Marry Screw Kill

by Liv Morris

  Her purse drops on the carpeted floor by my feet and I bend to pick it up. There’s an open box of books sitting beneath her old hung clothes and I bring it out closer to inspect the contents. Jane Eyre, Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray—one after one, I find great classic novels along with a few dead poet books. One consistent theme is human suffering—hearts struggling with love or the judgment of man.

  I wonder how a young woman without a college education can sound so mature and possess such an old soul. The books before me speak to her self-possessed education. She learned from the masters about life, love, and the human condition.

  I shuffle through a few more titles and spot a rather tattered spiral binder. The front cover is a sunny yellow with the words, “Poetry by Harlow Masters,” written in black marker.

  I flip through the notebook and find page after page of poems. A surprising excitement rushes over me, like I’ve won the damn jackpot. I push back the thought of whether peeking into her poetry without permission is right or wrong.

  I shove the box back under the clothes and walk to the bed with the notebook in my hands, itching to dive in.

  I sit down on the bed and start thumbing through. I notice the poems are dated and I’m curious to read her last few entries.

  The last poem is dated from two days ago: the day before I came to Rochester. But the notebook was stuffed down amongst the books like it had been there for some time. It dawns on me that she’s hiding it.

  I begin to read the unnamed poem.

  Thunder rolls across the dark sky.

  The ominous sound vibrates in my bones.

  Rain hits the window and matches my own tears.

  Angry and sharp.

  Stroms surround me from within and without.

  Escaping them sits beyond my reach.

  I stop after the three verses and let their meaning sink in. Is she writing from her heart or talent? Even in the short time I’ve known her, I believe her talent and heart will combine as one in her writing. The impact of her seeking spirit flows on the page. I fear she has never mourned her mother’s death. Maybe she is beginning to come out of the haze of her life’s tragedy. With no family to lean on, processing the loss has to be difficult. James rules over her with his iron-fisted control, which prevents her from healing. This poem speaks of a trapped soul—hers.

  I read the journal of poems and envision Harlow as a beautiful young woman with a stunning depth of emotions, searching for who she is in the world. Trying to break out of what cards she has been dealt in life’s non-discriminating game. By fate, she was born to a single mother. From the looks of her clothes, they didn’t have too many pennies to spare.

  She needs time to spread her wings and find her passions, because they are lying dormant and untapped inside her. She writes prose that works my emotions. A talent one inherits as a gift. With the proper education, she could become a true writer. Who knows where her gifts could take her. If she stays here, locked away under James’ suffocating hold, she’ll wither away before she turns twenty-five.

  I think of New York City and the writer friends I’ve seen thrive there. The city fosters writing by breeding stories and dreams. It’s like the streets can talk. If I bring her back home with me, she could enter college and work on her talents. The thought is fleeting and impossible, but I can’t shake the idea.

  I close my eyes at the thought and picture Harlow a few years from now. I see her carrying a sad heaviness on her angelic face like she is aimlessly living her life. Something inside me twists knowing her fate might even be worse. Without a dream and future, I fear this beautiful, poetic side of her will die.

  I set the book aside and crawl under the soft white covers of the bed. Somehow, my mind frees itself from the day’s worries about Harlow, but my dreams are filled with her.

  Before I wake up, I’m dreaming of a burning house. Smoke clouds the dark night, but flames leap from a second story window. I hear a woman screaming and on instinct, I run inside to follow the sound.

  Once I plunge through the smoke in the dark foyer, I see Harlow lying crumpled on the floor of a metal barred cage.

  “Harlow, I’m here!” I shout as the wood crackles and snaps while being consumed by the fire.

  I crouch down to breath cleaner air and rattle the cage’s door to open it. It doesn’t move an inch. I glance up and see a closed padlock guarding the door. I grab a hold of the lock and pull, hoping it comes free, but it stays locked like a vault. Adrenaline and fear pump through my body. I have no idea how to save her.

