Wuther

by V. J. Chambers

  Half his face was swallowed in shadow, but she could see one eye dancing as he leered at her.

  She cringed, a sob escaping her throat. “Linton, please.”

  A loud bang. The door strained against its hinges. Apparently, Gage was charging it, trying to break it down.

  Linton’s knife moved quickly, winking at her.

  She felt it bite into her flesh, just below her collarbone.

  She cried out.

  But that nick had just been an accident, she realized. Linton was using the knife to cut her clothes open. “Stop,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

  Another bang at the door. Would Gage be able to knock it down?

  Would he be in time?

  The cool metal of the knife against her chest. But not cutting her. Caressing. Exploring her curves.

  She flailed out, striking Linton on the side of the head.

  And he stabbed her.

  Right under her rib cage. The knife was a small blade, maybe two inches. Half of it was buried in her skin.

  She made a choking, scraping cry. Her breath started to come in gasps.

  She could see the knife sticking out of her.

  And only then did it hurt. Bright, angry pain.

  Linton tugged the knife out. “Look what you made me do.”

  Blood gushed out of her wound.

  Another bang at the door. It groaned. And splintered. “Thera?”

  “Help,” she moaned. “Help me.”

  “Shut up,” said Linton, pushing at the tatters of her shirt, baring her skin. He put his finger in her wound and held it up, mesmerized by her blood. He smiled in wonder. Then he caressed her, smearing blood over her skin.

  She was falling apart. “Gage, please!”

  The door banged again. The wood splintered further.

  And gave way.

  Gage tumbled into the room, and light from the hallway spilled inside.

  Linton looked up, like an animal of prey caught in a spotlight. He froze for a second, and then he leapt up and ran, yelping in fear.

  Gage went to her. He fumbled with her shirt, trying to cover her.

  She was stunned for a second, too horrified by all of it.

  But then she realized.

  This was her chance to get away. Heath wasn’t in the house. The door was open.

  She jumped to her feet and took off, leaping over the splinters of the door and into the hallway.

  “Thera, wait,” called Gage after her.

  She didn’t pay any attention to him. She had to get away. She had to stop this.

  Linton was at the top of the stairs, brandishing his knife, a wild look in his eyes.

  She stopped short.

  “Stay back, cousin,” said Linton. “You won’t hurt me. That big dunce Gage won’t either. I’ll kill him.”

  Gage appeared behind her. “Linton, put down the knife.”

  Linton waved the knife in Gage’s face. “Not fair, you know. I’m his son. Why did he love you and not me?”

  Gage put Thera firmly behind him and advanced on Linton. “Put it down. We’ll talk about it.”

  Linton slashed at Gage.

  Gage caught him by the arm.

  Linton twisted, driving the blade into Gage’s bicep.

  Gage yelled, shaking Linton off.

  Linton lost his balance. He screamed.

  Gage grabbed for him.

  But it was too late. Linton was tumbling backwards, free falling.

  He hit the steps with a sickening crunch.

  His body folded over itself, rolling down the steps as if it had become boneless.

  Then he was motionless.

  Thera put a hand over her mouth. “Oh god.”

  Gage looked at her. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She pointed at Linton. “I think he’s…”

  Gage’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He started down the steps. He knelt next to Linton, touching his neck.

  “Is he dead?” said Thera.

  Gage recoiled, shuddering.

  “Oh god,” she said. “Oh god.” No, did it matter? She had to get out of here. She sucked in breath, trying to gather herself together, and started down the steps.

  Gage was in her way.

  “Let me by,” she said. “Let me go.”

  “J-just wait,” said Gage. “You can’t— I don’t—”

  “Come with me, then,” she said. “But let’s go.”

  The door to the farmhouse opened, and Heath walked inside.

  No. She’d been so close. She sat down on the steps and began to sob.

  Heath looked at Gage. At Thera. At Linton. He looked stricken.

  “Heath, I didn’t…” Gage shoved his hands in his pockets. “He was hurting her.”

  Heath walked up the steps to Linton’s body. He knelt down next to the boy. He took Linton by the chin and turned the boy’s lifeless face to him.

  It was quiet. No one moved. No one spoke.

  Heath straightened, letting go of Linton.

  “It was an accident,” said Gage.

  Heath smiled hollowly. “Yes, of course it was.” He looked at Thera. “You were protecting her.”

  “Yes,” said Gage.

  Heath walked down the rest of the steps. At the bottom, he thrust a hand in his hair and turned in a circle. “Take the girl back to her room and lock her in.”

  “No,” said Thera. She shot a pleading look at Gage. “No, please, you have to help me get out of here.”

  Gage’s jaw worked. “Heath, we can’t just keep her here. Besides, the door’s broken.”

  Heath barked out a laugh. “Broke down the door for her, did you?”

  “Linton was… He had a knife. She’s bleeding. She might need stitches or—”

  “Take her to Cathy’s room, then,” said Heath. “Lock her in there.”

  Gage hesitated.

  “Please,” whispered Thera. “Help me.”

