Split

by JB Salsbury

  “If that were true, he’d be in prison.” My dad’s voice is heavy with skepticism and for the first time since I can remember, I’m grateful he’s stubborn as hell.

  This will be easy. All I have to do is create enough doubt for my dad to dismiss Trevor and kick him out of the house, and we’re all good.

  “Just because O. J. Simpson is walking the streets doesn’t mean he didn’t commit double homicide.”

  My dad’s jaw twitches, but that’s the only reaction he gives away.

  I could strangle this asshole. “Shut up and get out!”

  Both Trevor and my dad ignore me.

  “Did you know he was tried and only got off because everyone’s fingerprints were on the weapon and the angles of the entry wounds were questionable?”

  “Stop it!”

  “That he managed to conveniently forget the murders, trick lie detector tests, and brainwash people into believing he had no recollection of the murder of his seven-year-old sister—”

  I lunge to shut him up. “Stop!”

  My dad holds me back.

  “…ten- and twelve-year-old brothers…”

  I struggle in my dad’s arms and will Trevor to get lockjaw before the final words fall from his lips.

  “…and his own mother before turning the gun on himself.”

  “Prove it.” My dad’s voice rumbles against my back.

  “Google it, Mr. Jennings. Lucas Menzano is a mass murderer who was lucky enough to get off on a couple of technicalities and is now living in your town. Working for your company and cozying up to your daughter.”

  My dad’s grip loosens and I sag against him, absorbing his strength. “Leave my house. Now.”

  “Shy, don’t kill the messenger.” Trevor has the fucking nerve to smile.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!” I go after him again, but my dad holds me back.

  “You heard her, City Boy.” Barely controlled anger drips from my dad’s words. “Get gone.”

  He laughs humorlessly and throws his flabby arms into the air. “Fine. I’ll get the story without you.” He moves to the door, swings it open, and turns back, glaring. “Missed your chance, Shy. Guess you’re not as driven as I thought.”

  “I’d rather have the respect of my family and this town than some stupid, lonely job beside a piece of shit like you. Now leave before I grab my daddy’s rifle.”

  “Fucking hillbilly.” He slams the door behind him.

  Thirty-Six

  Lucas

  The black recedes and catapults me into the light. I’m sitting on my chair in the middle of my living room and although it’s much brighter than the thickness of my blackout, it’s still dark. Nighttime. The single blub isn’t on.

  My head throbs and I blink to clear my wavering vision. Beer cans, an empty bottle of liquor combined with the stench of booze in the air confirm what my body is already telling me. I’m drunk.

  I rip my hands through my hair and my heart gallops in my chest. I crank back to my last clear memory. It was Shyann inside the hospital. All I wanted to do was comfort her, apologize for pushing her away.

  That’s when I saw them together. Dustin had his hand around her neck and had pulled her in for what looked like a quick hug, only dropping his lips to hers at the last minute. Seeing them like that, his fingers threaded into her hair, lips that he’d used to bad-mouth her pressed to her lips. I knew what he was tasting, the sweet flavor of her mouth still so fresh on mine, and a fear like I’ve never felt before exploded inside me. She’d pushed him away—I know she didn’t want the kiss, but he took it anyway. I felt the dark close in; the thought of him taking what she wasn’t willingly giving snapped the last bit of my sanity. It was on that thought that the veil fell and Gage plunged me into darkness. That was hours ago.

  My trembling fingers absently move to the scar on my jaw.

  Whatever Gage did here, he clearly wanted me to know about. If only I could reach him, find him in the recesses of my soul and ask him why he continues to keep me in the dark.

  I push up from my seat and head to the shower, swaying slightly and gripping my throbbing head. Once in my room, I kick off my sweatpants and the scent of unfamiliar perfume and sex socks me in the gut. I brace my weight against the wall and flip on the light. Beer cans on the floor, my sleeping bag tossed to the ground, and…My stomach lodges in my chest. No…

  A used condom.

