by W Winters
“Why does everything get worse and worse?” I ask her the rhetorical question, knowing I’m simply procrastinating and being a downer all the while. A thread comes loose on my chenille throw from my picking and I scrunch up my nose then put my hands under the blanket, resting them in my lap instead. Dammit. I love this blanket.
“What’s going on? You’re scaring me,” Bethany replies in a single exhale.
My right hand travels to my stomach as another bolt of lightning illuminates the night.
With my lips parted and my eyes closed, I think of how I should tell her. It’s so much to reveal. My heart. The pregnancy. How far along the pregnancy is.
An inhale, long and deep is what I give her, unable to tell her on the phone.
Why did I call, then? And when did I become such a chickenshit?
“Do you need me to come to you? I can call Cindy in.” Her tone drops, becoming humorous as she adds, “I want to pay that bitch back anyway.” A snicker leaves me.
“I… no. It’s okay. I only needed to hear your voice. Guess I’m feeling a little bit lonely is all.” Chickenshit, chickenshit, chickenshit. Although there is some truth to my statement. I feel very much alone right now.
“I can come right now, no questions asked.” She would too. I know she would. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has dropped everything to help the other. Although in the past it’s been because of her sister, or my unfortunate choice in men or alcohol, or both.
That’s when the realization occurs. I have Bethany at the very least.
I always knew I could never really have Seth and if this is the last of it, of us, at least I have Bethany and so does this little one.
I should probably tell her about said little one before something bad happens.
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
She heaves in a breath that sounds more like a sigh and says, “All right then. You should know I’m planning on passing the hell out when I leave here at five.”
“Par for the course.” I smile as I respond then take a sip of now lukewarm tea that doesn’t do anything to soothe the ache in my soul.
“Love you,” she tells me and I tell her I love her back.
I’ll go to sleep and ignore these feelings. Tomorrow, when the sun is up and I’m able, I’ll go to the doctor’s and I’ll take it from there. That’s all I can do right now anyway.
Seth
* * *
My father always told me to trust my gut. He said there’s something about humanity that tries to make us hide our baser instincts, but it’s those instincts that keep us alive. Right now, I feel sick. I feel like something awful has happened. It’s a hollowness in my chest. Not when I think about Marcus though, and not while Declan talks to me on the way to the corner store to meet with Walsh.
I may be headed to my death right now, but that doesn’t affect me in the least.
It’s when I look down at my phone and see Laura hasn’t texted me back. That’s when I feel like something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I know something’s wrong.
I try to convince myself that she’s sleeping, but my gut tells me I’m a liar. There’s something very wrong. The seatbelt across my chest feels tighter now and I can’t get comfortable in this seat. She was fine when I left. I know she was fine, better than fine, even. Maybe worried but she always worries and this is the end to that.
The bright light from my phone pierces the darkness in the cab of Declan’s car, getting his attention.
Love you, Babygirl. That was sent two hours ago.
“You all right?” Declan questions, turning down the radio station that was already barely on to begin with.
“Fine, just give me a minute.” Thump, thump, something’s wrong. I can feel it.
A quick call to the security team confirms she’s inside the house, safe and sound.
“You sure?” I question Dominic and his confident voice reassures me she’s inside, with no signs of distress. “Do you want me to go inside and check?” he asks and I tell him no. “Thank you,” I say then hang up the phone. She was awake when I sent the text. They confirmed it.
The concerned exhale that leaves me gets an unsure look from Declan. With a fresh shave and a now empty orange energy drink that I can smell from here even though it’s sitting in the console, he’s wide awake and alert. “What’s going on?”
I don’t have an answer to his question.
Maybe it’s just that I’m not ready to be a father. Maybe that’s why I get this feeling every time I’ve thought about her tonight. Maybe I’m not used to telling her I love her and not hearing it back. There’s some fucking karma for me.
“She’s okay, right?” he questions as he readjusts his grip on the wheel. The motion is what I focus on as I shove the unwanted feelings aside.
“Yeah, Dominic said she’s inside still and from what they can tell she’s sleeping.” She probably didn’t see it, I lie to myself. She always checks her phone and plugs it in right before bed. Always. Laura is a creature of habit.
“Are you having second thoughts about this meet with Marcus?” he asks me as we roll by the Rockford Center, the large building and parking lot lit up while everything else has closed down this late at night.
The black leather under my ass groans as I readjust in my seat, staring out the window and listening to the rain beating against the car. The windshield wipers slide back and forth, clearing the way for more battering.
“No, no second thoughts. We need to end this and see what the hell he wants.”
“It pisses me off. For months we’ve been trying to get in touch with him and no response. Then this?” It’s quiet in the car as I stare at him, his anger attempting to disguise his concern. “If we had more time, we could go through the transcripts of their letters and have the upper hand.”
The feeling vanishes at the mention of the letters. And just like that, my phone vibrates in my hand. I love you too. Come home as soon as you can.
She adds a moment later: And in one piece.
