The Rest Will Come

by Christina Bergling

  And the pipe I plan to kill you with.

  More laughter erupted out of Marco. “Should I be worried?”

  The words between them dissipated, yet the space between felt inflated and comfortable. Marco maintained a wholesome grin on his face that appeared to be at home below his symmetrical cheeks. Kristy reflected that grin, drawn in, even in the silence.

  Shit. I like him. I truly like this guy. I feel that spark. More than a spark. I feel a jolt in my marrow.

  Get a hold of yourself, Emma. Do not be that naïve, stupid little girl who kept getting used. Do not be awesome but. He is the same as all the rest. They are all the same. You are going to kill him tonight, out in the open. If the Don Juan killer can do it, so can you. You can love Marco for being such a perfect victim. Before he rips your heart out.

  “Wow, this is great dating conversation,” Marco said. “I bet I sound like such a catch. Do you want to give me the ‘you’re awesome but’ speech right now?”

  Kristy laughed authentically. “Not yet. Let’s go for a run first. Then I’ll let you know.”

  “Kristy, can I confess something to you?”

  “Already? Sure, why not?”

  “My real name is not Marco. My name is actually Byron. After being burned so many times, it felt better to use an alias, like the dating profile screen names.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. I just felt like I should.”

  “Can I confess something to you?”

  “Please.”

  “Kristy is not my real name either.”

  What are you doing? she screamed inside her head. Why are you telling him this?

  “What is it?”

  “Emma.”

  What in the hell are you doing? It’s okay. He can’t tell anyone once you kill him.

  “Hello, Emma.”

  “Hello, Byron.”

  “Now that we’re honest, maybe it’s time for us to hit that trail.”

  The snowflakes fell slowly in the fading daylight. The sun disappeared behind the mountain edge and cast rose and amber hues over the fluffy flakes. They danced down to accumulate on the ground. Emma felt an exhilaration at the sight, at the razor chill in the temperature, at the pregnant silence encapsulating the world. For an instant embraced in her favorite weather, Emma forgot about Kristy and Marco, now Byron, and his murder. The surge of euphoria and the itch at the soles of her feet urged her to simply run and be free in her solitude.

  “So this is your favorite running weather, huh?” Byron asked, tugging his hat down over his head and settling his headlamp on top of it.

  The smile seemed carved into Emma’s face as she nodded at him while slipping on neoprene gloves. Her winter gear compressed her tightly, feeling like a pleasant cuddle.

  Kristy cracked unnamed; the façade fractured and shifted on top of Emma. The truth and Emma’s voice kept escaping out of what should have been Kristy’s lips. Emma reacted, responded, below the surface of the mask. She refused to hibernate while the persona liberated her. In every previous murder, the two had acted in concert, the fake identity enabling Emma to consummate her dark purpose, even when she left Carl alive to toy with him. Running in the snow, grinning at Byron, she found them instead at odds.

  Kristy spoke from Emma’s brain, reminding her why they were there, what they were planning to do. Still, the throbbing in her heartbeat infected the sensations along her nerves.

  Don’t be stupid. There is no such thing as a spark. There is no such thing as a good guy.

  Byron approached the greenway and broke into a trot. Emma took stride after him, still wrestling between selves in her mind. Her hydration pack shifted heavier, sliding across her back with the weight of the pipe. She concentrated on the run.

  Stride, stride, breath. Stride, stride, breath.

  The physical act of running calmed her mind, quieted the collision of thoughts, sensations, and emotions. Everything steadily dissolved into the low acidic burn in her muscles and the sweet strain in her lungs. Byron jogged beside her, their paces synchronized, as the sunlight receded from the sky.

  Darkness swelled around them. They activated their headlamps, and the two spotlights tangoed amongst the snowy debris before them. Emma became typically mesmerized by the descent of the snowflakes in her narrow cone of light. Byron startled her when he spoke between breaths, a large plume of steam rising in front of his face.

  “Can I ask you something, Emma?”

