Burning Down the House

by Allie Gail

  Because it suddenly occurred to me…

  …that Mr. Weston’s first name…

  …is Richard.

  29

  “Oh, God...”

  Still facing the window that framed the snowfall, my arm seemed to lose all muscle control and involuntarily dropped to my side, the phone slowly slipping from my fingers to fall noiselessly on the plush beige carpet. If Riley was still talking, I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. Every other sound was drowned out by the monosyllabic denial beating over and over in my head like a metronome. No…no…no…

  I heard nothing else. Time ceased to exist for God only knows how long. I had no way of counting the seconds that I stood frozen, a million sick thoughts scrambling desperately to escape my consciousness. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. He was my teacher. My neighbor. A family man. Peyton’s father. I’d known him for years.

  He couldn’t…he could not…be a murderer.

  The cautionary advice Rob once gave me came rushing back as a reminder. Maybe it was all just coincidence - or perhaps I would be better off heeding a gentle warning from someone who’d already learned that lesson. You never really know anyone.

  From behind me, a silky smooth voice suddenly broke through the barrier. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass of wine? I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Caught off guard, I whirled nervously around to face his beguiling smile. Tongue-tied, I shook my head mutely. A little too forcefully. The opera music continued to play in the background, a vicious affront to my senses.

  Mr. Weston - Richard - set the wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table, giving me a strange look as he strolled closer, hands sliding casually into the pockets of his dress slacks. He’d already removed the leather jacket and loosened his tie. Without thinking, I took two steps back.

  The dark head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowing into suspicious indigo slits. His voice remained mild and amiable as he asked, “Is something wrong?”

  And then I saw myself as he must have seen me. Pallid. Skittish. Wide-eyed. And I realized that he was looking at me with that odd expression simply because of the way I was looking at him. Like someone who’d seen something far worse than a ghost.

  Far, far worse.

  Coughing to loosen the tightness in my throat, I forced myself to speak. “No, I’m fine. A little tired. I probably should get going…it’s late.” I cringed inwardly at those last two careless words. It wasn’t late - it was barely ten.

  He continued to assess me curiously. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon, by any chance? Around…say, one o’clock?”

  “Sure. One o’clock. No problem.” Screw that - I had no intention of coming back. Not until I knew for sure that this was nothing more than a fluke. Even now I was trying to inch my way discreetly toward the front door.

  Raising his chin, he lifted one corner of his mouth with an air of triumph, the same smug look he frequently gave the class after managing to confound us with a problem. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the college tomorrow?”

  Ballet rehearsal - how did he know about that? Or maybe the question I needed to ask myself was, if he was already aware of my schedule, then why even ask if I was free?

  And then it hit me. He was testing me. The motherfucker was testing me.

  The words final exam popped into my head, making my stomach churn.

  Whatever game he was trying to play, this wasn’t the time to choke. Right now was the time to put all those drama classes to use. Gathering all my fortitude, I gave him the sweetest, most innocuous smile I could forge. “I’m supposed to, yeah…but to tell you the truth, I’m a little short on Christmas funds and this would really help me out a lot. I don’t think Miss Andrews will freak too much if I miss just one rehearsal. We still have all next week to practice.” I shrugged, feigning indifference. “Besides, I could do that dance in my sleep by now.”

  “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” His suspicious eyes seemed to pierce right through me.

  “Positive. So…one o’clock, right?” I nonchalantly stepped backward in the direction of the door.

  “Sara…”

  “Yes?”

  Smirking, he raised one hand and waved the folded bills held between his index and middle finger. “I haven’t paid you.”

  “Oh.” I summoned a brief laugh, praying it sounded authentic. “Yeah. I don’t know where my mind’s been lately.”

  “You do seem a bit distracted. Maybe you’ve been studying too hard.” He gave me a warm smile and held out his hand.

  I reached for the money but just as my fingers were almost touching it, he suddenly withdrew his arm. Startled, I looked up at him to see that the warm smile had vanished. His sharp eyes were fixated on my hand.