I may make her heart skip, but she does something to mine too. There’s a sense of warmth and calm that hits me every time she says she loves me. I think it’s because my heart knows she’s telling the truth. She really does love me.
It’s a fucking miracle that she does. An unjust one at that, but I’ll greedily take it.
That stir of anxiousness leaves me instantly. She’s all right. We’re all right. Damn, when did I become so insecure and self-conscious? Oh yeah, the second she told me I’m going to be a father.
“Guessing your fight is over?” Declan asks, the cocky smirk on his face revealed easily via the light of my phone in the dark night.
“We weren’t fighting.”
“Whatever you say, King.” Declan uses my last name when he replies, which is something he doesn’t usually do. I notice it, but I don’t know what to make of it.
He hasn’t called me King in years.
I note how easy it is to shift my focus back to the point of this drive and tonight. Knowing Laura’s all right, I can put everything into this meet with Marcus.
Declan’s at ease, well as much as he can be. Letting the anger dissipate, he drives with one hand now as we pass the police station. Like the Rockford Center, it’s brightly lit, a beacon in the barren streets.
Declan gives me yet another reason we should push off the meet. “We still haven’t decoded all the letters.”
“I bet that’s why he wants to meet tonight, so we don’t have time to figure out what they’ve been talking about,” I comment, bringing the conversation back to Marcus, to the point of tonight’s venture. It’s far too calm now as we drive straight into the eye of the storm that is Marcus.
“That would make sense, which means technically, we do have the upper hand.”
“Possibly,” I say, correcting him. Absently, I tap my knuckles against the window, thinking back to every piece of information I was able to gather in the letters Walsh and Marcus wrote t
o each other.
“I wish they hadn’t written the notes in fucking code,” I mutter, pissed that it couldn’t be as easy as simply reading them. Although there are literally hundreds of them, dating back for over a decade.
Declan’s huff of a laugh lacks all sense of humor. “Tell me about it,” he comments offhandedly, lowering his head slightly as he makes a left at the light.
“We know Marcus taunted Walsh at first but then they shared an interest in something.”
“In what?” I question, wanting every piece of information. Declan had more time than I did to scour the letters. I only got a briefing and not a damn bit of it makes me feel prepared for what’s to come.
“Killing a man who deserved it.”
I swallow thickly, nodding. Marcus has always played a part in who lives and who dies in this town. Even Carter acknowledges that. The Cross brothers were never on Marcus’s radar; the two men never had a problem that stirred between them.
That changed when Carter took Aria. That much is clear in the letters as well.
“Walsh said Marcus could have him.” Declan’s comment brings my attention back to him rather than what Marcus wrote about Carter.
“Who?”
“The man they agreed needed to die. It was a case, Walsh’s case and he gave Marcus the green light to murder. That’s when their friendship began and the letters came in more frequently.”
“Right.” I wonder if that’s why Marcus wants Walsh there. “Maybe they’re closer than we previously thought.”
“Walsh said Marcus was an angel of death, a serial killer deciding who would live and die based on what they deserved.”
“Do we trust what Walsh says?” I question Declan, who pauses. The windshield wipers are the only sound I can hear as we wait at the last red light.
“He’s not wrong. He hasn’t lied to us yet either.”
“That we know of. But he’s sure as shit held back.”
“All I know is if Marcus is our moral compass, we’re fucked,” Declan comments.
“We take the train to the warehouse together. We take two trains back separately when we leave.”
“At least your train is first,” Declan says.
Nervousness pricks along my skin as I tap my thumb on my knee. This is it. An end to all this bullshit between Marcus and us. It fucking better be.
I have a child coming. A life I want to live. All this bullshit has to stop or else I know it will end the same as last time. I can already picture her leaving me. I will chase her to the ends of this world, but I won’t let the danger accompany me. I won’t let her be involved.
Marcus was wrong about Carter. He was wrong and he knows he was… it’s in the letters. So he can go back to playing God and leaving us to our own devices. Or else… as Carter said last night, there will be a war.
That can’t happen. Not again. I can’t let that happen again. If it does, I will lose her forever.
“You all good?” Declan asks me and it’s then that I realize we’re here at the train station. “Ready?”
He parks the car on the left side, the tracks in front of us and empty spaces all around us. The night train leaves in half an hour.
A half hour, a twenty-minute ride, and then… it’s the end of all this.
“Yeah,” I answer him, “I’m ready.”
Laura
It’s cold. I can’t get over how cold it is. It’s all-consuming, the freezing chill. My thoughts stay focused on it even as my surroundings come back to me. The stark white brick walls. The paint is so thick, like it’s been coated a hundred times. The light is dim, because it’s “lights out.” That’s right, I can’t sleep. Not with Jean in here with me.
Shivers run down my spine. It’s odd how I can’t even focus on her lying across from me in her orange uniform. The one that matches mine.
All I can think about is how cold it is; the thin blanket in the jail cell simply isn’t enough. Anxiety threads itself slowly through the thin fabric, followed by fear. So much fear. I can’t sleep because if I do… she’ll kill me. She’s going to kill me. I know she is but still, my eyes close. I can’t sleep, but terror grips me. Exhaustion keeps me still, fighting against the need to sit up so she knows I’m awake. So she won’t kill me. I can’t die. I want to live.