  “Help me, Sin,” Harlow cries out in my dream. She coughs between desperate gasps for air. Time presses me to rescue her, but how do I break through the metal and save her?

  My friend Bentley would know how to pick the lock. His family has owned a safe and lock company for generations. He is the heir to the multi-national corporation, but he is likely fucking some random pick-up in my apartment.

  “Do you have any idea where the key is?” I reach through the bars and bring Harlow close to me. Her body appears limp and her eyes are starting to flutter. I have seconds before she goes unconscious in my hands.

  “You,” she mumbles, “have the key.” Her eyes shutter closed. I lift my head and yell into the smoky air. She’ll die if I don’t get her out of this cage. Hell, we’ll both die, because I’ll never leave her.

  I dig into my pocket to pull out a keychain. The only thing I feel is a long piece of metal. I bring it into view and realize it’s a skeleton key—perfect for a padlock.

  I lay Harlow back down on the floor and release her. I scoot toward the lock and place the key inside the hole. After a few turns, it springs open and I reach inside the cage to drag Harlow from the smoke and flames.

  I carry her outside and collapse on the damp grass. The coolness soothes away the heat from my skin. I move a piece of golden hair from Harlow’s face and will her to wake up. Her eyes flutter like before, and then she opens them wide to stare right into my mine. Her intense gaze brings me some relief.

  “You’re okay?”

  “Yes, because you saved me.” I bury my head in her golden spun hair as my body racks with violent shivers. I could have lost her, but she’s safe now. I draw her closer into me as a lone tear trickles down my cheek.

  “Harlow.” I lift my head to see James standing in front of me, shouting. His eyes are like the flames burning the house—angry and consuming.

  I continue to hold Harlow under the scrutiny of his evil stare. Then, I hear distant sirens in the night air …

  I awake to the sound of the alarm on my phone wailing from the nightstand. My heart races and I can almost smell the stench of smoke in the air. A clammy sweat breaks out over my body and I try to tell myself it was just a silly dream. I get up from the bed, shuffle into the bathroom, and glance at myself in the mirror.

  I look like shit. My eyes are bloodshot and dark circles mar the skin underneath. I splash some cold water on my face in hopes of reviving myself. It helps some, but I can’t shake that damn dream. Deep down inside, I believe Harlow lives in a cage and her world is about to burn down around her.

  Leaving James needs to be her choice alone. She has been bullied enough by a man. I want her to own her future, and that starts with owning the decision to walk out of James’ door. All she has to do is ask me, and I’m there for her. I’m hers. Hers. I’ve never allowed any woman to own this much of my heart before.

  In the dream, I was willing to give up my life for her. Risk it all because she was worth it. Now, I need to convince her she is.

  The house seems so quiet this morning. I’m used to the horns and traffic from the streets below my apartment in Manhattan, so the silence seems strange. I pad over to the window and see the sun shining on fields for miles. There’s nothing but a red barn on the skyline. I’m far away from the bright lights and tall buildings of the big city.

  After a quick shower to help me wake up, I run through emails and texts on my phone. Bentley sent me a s
hot of him with some silicone-enhanced brunette as they sat on my couch. My dream likely pegged what he did last night. At least they were clothed when he snapped the pic. Bets are their clothes came off later.

  Next is a text from my sweet and persistent grandmother. Nina wants me to call her this morning. I can’t remember the last time she texted, so I push her number to see what she wants.

  “Sinclair,” she says, an edge to her voice—one that tells me she needs to discuss more than the weather.

  “Good morning, Grandma. Everything okay?” I decide not to bait her. She has a way of getting to the point without direction.

  “I don’t have any patience, as you know, and wanted you to tell me how things are with James. You’ve met his fiancée, right?”

  I exhale a deep breath and try to think of what to say. Nina always sees through me, so I might as well tell her the truth, no matter how ugly.

  “Oh, is it that bad?” she asks.

  “Why do you say that?” I sit on the bed and pull my fingers through my wet hair. This isn’t going to be easy and I’m putting off the evitable.

