by P. J. Vernon
A moaning trickled from Matthew’s lips like a dripping faucet. I cringed at the sound. No matter who he was or what he’d done, a sudden compassion swept over me. I fought back a primal urge to put him out of his misery. Instead, I focused on survival. Matthew might be the only person I saw, but we weren’t alone. She was here, too.
“Gray?” I called out to the house. No point in keeping quiet. She must’ve heard my car pull up. From nearly any window, she’d have seen me driving for a mile. “Gray, are you here? It’s Nina.”
No answer.
Matthew ceased moaning. Hearing Gray’s name seemed to silence him.
“Gray, I know you’re here.” I cast another glance Matthew’s way. The blood appeared to be coming from injuries on both thighs and a cut to the cheek. “We need to talk.”
A sudden noise rang out behind me. My shoulders jumped, and I turned. The grandfather clock chimed for the quarter-hour. I exhaled and breathed deeply. “Gray, please talk to me.”
Nearly to the stairs, I froze. A thought crossed my mind, and my stomach tightened. Perhaps Gray isn’t here.
As fear inched up my spine, I did my best to call out clearly. “Annie?”
The ceiling creaked, suggesting footsteps in the room above me. If I remembered correctly, Gray’s room. The steps traveled to the top of the staircase.
The landing mirror halfway up the stairs had been smashed. Shards lay strewn around its base, leaving only sharp pieces jutting from its frame. A pair of legs reflected in its jagged teeth as they came down the stairs one slow step at a time.
Her face came next. Her knuckles bled.
“Annie?” I asked once more as Gray—no, Annie—paced closer towards me. Her hands appeared to be empty, but I trained my gun on her.
“You found me.” She caressed Matthew’s shoulder as she brushed by him.
Her touch thawed his shock. Voice cracking, he shouted, “She’s got a knife!”
I squeezed my gun’s grip tighter. “Then it’s you? It’s Annie?” Time was the one thing I desperately needed. I’d stall for as much as I could get. Liar or not, playing along with Gray was my best bet.
“It is.” Her voice assumed an altogether different tone. If Gray was acting, she was damn good. “Who spilled the beans? Mary-Ann? She’s the only one I’ve ever spoken to. But that was when I was younger. Before I knew better. Before I had a plan.”
“That’s not true,” I countered. She paused mid-step. “The pictures you sent to yourself … to Gray. You’ve spoken to Paul. Been intimate with him.”
She cracked a grin. It turned my stomach. “Mary-Ann was the only one who ever knew she was speaking to me,” she corrected. “Paul thought he’d lucked out in the bedroom. That quiet, demure Gray was secretly a woman of fetish.” Her eyes glowed like lit candles. “I guess he figured she owed him at least that much. Drunk in the streets, freak in the sheets.”
A lump rose in my throat. She took another step closer. I took aim squarely at her chest.
“Stop there,” I ordered. “Don’t move.” Halfway between myself and Matthew, she halted.
“No, Paul never knew about me.” She shook her head, that grin still plastered across her darkened face. “Not even at the end. He needed to think Gray did it. To know Gray had killed him. Hurt more that way.” She tensed her jaw.
A single car braked outside. Then the clamor of doors opening and shutting. Frantic voices. Joanna asking why the front door was open. The housekeeper, too. The women walked into the foyer together. Cora unleashed a horrid scream.
My eyes focused on Annie, I steadied my voice. “Go back outside, Joanna. Take Cora. Go back outside, and let me speak with your daughter.”
“Gray? What in Jesus’ name? What’s happened?” Joanna cried. “Charlotte called frightened to death. She met us in town and grabbed those boys. On her way back to Raleigh by now.” She gasped, likely spying a bound Matthew over my shoulder. “What in…?”
“Aunt Joanna,” Matthew hollered. “Talk to her! Talk to Gray!”
“Go,” I shouted. “Ambulance is on the way.”
Cora turned and leapt down the porch steps. Joanna remained in the foyer. I cursed under my breath. Why didn’t she ever listen?