  I breathe and slam my eyes closed. Please, no. He wouldn’t do this to me. Heat springs to my eyes. My arms wrap around my stomach, refusing to accept the obvious. The stench of perfume teases me and I’m reminded of similar times in the past.

  Gage screwed one of his skanks in the bed still warm from Shyann. I’ll never forgive him.

  Never.

  I stagger to the bathroom, turning the shower on hot enough to scald my body. Punishment for what I am, what I’ve done…the trust I’ve destroyed. I’m disgusting. Insane.

  My mom’s voice comes flooding in.

  “You’re no one. Do you hear me? A dog deserves more respect than you. Now you’ll eat like one.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, remembering the way I’d cry, beg her to be nicer, plead for her love.

  “No one could love a bastard. Now eat!”

  Saliva floods my mouth as the vivid memory brings me back. I’d hunch over the toilet, my stomach growling as I was forced to eat her feces. My body would revolt with the burn of stomach acid and tears would pour down my face.

  “You ungrateful bastard! Now you’ll have to eat that too!”

  She’d crack my skull against the toilet, screaming how unworthy I was, and I’d pray I was someone else. Someone stronger who would fight back, someone she’d be afraid of. Pray for the darkness to veil me in safety.

  And eventually, it would.

  He’d take the punishments, be the stronger person I couldn’t be.

  Then why this? I’d finally found someone I could trust. Someone who made me feel human, worthy. Why wouldn’t he want that for us?

  I step out of the shower and peek into my bedroom, hoping what I’d seen earlier would no longer be there. That somehow what I saw was a figment of my imagination, a delusion conjured by a mind that can’t be trusted to reality.

  It wasn’t.

  Bracing my weight at the sink, I stare into the mirror. The eyes reflected back at me convey the weakness I feel.

  “What did you do, Gage?” It seems so ridiculous, but I know he can hear me. “I love her and I know you do too. Why won’t you let us have her?” Unable to stare at my own reflection, knowing my body had been given to another woman, my lips pressed to a stranger’s, makes me sick. “Let her love us, please. We don’t deserve it, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t accept it.”

  I sigh and turn to my room to grab a clean pair of sweatpants and start picking up the aftermath of what Gage left behind. Some of the beer cans are rimmed with bright pink lipstick, increasing my shame. By the time I’m finished, my shoulders feel like they’re carrying a load of two-by-fours as the need to confess to Shyann smothers me. I take the reeking garbage bag out to dump it and find Buddy standing in the drive, alert and fixated on the dense forest.

  I drop the bag into the Dumpster and step toward him, expecting him to run back to his shelter under the porch, but he stays still, his eyes trained on nothing.

  “What is it, Buddy?” Maybe an elk or a deer nearby?

  His head jerks to the long dirt road and he growls low.

  I follow his gaze and hear it before I see it. A vehicle of some kind. My heart leaps in my chest that it could be Shyann. It’s probably close to nine o’clock at night, not too late for her to still be awake.

  Headlights come into view and Buddy’s body is unmoving, a fierce growl rumbling in his throat. I approach him cautiously, risking a touch, but he’s never let me this close before. I squat and pet his head, hoping to calm him down. He spares me a quick glance and turns back to the oncoming headlights that are too low to the ground
to be a pickup truck.

  Disappointment settles in my chest as a sedan pulls up and parks. I stand, wishing I’d put a shirt on, as a man folds out of the driver’s side. Buddy repositions so that he’s standing at my left, his dirty fur pressed against my knee, and I scratch behind his ears.

  The man walks toward me and lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Hey, there, sorry to bother you.”

  “You lost?”

  He steps closer and Buddy leans into me, for support or out of fear, I’m not sure.

  “No, not lost, but I was hoping you could help me.” He offers his hand and it’s then I notice this guy doesn’t look like he belongs in Payson. He’s driving a city car, wearing city clothes—shirt with a collar and shorts with pleats; he’s even wearing some kind of slip-on shoe that looks like it belongs in an office, not out here in the dirt.