  Heath’s voice rose. “Lock her in, because I’m calling the police about my dead son, and when they get here, she can’t be anywhere around.”

  “No,” said Gage. “This can’t go on. We have to let her go.”

  Heath turned on Gage. “You’ll lock her in, Gage. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the police who’s actually responsible for the fact that Linton is lying here dead. And you won’t be able to help her at all if you’re in jail.”

  Thera covered her mouth. Heath was too horrible to exist. She began to sob in earnest.

  Gage clenched his hands into fists. “You manipulate me? Me?”

  “Do it,” said Heath. “And keep her quiet.”

  Gage shook his head at Heath. But he turned to Thera and gently helped her up. “Come on.”

  * * *

  Thera held up the shirt that Gage had given her to wear so that it bared her stomach. He was fitting butterfly bandages over the place that Linton had stabbed her. It was still bleeding, but Gage was stanching the blood as he worked.

  Thera felt strangely calm. It was like she’d expelled so much emotion during the ordeal with Linton that now there was nothing left. She peered around the room. “This was my mother’s room?”

  “Yeah,” said Gage. “I’m surprised he wanted you in here. He keeps it like a shrine, won’t change anything. Sometimes, he sleeps in here.”

  “He’s disturbed,” said Thera, but she wasn’t upset by it. It was simply a fact. Nothing bothered her right now. “He’s obsessed with her. He’s gone absolutely insane.”

  “Maybe,” said Gage.

  “You can’t still be defending him,” said Thera.

  Gage sighed. He began taping gauze over her wound. “I don’t know anymore.”

  “We could go to the police anyway,” said Thera. “We’ll tell them our side of the story. They’ll believe us over Heath.”

  Gage looked over her shoulder, staring into space. “I pushed him.”

  “You didn’t,” she said. “It was an accide
nt.”

  “It was an accident that he died,” said Gage. “But it wasn’t an accident that I pushed him.” He finished bandaging her. “There, hopefully that will be okay.”

  She touched it. She lowered the t-shirt. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “I couldn’t let you bleed to death.”

  “Not for that,” she said. “Well, not only for that. For everything. For saving me from Linton.” She peered up at him and reached for his hand.

  He let her take it.

  She squeezed him.

  He touched her face tentatively, pushing a strand of her hair out of her eyes.

  Her heart sped up. He really was a very attractive man, wasn’t he?

  His voice was husky. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but I will.”

  She bit her lip. She believed him.

  1995

  Heath stumbled through his hotel room. There were cards and poker chips strewn across the table and the floor. He nursed a bottle of beer in one hand. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough yet, and the night was wearing thin. Music was pouring out of the stereo. Rage Against the Machine. Heath turned it down. The hotel room was empty. Everyone had left.

  A caress on his bare back.

  He turned. Not everyone. Some woman was here. He didn’t know if he’d ever paid attention to her name. She wore a skimpy short skirt and dark lipstick.

  He pushed her away from him. “It’s not going to work.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What isn’t?”

  He glared at her. “My dick. Why don’t you leave?”

  He’d tried since leaving Cathy months ago. He’d figured the best thing would be to go out and fuck as many women as he possibly could, try to erase her from his head. But he couldn’t do it. He’d get close, and then he’d think about Isabella, face down on that picnic table, her legs spread, blood from her busted cherry all over both of them and…

  Well, everything shut down around that point. Everything… shriveled.

  He’d come to terms with it by now. He was going to live a celibate life. And hopefully, it would be short. He was planning to gamble away all his money and drink himself to death.

  Which would be easier if he lost poker games more often than he did.

  He could throw them on purpose, he supposed. But that seem disingenuous, like he was willfully trying to kill himself. Which he wasn’t doing. Not really.

  “Too much to drink?” said the woman in the short skirt.

  “Something like that,” said Heath. He set down his beer and slumped in the hotel room’s easy chair. It was lacking much cushioning, and it wasn’t very comfortable.

  She knelt between his legs, running her hands over his thighs. “Sure you don’t me to try?”

  Where had this woman come from, and why did she care? Was it because he’d won big at the game tonight? “Look, if you’re trying to steal from me, just take what you want.” He fumbled in his pockets for money. He shoved a wad of bills at her.

  She stood up, offended. “No. I don’t want your money.”

  He smirked. “But we barely know each other, and you’re just dying to suck my cock? Somehow I find that hard to believe.” He fished his beer back up off the table, guzzling it.

  “You’re as much of an asshole as people say,” said the woman, looking down at him. “You gay or something?”

  He gave her a withering look. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you? A guy says no to you, and you assume it’s because he isn’t interesting in women?”

  She didn’t respond for a minute. And then she laughed. “You’re a funny asshole.”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you leave?”

  “If that’s what you want,” she said.

  Heath shrugged.

  She started for the door.

  “Wait,” he said. Maybe he felt lonely. When the girl left, he’d be by himself in this hotel room, drunk and unable to sleep. Like he was locked up with ghosts. “You want to stay and have a beer?”

  She laughed. “Really? You’re not good company, you know.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Leave.”