“Gray,” Joanna spoke softly, standing shoulder to shoulder next to me. “Gray, listen to Nina. I don’t know what’s happened here, but—”
“Really?” Annie scoffed. “You can’t for the life of you piece it together? Any of it?” She looked wildly at Matthew, drenched in his own blood, then back at her mother.
Joanna choked. “I can.” Her composure buckled. “I can, Hummingbird … and I’m … I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Annie laughed. “You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry?”
Joanna’s trembling shoulder brushed mine as she took a step closer. “Hummingbird, please understand. I’ve made a mistake. I know I have, but—”
Gray whipped a knife out from her pocket. I jolted but stopped short of pulling my trigger. She staggered backwards to Matthew.
“Put down the knife, Annie!” I shouted as she brought it to Matthew’s throat.
“Please, Gray,” he moaned. “Please don’t.”
Joanna turned to me. “Annie? Why did you call her…” Her eyes widened and her bottom lip shook like the rest of her body. Casting grieved eyes back to her daughter, disbelief poured into her words. “Gray? You’re … you’re Annie?”
“That’s what happens when you don’t get your own daughter help, Joanna,” Annie called back. “That’s what fucking happens when you cover it up, when you lie. When you bury it!”
“It festers, Joanna,” Annie continued. “It festers and rots and it never goes away.” She pressed the sharp edge of her knife deeper into Matthew’s throat. A tiny crimson droplet fell to his collar. “It only gets worse. It gets … infected.”
“Don’t do it, Annie. Don’t make me shoot you,” I pleaded.
“Tell them, Matthew,” Annie ordered. “Tell them what you did.”
As he mumbled, saliva bubbled from between his trembling lips.
“Tell them how you betrayed Gray!” Annie screamed, rattling the room.
“I … I touched her,” he whimpered. The knife pressed deeper into his throat. “I raped Gray. When we were younger, and I’m … I’m sorry…”
The fury on Annie’s face evolved into something else. Something like amusement. “You know, Matthew,” she started, eyes still locked on mine. “If I recall correctly, Gray wasn’t the only one down in that cellar.” Her voice hardened, cemented in hate. “Gray wasn’t the only one who saw the Devil that day.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You saw the Devil, too, didn’t you, Matthew?” Annie asked, knife still pressed against the swollen artery inside his neck. “Did you see the Devil? Did you look him in the eyes?”
Matthew shuddered, mouth hung halfway open.
“Did you see him?”
“Yeah … yes,” he coughed.
“Tell me!”
“I—I saw the Devil.”
“Then what does that make you? What does that make you, Matthew?”
“It makes me—It makes me a…” His voice dwindled to a whisper. “A bad…”
“Tell everyone what it makes you,” Annie hissed. “Tell us all what seeing the Devil makes you. Tell everyone what you made me say! What are you, cousin?”
“I’m a … I’m a bad girl.”
“Louder!”
“I’m a bad girl,” Matthew screamed. His head fell limp, rolled downwards. He began to cry. To heave.
Joanna unraveled next to me. “I’ll get you help, Gray. I know you need it. I’ll get you the help we should’ve gotten you decades ago.” She sobbed uncontrollably now, too. Despite everything, her tears shocked me. “If I could take it back, I would. I regret it every day. Please believe me. No matter what happens, I’ll die knowing I’ve failed you.” She drew in a stuttered breath, clasped her hands together as if in prayer. Shaking them at her daughter, she begged, “I�
��ll die knowing I’m a failed mother, Gray.”
“I’m not fucking Gray,” Annie spat. Her eyes returned to mine. The contempt in them said time was running out. It wouldn’t be long before she put an end to it.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and tensed. Maybe Gray wasn’t the shameless liar Mary-Ann thought.
“This was always a suicide mission, wasn’t it?” I asked her, balancing my voice. “This was always your plan. Take down Paul, Matthew, then Gray.”
Her eyes danced around the room. I sensed the pressure building inside her. The frantic search for a next move. But there weren’t any more moves. She held a knife. I held a gun. But Annie could still win. She could take them both down. Matthew with a swift stab to the throat, prompting me to shoot her. Suicide by cop.