  “You sighed into the phone and went silent. I knew she was bad news.” I can imagine her eyes squinting in disgust, but she’s so far off base in her judgment. James is the disgusting one. But how do I tell her that?

  “This is hard, Grandma. Really hard. Has Uncle James ever brought a woman home to visit you?” I’ve never heard her mention James and a woman. She would talk only about his accomplishments at The Clinic. His personal life was never discussed. I have an idea why now.

  “No, but I don’t understand what this has to do with the trollop,” she huffs.

  “Harlow isn’t like that at all. Sure, she’s really young, but she’s also really sweet and kind—the furthest thing from a gold-digger. They met at the hospital the night her mother was murdered. He came to her. She didn’t seek him out.”

  “I don’t understand. Her mother was killed? But what does this have to do with James?” I hear her frustration and I wish I knew the answer, too.

  “I don’t know yet. But please keep your mind open. I have to be honest. Uncle James is very controlling and possessive.” I skip the parts where he crosses the border into completely crazy by hardly ever letting her leave the house. I also fail to mention that I’ve encouraged Harlow to leave James.

  Nina sighs into the phone. “I thought he was over this.”

  “Over what?” I stand up and start pacing across the bedroom.

  “He had fixations,” Nina whispers.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “There were two girls—one when he was in high school and another while he was at Harvard. He became overly attached to them. Obsessed, really. He felt they needed saving and decided he was their savior, whether they wanted or needed his help. He basically smothered them with his attention. He was out of control and I couldn’t reason with him. No one could.”

  “Damn. What about the years since? How did he stop?” Or did he?

  “We found help for him with one of the best therapists in New York City. As far as I know, he hasn’t had a problem since. Are you sure about this, Sinclair?” Her question is filled with worry and a hopeful denial.

  “Let me figure out a few things, but I don’t like what I’ve seen so far. Harlow’s entire life stopped the day her mother was killed. I don’t think she’s recovered from her death and James controls her every move. You mentioned he smothered the other girls and wanted to save them. I see the same scenario unfolding here. Plus, I think Harlow is starting to break under the strain of it all. He pretty much has her locked up inside his estate. It’s no way for anyone to live.”

  “I thought going into medicine and saving people would give him an outlet for his issues.”

  “He’s not fixing Harlow. He’s killing the best part of her. If she stays here and marries him, she will become his version of her.” I tighten my grip on the phone.

  “Do you need me to come to Rochester?” Nina asks.

  “Not now, but tell me about the others. The one from college? How did that end?”

  “With a threat of a restraining order. The young woman dropped out of Harvard in fear of James’ obsession. James agreed to three months of inpatient counseling during the summer of that year. After all these years and no other incidents, I thought he was cured.”

  I hate to say what I’m thinking to my grandmother, because it will dash any hope she has that her son overcame his obsessive behavior, but she needs to know what I’m seeing on the ground, and the picture isn’t pretty. It’s fucked up and twisted.

  “I believe he found someone vulnerable he could control and make his own little toy.” Nina has to be cringing on the other end. It’s a harsh word, but I believe it fits. She’s his toy—a beautiful, blond doll he possesses. “She has no one now that her mother is gone. No family at all.”

  “Do what you can to help this poor young woman. I’ll deal with James later. She needs to break off the marriage and leave him.”

  Nina’s command makes my purpose in Rochester crystal clear. Screw the clerkship. I am really here to free Harlow from this house, just like I did in my dream.

  Chapter Twenty

  Harlow

  James pulls his car up to the valet station at the country club. I apply one more layer of lipstick at his request. Once I meet his approval, I plaster on a fake smile to perform the task at hand: keeping him from suspecting I’m leaving him tomorrow. I glance down at the tennis bracelet on my wrist and bite back a laugh. Diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.

  Today, I will smile and nod in approval like I always do; be his perfect little fiancée deferring to her better half. The valet opens my door and I swing my legs out. Taking James’ extended hand, I rise from my seat.

  The show’s on … but I have a surprise.