My eyes fly open, my heart galloping away at the sight of her. Taller, stronger, and more experienced in killing. Who was I to ever think I’d be a match? The terror is so encompassing that when she stands up, the blood dried around her neck and hands, I can’t move.
Run! I can’t. I can’t move.
All I can feel is the pounding in my chest and the frigid cold along my skin.
Scream! Fight! Do something! I can’t do anything, though. I could never outrun this. I was supposed to die a long time ago. I’m living on borrowed time.
My body’s practically paralyzed, everything is so still and I’m about to be a victim as she makes her way to me.
Even when she pulls out her pocketknife, smiling at me, I’m trapped in a body that refuses to move. Her little nickname for me nearly forces me to close my eyes. Sickness coils in my stomach. I hate her and everything she stands for.
I stay still, as still as can be. All the while she waves the knife at me, giddy and proud. I can’t move. I can’t scream. I’m only watching.
Seth. Seth, help me. I cry for him, even when I know he can’t hear me. He can’t save me here. Could he ever really save me? Wasn’t I supposed to be the one to save him… and I didn’t. I failed and now I’m going to die.
I’m alone. So alone. All I’ll ever be is alone.
Miraculously, my hand moves to my lower stomach.
Baby.
The soothing thought is only a word. I won’t be alone. Tears fall down my face and that’s when Jean smiles at me. You can’t keep him, she tells me, taunting me. You don’t deserve him.
Thump, thump. No! Adrenaline scorches my blood as it races through me, challenging the pounding of my heart.
Screaming. There’s so much screaming.
It’s all I can hear. My own voice screaming “no” as she closes the distance. But I still can’t move.
And then both of us scream as she plunges the knife into my belly with one swift motion.
* * *
I jolt awake from the horrible nightmare and nearly vomit instantly. Somehow, I manage to keep it down, although my body shudders. A cold sweat bathes every inch of my skin as I sit straight up, my gaze darting around the empty room. My trembling hand covers my mouth and goosebumps line my skin.
Breathe.
I do just that.
Lift your shirt. See? It’s okay. I go through the motions to prove it’s a nightmare. Even with the fear lingering in my every thought.
It’s only a nightmare.
It takes a long while for my heart to knock it off, and the fear to subside. Even longer to breathe normally.
Jean is dead. She’s long gone. She will never hurt me or my child. Never.
One hand is still clutching the sheet with a white-knuckled grip and the other is protectively laid over my stomach. The light that filters in beneath the door from the hallway is the only light I’ve got besides the clock on Seth’s nightstand. The digital numbers read 3:15.
One breath in and then another. It takes a moment to steady myself, but I do.
Blinking away the little bit of sleep I got, I finally notice that Seth isn’t home. He’s been gone too long. My first instinct is to check my phone and I’m glad I do. He texted me an hour ago saying that there was a delay. A few minutes later, he messaged that he hoped I was sleeping.
“I wish I were sleeping too,” I mumble, rubbing my tired eyes. My shoulders shake with a shiver that won’t quit. Sighing out the frustration, I rip off the covers and go to the bathroom to take my pills. Four of them, every morning, for my heart. And then a prenatal vitamin.
I’ve never taken so many pills in my life. It’s a bit early to take them, but there’s no way I’m
going back to sleep. Not after… that.
I wash my face and when I do, the vision of Jean comes back, only this time I’m saddened by it. By the memory of what happened and what I did. I suppose I’m not over the fact that I killed her. With the water still running, I lean my weight forward and rock slightly, gripping the porcelain sides of the sink.
I did what I had to do. And I can live with the nightmares if they’re my consequence. I accept it.
It isn’t the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. It isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me, murdering someone in cold blood—it’s not even the most frightening thing. If I just ignore it, the nightmares will go away. I nod at that conclusion. It’s true. I’ve been here before with worse terrors. This isn’t the most horrific thing that’s happened to me and it won’t be the last event of my life that gives me night terrors. Well… so long as I live long enough. A sarcastic chuckle comes paired with an eye roll.
I’m not giving up on my heart just yet.
I’m just not myself. Right now, I am not myself at all. But I’m okay. The baby’s okay.
My thoughts eventually give way to a whispered mantra. “The baby’s okay. The baby’s okay.” It’s the only thing I can repeat that calms me down. The adrenaline, the chills, the fear—it all means nothing because my baby is okay.
My gaze rises to the mirror, where dark circles under my eyes greet me.
I can’t stand to look at them or the redness gathering in the whites of my eyes. I can’t get back into bed either. Not with the nightmare still fresh over the sheets.
One look at the rumpled covers and I have to turn away before her voice hisses in my ear again.
I tell myself I’m just getting tea and then I’ll climb back in bed, but that doesn’t explain why I grab a thick sweatshirt and throw it on over my pajamas. I know my boots are at the door.
I was always a bad liar, even to myself.