If I had to kill Annie, I’d kill Gray, too.
Silence swallowed the room. Pounding hearts and heaving breaths, the only sounds.
Annie raised the knife, lunged. Joanna screamed.
I fired.
* * *
The gunshot would’ve rang out across the marsh. Echoing through the tree line, bouncing from trunk to trunk. Sending flocks of birds scuttling into the air.
As I emerged from Piper Point’s darkness, I squinted at the setting sun. Police sirens wailed from the front yard. Red and blue lights flashed. Car doors opened and shut. Gun drawn by his side, Sammie’s eyes searched mine for an answer. I couldn’t give him one. A distant ambulance made its way down Atalaya Drive, followed by a fire truck. Uniformed officers rushed past me.
Sheriff Burton slammed his car door, bringing up the rear of the line. When he spotted me, he ran my way instead, yanking his sunglasses from his red face. “Nina, you are fucking finished in this town—”
“You knew.”
He stopped in his tracks, breathing heavy from the jog. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I spoke coolly, almost detached. “You knew about Matthew. And you sat on it because you were told to.”
Eyes narrowed, he stood in silence. He seemed afraid, too. For a flash, I wondered if he’d appeared the same way before Seamus King decades ago. He ran his hand over his face, as if to refocus himself. Then he made for the front door. The conversation was left unfinished. For now.
Behind where Burton had stood, a gaggle of sandpipers, the sort of bird the property was named for, perched motionless in the crabgrass a dozen yards or so from the commotion.
Countless pairs of beady, black eyes glowered at me.
Funny, I thought to myself. I’d discharged a weapon, and they hadn’t been startled off. Instead, they scowled at me—fearlessly—as though I was an intruder.
Unwelcome in their world.
Epilogue
Nina
Two months later
This particular March day was a hot one, even for South Carolina. Haze wafted off the asphalt, mocking the whole idea of four seasons. Wiping sweat from my brow, I turned the air conditioner higher. A vain attempt—it broke a couple weeks back—but I still fiddled with it out of habit.
What a day to wear black.
I drove somewhere in the middle of the convoy as it rolled through downtown Elizabeth. I hadn’t felt compelled to get closer to the front. I let everyone else fight over those coveted spots.
We drove by all the familiar sights. The sheriff’s office on Marion Avenue. The Dairy Queen—filled to capacity with folks fresh from Sunday sermons. The steepled church on Main Street, Blessed Lamb Baptist. Joanna King’s church.
We’d driven in a long line from the funeral home on the east side of town. The Elizabeth County Cemetery, our destination.
Before long, we reached the spiked iron gates that cordoned off the graveyard from the rest of Elizabeth, where the living still dwelled. Two motorcycle officers had dutifully escorted us. Now they waved the line of vehicles onto the grounds, flashers strobing in silence.
Pulling round the canvassed open grave, I parked and exited the car. Tugging at the hem of my dress, I drank in the crowd of mourners already gathered. Joanna King stood to one side in head-to-toe black. The parts of her face her wide-brimmed hat didn’t mask were obscured by enormous sunglasses.
Halfway to the graveside, I paused. I took a deep breath and then puffed out my cheeks. It was time.
Joanna glanced my way as I approached, then cast her covered eyes back to the gravestone. I followed her gaze to it. It looked better than I expected. Cleaner. Crisper. I read the name etched across it.
Matilda Beverly Palmer.
“Join me now in song,” Auntie’s pastor announced as the last attendees climbed the tiny slope to her casket. “‘Bridge Over Troubled Water.’ One of Tilda’s favorites.”
The pastor began to sing. Others joined him. Parting my lips, I whispered the lyrics to myself. As I sang, I thought of Auntie. Of her long life, of her cotton robe. The one I’d carefully tucked into a box at the top of my closet. Auntie smelled like home. Like love and warmth and perseverance. I’d treasure her scent on the cloth for as long as it lasted. Like hugs that were otherwise now impossible.