  It was shaking.

  A slow dawning crept over his features. And I knew in that instant my fears were justified, that his affinity for Habanera was no mere coincidence, and most chilling of all - my own body had just betrayed me. I knew what he’d done. And he was fast becoming aware of that fact.

  “You know what, you can just pay me tomorrow.” I swiveled on my heel, preparing to bolt and run, but his hand shot out to stop me. The fingers clamped onto my forearm tightly, gripping me with surprising force.

  “You look ill, Sara. Maybe you’d better sit down for a minute.” He steered me in the direction of the sofa.

  “I’m fine…”

  “No, I think you need to rest for a bit. I can’t send you home in this condition. What would your father think?”

  “But I’m not-”

  “Sit.”

  Flinching at the sharpness in his tone, I allowed him to push me into the cushions before he took a seat beside me. He was uncomfortably close, so close his leg was rubbing up against mine. I bit my lip to stop it from trembling.

  “Now…” He patted my thigh, but instead of taking his hand away he left it resting on my jeans. “I think you and I need to have a little talk. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I stubbornly continued to play innocent. “About what?”

  He wasn’t fooled by my act. “You know, Sara…I’ve always found that people are very easy to read. It really isn’t difficult at all if you know what to look for. Five minutes ago you and I were perfectly fine. Then suddenly we weren’t. Now suppose you tell me why that is?”

  I looked with desperate longing at the wall that separated me from my house next door. So close and yet so far. Less than fifty yards away my father and Rob were blissfully unaware, assuming I was perfectly safe. Still, Rob would call or come over if I wasn’t home by eleven. My phone - where was my phone? “I think maybe you’re right. I’m not feeling all that well.” I scanned the floor, searching. “I might be coming down with the flu after all.” There it was, on the floor just beside the Christmas tree, partially obscured by the window curtains.

  “I see. The flu.” His eyes dropped to my chest. “Then maybe you can explain to me why your breathing is so shallow. And why I can see your heart pounding all the way through your shirt.”

  “Because you’re making me nervous!” That was the one thing I certainly wasn’t lying about.

  Frowning, he brought a finger to his lips. “Shh…keep your voice down. We don’t want to wake Peyton. I will be very upset if you wake my daughter. It’s so hard to get her back to sleep once she’s up.”

  Dear God…surely he wouldn’t hurt his own child, would he? I couldn’t imagine him going that far, although after what he’d done to Jordan there was no telling what he was capable of. If I’d harbored any intention of screaming, that plan was instantly shelved. I couldn’t risk anything happening to Peyton. It wasn’t likely anyone next door would hear me anyway. Maybe the best idea was to simply stall for time.

  He removed his hand from my leg to pour himself another glass of wine. My gaze strayed to the door.

  “You wouldn’t get far.” He sipped his port leisurely. It was deep red, the color of blood. I felt nauseous - not fr
om the wine’s hue, but from the subtle threat in his impassive warning. “You may be ten years younger but I’m still athletic and quick as a fox. I could outrun you easily. My suggestion would be to try and relax. The sooner you do that, the sooner we can sort through this. I must say, this wine really is very good. You should have some.”

  Instead of arguing, I merely accepted the glass that was handed to me. When he looked at me expectantly I took a drink to placate him. It tasted like cherries soaked in alcohol. The warmth hit my stomach like a lead weight.

  “What did I tell you - it’s nice, isn’t it?”

  I nodded in agreement. “Uh-huh.”

  Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he shook his head with a sigh. “Now, see…this is what I’m talking about. I could clearly tell by your expression that you didn’t care for it. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me, we aren’t going to get very far, are we?”

  I fabricated a quick excuse. “I didn’t want to be rude. It’s not that bad though, really. I’m just not used to wine is all.”

  He seemed mollified by that. “Well. No harm done. Careful you don’t spill that. Ruby port stains are hard to get out.”