  I shake his hand and his eyes fall on Buddy. “He friendly?”

  “Don’t know. He’s never met an outsider before.” It’s not a lie, and the slight flare of fear I see in the man’s expression brings me a tiny bit of satisfaction.

  He narrows his eyes, studying me. “Lucas, right?”

  A burst of adrenaline speeds my pulse. How does this guy know me?

  “You are...?”

  He chuckles. “Sorry, how rude. I show up at your house and don’t even introduce myself. I’m a friend of Shyann’s. We went to college together.”

  The heat of possession floods my veins at hearing her name from a man I don’t know. “Got a name?”

  “Trevor Peterson.”

  Trevor…her ex-coworker kinda ex-boyfriend.

  “If you’re looking for Shy, she’s not here.”

  He turns to look up the road toward Nash’s house and nods. “Yeah, I know. Spent some time with her and Nash earlier.”

  My pulse races and I ball my fists.

  “I was hoping you’d give me a chance to talk to you about Shyann.”

  I shake my head, my body answering before my mouth can form the words. “Don’t have anything to say to you about Shy. I don’t even know you.”

  “Huh…” He rubs his chin. “Funny, ’cause she swore you’d be happy to help us out with a little research.”

  Us?

  “What kind of research?”

  He nods toward the house. “Mind if we go inside and talk?”

  “No one’s going to hear you out here, Mr. Peterson. We’re miles from the nearest house.”

  Irritation colors his expression, but I ignore it. I can’t figure out why but this guy gives me the creeps.

  He swings his arm to the porch. “Mind if we have a seat?”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer but shuffles through the dust and pine needles to the steps, where he drops to sit. I lean against the railing and Buddy goes back to staring blindly back into the trees.

  “Here’s the thing, Lucas…there’s a woman in the hospital right now fighting for her life after being brutally beaten.”

  Sam. My pulse pounds a little faster and I’m grateful this guy can’t see my unease.

  “I know about the attack. The entire town does.”

  He frowns. “Of course. Did you also know there’s a man on the loose who’s been beating women? Eight women to be exact.”

  Shy had mentioned that, so I nod.

  He flashes a patronizing smile. “Shyann and I are covering the story here in Payson.”

  “You and Shy are…working together?” She never mentioned that to me, and whenever the guy’s name came up, she never spoke about him fondly. All she said was he still thought he could tell her what to do.

  “We are. She’s a driven woman and she wants this job in Los Angeles—”

  “Los Angeles?” She told me Oregon. Never mentioned LA.

  “Yeah, this story would put her on the map.” He swats a bug on his arm, then flicks its carcass away. “That’s where you come in. Tell me what you know about Sam.”

  My jaw locks down tight.

  “Oh come on, you knew I’d do my research.”

  “I don’t know her. I mean, I don’t know her very well.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard. I heard you two had a few very public displays of…affection. Then a very public fight at the bar she works at.” His face pinches in thought. “I even heard you went for her throat.”

  Who told him that? Shyann wouldn’t. She’d never sell me out…unless. Does she know Gage slept with someone else? Would anger drive her to expose me?

  “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Aah…” He shakes a finger at me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Pushing himself to the railing, he leans toward me. “I heard you beat up her boyfriend. You’ve got a jealous streak, huh?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. The evidence speaks for itself. All I have to do is connect the dots.” He moseys along down the porch, grinning. “Guy like you…”

  Like me?

  “…your record.”

  My skin breaks out in a cold sweat.

  He tilts his head. “You seem surprised.” His eyes narrow. “I know all about you, Lucas. I know what you did, that you killed your entire family before turning the gun on yourself.”

  Black flickers at the edge of my vision.

  “But things didn’t turn out for you the way you’d hoped, did they? You didn’t die that day after you killed your family.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I curse the waver in my voice.