  “Did something bad happen to you? Did your mother die or your girlfriend leave you for another man?”

  He drank more beer. “Stay and have a beer, and I’ll tell you my sob story.”

  She considered. “All right.”

  He tossed her a beer.

  She caught it, popped it open, and perched on the bed, looking at him expectantly.

  “What?” he said.

  “I’m waiting for the sob story,” she said.

  He laughed. He almost found himself liking this girl. He took another drink, and then he started to talk. It all poured out of him, even the part about his killing Floyd and beating on Matt when he was unconscious.

  He talked and talked, and she listened.

  She seemed very interested.

  When he was done, they’d each had two more beers. He set his down. “And so I left, because I can’t be with her.”

  The girl let out a long, slow breath.

  “Thanks for listening,” said Heath.

  She tossed her hair. “That’s tragic. Really. It’s like something out of a Greek play.”

  “Well, I’m glad you find my miserable life entertaining.”

  The girl got up off the bed. “I only think it’s kind of funny that you’ve tortured yourself about it for so long when you aren’t sure of the truth.”

  “What?”

  She headed for the door of the hotel room. “You don’t know that she’s your sister. What if she’s not?”

  Why would she say something so idiotic? “What if she is? Just the possibility makes it disgusting.”

  “Well, you should find out for sure,” she said.

  “Find out?”

  “Get a paternity test, idiot,” she said.

  * * *

  Isabella tossed a shirt across the room in frustration. Everything was getting too snug.

  She gazed at herself in the mirror in her bedroom.

  Her belly was really starting to stick out now. People were going to notice before long. When it had only been her boobs getting a little bigger, it had been easy to ignore. But it was getting obvious now.

  She was going to have to stop ignoring it and admit it to herself.

  She was pregnant.

  She picked up a baggy flannel shirt and began buttoning it. Would it be big enough to hide everything? She surveyed herself in the mirror. It did. Mostly. And it was cold outside these days. She needed to wear something warm against the late fall chill.

  She should have done something—said something—a long time ago.

  But she couldn’t. Not after seeing the way her parents had reacted to Eli and Cathy.

  Her parents had returned from the Hamptons to find that their son had impregnated Cathy, and that Cathy was on bed rest for fear of losing the baby. Eli had told them all of this in a matter-of-fact way, as if he’d expected them to take it all in stride.

  Mother had sobbed and run off to her bedroom, locking the door and refusing to see anyone.

  Father had spent all his time trying to get Mother to calm down. It was what he did most of the time. But he’d been furious with Eli. Absolutely furious.

  When her parents had finally calmed down enough to talk, they’d been embarrassed and appalled. They’d bemoaned the loss of Eli’s future. They’d insisted that Eli and Cathy had to be married if they wanted to keep living under the same roof—especially if that roof was their roof.

  Mother hadn’t seemed particularly pleased that Eli was marrying Cathy, who wasn’t quite an appropriate bride for her son. But there was nothing to be done about it now, of course.

  Isabella had thought that was pretty silly, given the circumstances. Obviously, whatever her parents were trying to prevent from happening by keeping Cathy and Eli from living together had already happened.

  But it hardly mattered, s
ince the two of them had agreed to get married right away. Getting married was the respectable thing to do, and the Lintons were nothing if not respectable.

  The wedding had been a joke, since Cathy was still on bed rest.

  But her parents were so disappointed in Eli. So upset and sad. They’d shaken their heads and talked about how his future had been ruined and how their reputations would suffer and how they couldn’t figure out where they went wrong.

  When Isabella missed her period, she was terrified. But she hoped that maybe it was happening for some other reason. Maybe she was too thin. She did feel hungry all the time, after all.

  And when she started to gain a little bit of weight, she just put it down to eating a lot.

  But then her period didn’t come again the next month.

  And she knew. But she didn’t think about it. She didn’t say anything.

  She was terrified.

  Cathy was still on bed rest, and she was enormous and irritable, a mountain of a woman locked away in a room. Isabella didn’t want that to happen to her. She knew, maybe somewhere deep down she knew, that she had options, and that she could have gone to a clinic somewhere, and the thing that was growing in her could be sucked out and extinguished.

  But she’d have to admit that it was there first.

  She touched her stomach. She was pretty sure it was too late now. Things had gone too far.

  She was going to have to tell someone, and she couldn’t tell her parents. She didn’t think her friends would be much help either, not that she’d been spending much time with them lately. For months, she’d been exhausted all the time. It seemed like all she’d done was eat and sleep. She bet her friends didn’t even remember her. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to help. Maybe if she’d said something earlier… But she hadn’t. She couldn’t go to Heath, of course, and this was his fault. No one knew where Heath was.

  After the way he’d treated her, she doubted he’d be very supportive, anyway.

  That only left Eli, but she didn’t want to bother him with it. He was going to classes, and taking care of Cathy, and he was busy. And on top of that, he didn’t seem like himself anymore. He was sad and tired, like he’d been beaten.

  Maybe he had.

  That was Heath’s fault too.

  If she went to Eli and told him that Heath had knocked up his little sister, then what would it do to him?