  “Clever play to ask me halfway through a run when we both know I’ll confess anything.”

  Byron chuckled. “The thought may have crossed my mind.”

  “Go for it.”

  “How did your marriage end?”

  “He cheated,” Emma replied without even thinking. “Somewhere along the way, he decided he didn’t want to be married to me or give me the family he promised me or be with me at all. Only he didn’t tell me that. He let me go on compromising myself for him and sacrificing myself to make him happy, only to eventually tell me he was leaving.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Looking back, I should have known all along. I should have known he was never the kind of person to get married or have a family, that he never actually loved me. My friend knew from the beginning.”

  “You’re right. You will confess anything while running. I’m sorry, Emma. I really am. He sounds awful.”

  “He is, but I think I’m more mad at myself for letting it happen. No matter how I tried, I still ended up repeating my mother’s mistakes.”

  “I understand how that goes.”

  “Your turn. How did your marriage end?”

  “Reciprocity. Okay. Well, cheating too. With my best friend, the best man at our wedding. I came home from some bullshit conference, walked in, and they were going at it in my recliner that he had bought me years before. I learned through all the awfulness that followed that they had had sex before she and I even got married then carried on behind my back most of the time we were married. They’re married now.”

  “To each other?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh no. How long did they wait?”

  “Less than a year.”

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  The greenway rambled up a small hill then intersected a street. Byron reached out and depressed the crosswalk button. Byron and Emma faced each other, bathing the falling flakes between in the weak headlamp light.

  “I would say I’m sorry, but I know how patronizing that is to hear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will only say that I actually understand.”

  “I think you do.”

  The moment crystallized and froze like the ground beneath their running shoes for an instant. Emma sensed the penetration of Byron’s constant eye contact, even below the glare of the headlamp, the gentle way he peered into her. Then the white figure illuminated, and they trotted through the headlights and continued up the trail.

  The hill climbed steeper, and Emma’s shoes slipped on the cold concrete hiding beneath the thin powder. Beneath her focus to not fall on her face, the moment was rising. Her entire body vibrated with anticipation, the way she felt holding the flashlight or the tire iron. Her cells were pointed, purposeful while another part of her, a deeper and softer part, wanted to only reach out and take Byron’s hand, bury her face in his chest.

  He has to die; you have to kill him.

  She repeated it like a mantra with each stride.

  Byron and Emma struggled up the crest of the hill and spilled out over the summit. Relief rushed over the muscles in Emma’s legs when her feet found the decline. Byron released the same victory exhale that was bouncing out of her lungs at the same time.

  “That hill was no joke. How about we sprint to that light post?” he said.

  “Are you trying to race me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. Go!”

  Emma leaned forward and circled
her legs beneath her torso with powerful steps. She launched off against her sliding shoes and drew her arms up to claw through the air. Byron darted out in front of her, clipping the snow in short and rapid strides. The light post seemed to move away the harder Emma sprinted; Byron leaped ahead of her by degrees.

  The two winter runners galloped past the pole then dropped the run and settled beneath the light. Byron leaned forward, propping himself up on his knees, his breath billowing out in clouds that spiraled above his head.

  This is it. This is the moment.

  Emma pulled her hydration pack around her shoulder and slid her hand down along the water bladder. She wrapped her fingertips around the cold steel of the thin metal pipe nestled next to the swollen bag. She unsheathed it slowly, deliberately, her movement still dripping in doubt.

  He has to die. You have to kill him.

  Her footsteps crunched on the fallen snow as she moved toward Byron. Byron remained hunched over, hand fishing around in his jacket pocket. Emma raised the pipe high and arched her back for momentum. When she moved to strike forward, Byron turned around. Emma looked down and saw piano wire wound between his two anticipant fists.

  The Don Juan killer and Emma faced each other. They locked eyes and froze, both fingering their murder weapons, perfectly matched, and the snowflakes continued to fall around them.

  Epilogue

  “Emma! Emma, are you ready yet?” Byron yelled, his voice echoing up the stairs to their house.