  My hands were still shaking. I couldn’t make them stop.

  Setting his own glass back on the coffee table, he crossed his arms. “Since, as you pointed out, it is getting late, I would suggest we skip all the nuances and cut straight to the chase. So tell me. How did you find out?”

  I floundered helplessly. “I’m not sure what you mean. How did I find out what?”

  He wasn’t impressed with my hedging. “My patience is wearing thin, young lady. I’m only going to ask you once more and this time I expect a direct answer. Now. How did you find out?”

  I threw back another draught of wine, hoping it would supply the courage I lacked. Anxiously I turned my head to search out the small antique clock in the curio cabinet behind me. My heart sank. Only 10:11? How was that even possible? Was the damn thing running in reverse?

  His unsympathetic laugh was even more maddening than the operatic aria still assaulting my ears. “Don’t worry. It isn’t past your bedtime yet. Maybe if I prompt you it will help. Let’s review, shall we? Everything was fine until I came back into the living room. You were standing there looking out the window at something. I offered you a glass of wine and when you turned around, you looked at me like I was the fucking devil.”

  “You are the fucking devil.” The accusation fell from my lips before I had a chance to remind myself that antagonizing him might not be such a smart move.

  He only huffed derisively. “Please. Let’s not be overdramatic. All I did was solve a problem by eliminating a variable. The end result was best for everyone, believe me. Now tell me - what could you possibly have seen that would have given me away?” Unfolding his arms, he returned one hand to my thigh and leaned in disconcertingly close. “I’m waiting,” he whispered.

  It was as good as a confession. The man had all but just affirmed his guilt, and I could no longer try and pretend otherwise. Eliminating a variable? Jesus, this lunatic had graded one too many math papers.

  With no other choice, I met his gaze with a defiant glare. “Love is a rebellious bird that none can tame, and you…you call him quite in vain…” My voice tapered off uncertainly. Try as I might, I couldn’t recall the rest. Not that it mattered. The awareness in his expression told me he understood.

  “Of course! The aria. Now isn’t that something - I didn’t even think she was paying attention when I translated it for her. She took Latin instead of French - did you have Latin together? Oh…wait, no, that was last year. You weren’t enrolled here then. What was she doing, serenading you with Habanera?”

  “Something like that.” I polished off the rest of the wine, which appeared to please the psycho immensely.

  “Look at you. I believe you’re acquiring a taste for vintage port.” He poured me another glass. The perfect host. I noticed he moved the bottle to the end table beside him, out of my reach. Was he afraid I’d try to bludgeon him with it? “Take it slower with this one. I think I’d better limit you to two drinks. All right then - do you have any questions before we begin our assignment?”

  What in hell’s heated halls was he talking about? “Assignment?”

  “Yes, my dear. We have a very complex problem that requires an efficient solution. We need to get started. Time is limited, so if you have any questions please speak up.”

  Oh, I had plenty of questions. Starting with WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Instead I went with, “The baby. Was it yours?”

  “The baby? I assume so. She claimed it was, and I had no reason to doubt her. I blame myself. I shouldn’t have assumed she was diligent about taking her contraception. None of it would have been an issue if she’d just gone through with the abortion like I instructed her to. No appreciation whatsoever - I had the entire procedure set up for her, out of town of course, gave her the cash to pay for it, and what does she do? She doesn’t even bother to show up for the appointment. Now how irresponsible is that?” He shook his head, obviously appalled by her lack of consideration. “She knew from the start that I was married, that I had a family. She agreed to the rules of the game. A clandestine meeting now and then, but complete discretion was essential. I couldn’t stress that enough to her, and with an IQ as high as hers you’d think she could have comprehended the importance. And yet all the rules were supposed to be thrown out the window simply because she got careless! Do you know, she developed this absurd notion that I was going to abandon my family and flush my career and reputation down the toilet just so I could run off and elope with her and help raise that illegitimate brat?”