  “Oh, James …” I speak his name like he owns my next breath in hopes it will soften my next words, “when I saw Emma yesterday, I invited her to brunch. I forgot all about it until now.”

  “What?” James stops and pulls my hand with a short tug. I glance up and see him gritting his teeth through a smile as fake as mine. “You plan on her sitting at our table?”

  “Well, that would be the plan since I invited her. I wanted her to meet Sin.” The lie tumbles from my tongue.

  “That’s a good idea. I guess it can’t hurt. She might give him a good time while he’s here.” James laughs at his slight of Emma.

  I have to admit, the mention of Sin and Emma together, even if it never happens, gives me a heart-tugging sadness. I wish I could take back my words, but they seem to have appeased James.

  “Emma is my best friend. I want you to get to know her better.”

  “I think I know her type very well,” he says. I am under no illusion that James played the field before me. If I’m being honest with myself, I wonder if he still might. That perfume on his shirt last night comes to my mind. I have seen nurses batting their lashes at him; even the wives of some of the other doctors on staff seem interested in him … or what’s in his pants.

  Today, my lying rivals the best con man alive, and I’ve never been able to lie to anyone before with any success. My mother used to tell me she never had to worry that I was hiding anything from her. Today, however, I’m working on desperation, and there will be many more lies slipping from my tongue before I leave James tomorrow. Rationalizing my deceit comes easy. Each lie will get me farther away from him.

  James and I are standing under the outside portico when I notice Sin leaving the parking lot. Sin parked his borrowed car instead of using the valet, something James would never do. I still can’t believe he let Sin drive “his baby.” I am forbidden to even get behind the wheel.

  I missed seeing Sin this morning. He left the house before I got out of bed. He told James he had to pick something up at the store before brunch and I tried to hide my disappointment. James asked why I had such a long face and frown. I said it was the same head
ache from last night. I still can’t believe he bought my excuse. I haven’t planned how I will escape his pawing hands tonight, though. I pray he gets called in for surgery at The Clinic, then his hands will be far away from me and I can work on my escape. Crazy how it sounds like I’m a prisoner breaking out of jail.

  As Sin draws closer, my heart skips a beat. I watch his muscles flex and pull like I did when he walked toward me at the airport. He looks like he strode straight out of a glossy designer ad in a magazine. He owns the air surrounding him and everything in sight fades away.

  I want to wave and call to him as he approaches, but James would disapprove of me showing Sin that type of attention. Instead, I bite my lip and hold my hand tight by my side.

  Sin pushes his Ray-Ban’s to sit on top of his head and our eyes connect. The sadness inside me melts away when his face lights up with a smile intended just for me—or so I tell myself. It is surely not one meant for James.

  “Good morning, Harlow.” Sin gives me a phantom air kiss. “Nod if you’re doing okay,” he whispers against my ear before pulling away. I catch a blast of his woodsy leather scent. His smile, scent, and nearness centers me. I am going to be okay in a day, so I nod back at him. His smile brightens and I sense his relief.

  Knowing our time together is coming to a close saddens me, but if Sin hadn’t come to Rochester, I might never have found the courage to leave James. His presence has shaken me awake.

  “Find the store okay?” James asks as we all turn and head inside the lobby.

  “Yes. I found it and everything I needed.” Sin shoots me a sly wink and I knit my brows. The devilish twinkle in his eyes tells me he’s up to something. He winks at me again and I can’t help laughing quietly to myself. I am really going to miss him and his assuring way. We have become fast friends.

  “Emma’s here,” I say to both James and Sin. “Over by the hostess.” All eyes follow mine and Emma notices us looking at her. She waves her hand, but stops in midair.

  Her mouth falls open as her gaze lands on Sin, and it is just as I thought. She finds him as drop dead gorgeous as I do. I’m afraid to look at him and see his reaction to her. I don’t think I could bear him returning the same attraction, even if she is my best friend. But I have no claim on him other than this horrible pain in my chest when I think of them together.