  He chews the inside of his lip, then smiles. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that. A teenage boy who can pull this off, fool lawyers, a judge, hell a jury…it’s impressive.” He takes a few steps toward the river and my feet burn for escape, to hide out until all this goes away. But that’s the old me, turning my back on confrontation. I know I can be a better man, the kind Shy deserves, and I’m determined to start now.

  “I’m not surprised you’d be capable of hiding what you did to Sam too.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “A violent mass murder, a house vandalized, a girl beaten within an inch of her life, you know what all those things have in common?”

  I don’t answer.

  “You. They all have you in common.” He steps closer.

  “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Ah-ah-ah…I don’t need to. I’m not here to convict you. I just want the story, on record, and I want exclusivity.”

  My eyes narrow and my stomach rolls with sickness.

  “They’re gonna arrest you eventually anyway, Lucas. Might as well get your story out there. Hell, you may even get book deals while you’re in prison, have a movie made about you. For all I care you can disappear and never be heard or seen again. All I want is for you to tell your story, to me, on the record.”

  My hands shake and I fight the black as it demands to take over.

  “I can’t. I—”

  “Oh, sure you can. Come on, tell me your story and I’ll leave Shy here in Payson rather than drag her to Los Angeles with me. I’ll let her stay here with her family instead of making her my wife.”

  My teeth grind together and every muscle in my body tenses.

  A slow, knowing grin curls his lips. “That upsets you, doesn’t it? You being separated from Shy, that makes you want blood.” He takes a few steps toward me. “Does it make you want to kill?”

  The veil drops, but I hold it back just before complete darkness falls.

  “Between us, I’ll have to have a few girls on the side. Not sure if you’ve tasted the little Navajo yet, but she’s not all that good in bed. She can stay home and raise our kids while I become the number one news reporter in LA.” He chuckles. “The thought of her, so strong and fierce, barefoot and pregnant, makes my dick hard, ya know? On second thought”—he pulls his keys out of his pocket—“keep your story. I’ll take Shy.”

  I roar, “No!” just as the curtain falls.

  Thirty-Seven
<
br />   Shyann

  “How’re you doing?” My dad drops down next to me on the couch where I’ve been staring at the blank television since Trevor left.

  “Been better.” I give him a small, most likely unconvincing, smile. “I need to go talk to Lucas. I just…” Don’t want to walk in on him and his date. “I need to warn him Trevor is sniffing around. This is all my fault. If I’d never come back, he’d be living a quiet life.”

  “How long’ve you known?”

  “Dad…” I exhale, trying to hold on to the sliver of calm I’d managed to gain since that asshole left. “Trevor’s a prick. Lucas, he—”

  “Never would’ve let you go anywhere alone with the kid if I thought he was dangerous.”

  “He’s not dangerous. He’s…” Shit. My throat aches at the memory of him with another girl. “Complicated.”

  “Shit, Shy…” He drops his head to the back of the couch and rubs his eyes. “Lucas on trial for murdering his entire family? I’d swear that boy was the closest thing to pure we had on this earth.”

  I stare at my dad’s profile, wondering if I should just share Lucas’s secret with him. He’d understand, remembers what it was like to see people judge my mom when her body stopped working and she was a prisoner in her own head.

  “He is. Lucas is the closest thing to pure.” I want to yell that Lucas didn’t kill his family, but I know it’s a lie. Is murder any less of a crime if there’s a reasonable explanation to do so? Whatever he did he did for the safety of himself and his siblings. “There’s a lot about Lucas you don’t know.”

  I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying his trust, but keeping his secret is too heavy a burden. My dad’s expression stays impassive and he waits.

  “Thing is…um…Lucas has some mental issues.” I peek up at my dad, only to see his eyebrows pinch together. “He suffered, Dad. He was abused by his mother and after time, in a last-ditch effort for his brain to cope with it all…” I sigh and push the word from my lips. “He split.”

  “Explain.”

  “They call it dissociative identity disorder.” I tilt my head to peer up at him and find him intently focused on me. “One body, multiple personalities.”