  If I could have unhinged my jaw, it would have hit the sofa cushions. I couldn’t believe, could not believe, that he could talk about this poor dead girl with such casual disrespect. Like he had zero remorse and even less in the way of a conscience. As if Jordan was to blame for every despicable, reprehensible thing he’d done and was somehow deserving of her horrible fate.

  “Of course you see why I had to do it, don’t you? She gave me no alternative. I went there that night to try and reason with her but she was completely irrational. She became hysterical, was threatening to expose our relationship - do you have any idea what that would have meant for me? A married teacher, impregnating one of his underage students! Think about it. I would have been ruined!”

  “So you bashed in her skull,” I said flatly. My head was starting to swim from the alcohol. At least the tremors were subsiding.

  “You make it sound so brutal. It was the most humane thing to do. She didn’t suffer. Her back was turned…there was an iron bookend on the shelf beside me…she never even saw it coming. I told you, I’m quick as a fox.”

  I started to take another drink, then stopped myself. Better try to keep a clear head. “Tell me something. If she was already dead, then why set the fire?”

  “I had no idea what sort of damning evidence she could have left lying around in that house. For all I knew, she might have kept a diary, photos of me, who knows what. You know how sentimental teenage girls are. Without covering every inch of her room with a fine-tooth comb, I might have missed something. Don’t you think it made more sense to just burn it all?”

  “What about the necklace?”

  His forehead crinkled. “What necklace?”

  What necklace - not him, too. Was I the only person in the entire universe who’d noticed the damn thing? Was it invisible to everyone else? I was starting to believe it was a figment of my imagination. “She wore a silver necklace with the letter “R” on it.”

  He smiled, and those dimples on either side of his mouth didn’t look cute to me anymore. This man was revolting. “Did she? Ah, now isn’t that sweet. She always was a hopeless romantic. Well, even if it didn’t melt in the fire, I highly doubt one letter would be enough to incriminate me.” His head turned to check the clock in the curio cabinet and my own eyes followed. 10:23. “That’s enough.
Question-and-answer time is over. Let’s put our heads together and get to work now.”

  I was afraid to ask. “Get to work on what?”

  “The problem of what to do with you. What did you think? This is definitely a tricky one but that’s perfectly fine - I love a challenge.” He studied me thoughtfully. “We need to identify the unknown variables before we can reduce them. So what do we have? First of all, your father and boyfriend both know you’re here. They expect you home very shortly. An outright disappearance would be difficult to explain, though not entirely impossible. You’re one of my better students - why don’t you see if you can solve this equation?”

  He couldn’t be serious! Was he actually suggesting I help plot my own demise? What the hell was he going to do, award me extra credit posthumously? I had to do something, now. It was time for act two of the performance. And it had to be a good one.

  Taking a small sip of wine, I sucked the flavor from my bottom lip while eyeing him seductively through my lashes. “There is…one solution.”

  His eyes were on my mouth. So far, so good. “Let’s hear what you’ve come up with then.”

  Resting my free hand on his thigh, I leaned in a bit. “Just hear me out before you shoot me down. Would you do that for me please?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s really quite simple. I go home like I’m supposed to and neither of us mentions a word of this to anyone. We forget that little…thingy with Jordan ever happened. To tell you the truth, I never liked her anyway. I’m glad she’s out of the picture. Now you and I are free to have a little fun. It’ll be easy, see, because no one will suspect a thing. Whenever you find yourself alone, all you have to do is call me over to babysit. It’ll never occur to anyone that Peyton isn’t even here.” Rubbing his thigh, I manipulated my breathing to sound heavy, pretending to be turned on. “I have to be honest with you. This has always been a fantasy of mine. I used to watch you in class and daydream about you. What you’d look like naked. What your lips would taste like. Whether you prefer to fuck hard and fast or whether you’d take your time with me. I gotta say, you made it very hard to concentrate on calculus.” Moving in even closer, I whispered in his ear, “I’ve always been hot for teacher.”