared myself for. I knew he was going to apologize for Merle. Two months ago, I would have thrown his apology back in his face and told him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. But two months was a long time to think about things and put them into perspective. While I still blamed Randy for setting Merle loose, I knew he didn’t tell him to murder Ryan. Or to hurt me. Whatever monster Randy was, I did believe he cared about me in his own way and would never intentionally hurt me.

  “I know, Randy. I forgive you.”

  His eyes widened. “You…you forgive me?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “For Merle, anyway. It has taken some time but I believe you had no idea what he was going to do. I’m not going to lie. At first, I thought you had told him to do it. But the police said his crazy journals proved he did it of his own psychotic will. He never even mentions you in the journals, other than to say how much he owed you. He truly thought by killing Ryan for me, he was repaying his debt to you. That, and, well, he was infatuated with me.”

  “I’m so glad you believe me. I swear I had no idea how crazy he was. I really thought I was helping you. I know now how incredibly stupid and dangerous it was.”

  I wanted to say “damn straight it was stupid!” But I was really trying to work on my emotions and forgiving my father, so I held my tongue. I had forgiven Ryan, made peace with the whole Lindsey thing, and now all that remained
was to give my father the forgiveness he so desperately needed. It wouldn’t be easy, but I needed to do it not just for him, but for my own well-being.

  “Just please don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  “I won’t. You have my word. I wish I could be there for you, Elizabeth. But I’m so proud of you. Your mother says you’re doing really well for yourself.”

  “I am. I’m happy now. I’ve moved on from everything that happened. I have a peace I never had before.”

  “What about a job? Your mother says you’re not going to go back to paralegal work.”

  “No, I think I’m burnt out on it. I’m tired of all the politics that come with working for big law firms. It was fun while it lasted, but I’m thinking of making a change.”

  Why I was confiding all of this to Randy, I wasn’t sure. But other than Mom and Dani, I hadn’t really talked to anyone in over two months. Some of my former co-workers had reached out to me once they heard about the dropped charges, but I had no room in my life for fair-weather friends. Part of me liked it that way, but there was a small part of me that missed human companionship. I had never been alone. I always had Mom; then for eight wonderful years I had Ryan. Now I had no one.

  “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “You might laugh.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “I’m thinking of getting my PI license. I have the required Bachelor’s degree and almost sixteen years of experience in investigation as a paralegal. All I have to do is apply for my license in…” I almost said North Carolina, but caught myself, “…in my home state, and voila! I’ll be a licensed PI.”

  His reaction was not what I expected. I thought, given how much he usually fawned over anything I ever did, he’d smile and say, “That’s great, Libs!” Instead, he sat back, crossed his arms, and nodded his head as if he was giving something serious thought.

  “What’s the problem? I thought you’d be proud.”