  “Not yet!” Emma hollered back down. “I’m still getting Mila ready to go to your parents’.”

  Emma reached down into the crib and gathered her daughter into her arms. Mila’s scent filled her nostrils, a sweet and intoxicating aroma that caused Emma’s heart to swell. Mila collapsed into her shoulder, nuzzling against her skin and radiating her tiny heat against Emma’s nerves.

  She placed her hand in the center of Mila’s miniature back and felt the wave of pure bliss crash over her head. Collecting the child’s bag and blanket, she descended the stairs. Byron waited for her in the kitchen, chomping into an apple impatiently.

  “Ronnie called while you were upstairs,” he said.

  “Yeah? What did she want?”

  “Big family meal on Friday. She said she has news.”

  “Oooh, I bet she’s pregnant again.”

  “Ha! I’m surprised she got pregnant the first time.”

  “You’re telling me. Terrence can’t stop gushing over Mila though. I know he wants a little girl.”

  Byron shifted his weight side to side and bit hard into the apple again. Emma stepped forward and ran her hand along his arm.

  “Relax, babe,” she said. “We will get there in time. We just have to drop Mila with your parents.”

  Byron smiled nervously and wrapped an arm around her lower back, drawing her and Mila closer to him. He pressed his cheek into Emma’s face while leaning in to kiss their child. Then he drew back again.

  “I know,” he said, continuing to twitch from side to side. “I guess I’m nervous. This is the first time we’ve done this since Mila. I feel like we’ve been waiting forever.”

  “We have been waiting forever, but it was worth it.” She kissed the baby’s tiny cheek. “It will be just like riding a bike, I promise.”

  “The last time I took a break this long, I failed to go through with it.”

  “And look what that got you, a beautiful daughter and a passable wife.”

  “A beautiful wife.”

  “Did you confirm everything with the couple?”

  “Yep, on the trick line, as you call it. We are set to meet them for coffee before retiring back to their place to ‘play.’”

  “Which site were these from?”

  “SwingersOnly.com.”

  “You packed the bag with our toys and extra clothes?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve prepared the garage?”

  “Yes, dear. Though I’m not looking forward to this daylong hike tomorrow.”

  “You’ll learn to love it. I can’t wait to see their faces when they see us play. Deep breath, honey. We’re completely prepared. The rest will come.”

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  Acknowledgements

  This book is not the child of my brain alone. Rather, it is a collaboration from many minds and experiences amalgamated together. To protect the innocent, I will not name those brilliant women here, but you know who you are. Thank you for allowing me to crawl into your heads, examine your worst dating horror stories, and borrow your pain to create this one story. I hope all the murder I poured into the tale helped you to exorcist some of your dating frustrations.

  Thank you to my partner, Mike, for meeting me at a keg party and sparing me from ever having to try online dating; to my children and family (blood and otherwise) for supporting and tolerating me in all my passions and obsessions; to “The Commune” for being such a part of this saga.

  Thank you to Limitless Publishing for giving this book a home and amazing look. A special grateful nod to my editor, Felicia, for making the book read so much better. And love to my army of beta readers—Christina, Taylor, Kyle, Nev, Ben, Casey, Rebecca, Susie, Trisha, Eva, Demo—for helping me improve and evolve this story.

  About the Author

  Colorado-bred writer, Christina Bergling knew she wanted to be an author in fourth grade. In college, she pursued a professional writing degree and started publishing small scale. With the realities of paying bills, she started working as a technical writer and document manager, traveling to Iraq as a contractor and eventually becoming a trainer and software developer. She avidly hosted multiple blogs on Iraq, bipolar, pregnancy, running. In 2015, she published two novellas. She is also featured in the horror collections: Collected Christmas Horror Shorts and Collected Easter Horror Shorts. Bergling is a mother of two young children and lives with her family in Colorado Springs. She spends her non-writing time running, doing yoga and barre, belly dancing, taking pictures, traveling, and sucking all the marrow out of life.

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