“I’m so sorry, Nina,” Joanna said, startling me. She’d slipped over as the funeral ended, and now stood next to me beside Auntie’s grave. The only other time we’d stood so close had been that day in Piper Point’s foyer.
“Thank you,” I replied, eyes straight ahead.
“She meant so much to the family, too,” she added.
“Did she?” I asked in a biting tone.
Joanna fell silent. Focused squarely on the casket, I sought to squash any anger towards her. Auntie’s funeral wasn’t the place for ill feelings. “How’s Gray doing?” I asked instead.
“The wound on her leg from … from the incident … is healing nicely. She’s on crutches now. No more wheeling about.” She lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “The doctors at the Charleston hospital seem to have found a combination of drugs that shows promise. There’s been no … you know.”
Joanna seemed to readily buy into the idea Gray and Annie really were two different people. But, it was too convenient for me. Still, I wasn’t privy to Gray’s psychiatrists’ conclusions and Joanna likely was. It certainly gave the Kings the deniability they craved.
“That’s good to hear. I plan to visit her in the next couple days.”
“She’ll really like that, I think.” Joanna smiled. “To be honest, we’re both anxious for the trial to begin. I’ve never been patient, but I know we have to get her better before any of that.”
“She won’t go to prison,” I replied. “She’ll stay in a hospital.” The irony of my words struck me. Here I stood at Auntie’s funeral, assuring Joanna her daughter would be okay. Maybe Gray wasn’t a liar, or maybe she was, but the truth was she’d never see the inside of a cell.
“Speaking of prison,” Joanna said, “are you close to charging Matthew? I understand Mary-Ann Conner agreed to testify.”
“Between that, the statement from Auntie, and, well, everything with Gray, there’s a case. A small one, but it’s there. Most importantly, his wife Ellen took Susannah with her to her parent’s home in Atlanta.” I hesitated. “I’ve also lodged a formal complaint against Sheriff Burton. You’ll get a call asking what you told the police that night years ago. And what your husband told Burton next. I’d appreciate honesty this time.”
Visibly relieved, Joanna exhaled. A pang of anger shot through me. The woman didn’t deserve relief. Not a single ounce.
“You’ve done something terrible, Joanna.” I said, evenly. “There’s no statute of limitations on child endangerment, either. If anyone else deserves to go to prison, it’s you.”
She drew in a deep breath, turned her head my way. Behind her sunglasses, I knew her eyes were tightly focused on mine. “Build your case, Detective Palmer. Then do as you see fit.”
I couldn’t tell if her remark was meant as a challenge or an actual invitation. I wondered if a part of her agreed with me. Knew she had crimes to pay for.
But then Joanna did what Joanna King always did best. She brushed past the uncomfortable—the unpleasant. She buried it deep beneath her Charleston drawl. “In the meantime, do me a favor, would you? I’ve made a banana pudding. It’s always been Gray’s favorite. You mind taking it to her when you visit?”
* * *
I rolled down my window as I crossed Charleston Harbor. The sea breeze stilled my mind. Gave me a sense of peace. The silver cables of the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge whisked by on both sides. The bridge was immense. One of the longest cable-stayed bridges in the Western Hemisphere, I’d read somewhere. A monument to modernity in a city frozen in time. A jarring contrast against a skyline unchanged since the nineteenth century. Like everything else in South Carolina, the scene came off as appropriately incongruous. A place that truly had no idea what it wanted to be.
Its namesake, Mr. Ravenel, had been a prominent politician, first in the state senate and then Congress, like Seamus King. A part of me wondered if the bridge might’ve born his name had things turned out differently for him. For Auntie Tilda. For Gray.
When I arrived at the university hospital downtown, an escort promptly ushered me to a secluded ward.
“Would you mind waiting for Mrs. Godfrey in here?” He asked.
“Of course,” I replied, gauging the space. Sparse, which I’d expected. A handful of cushioned chairs. Walls painted a soothing green. A large window overlooked the harbor and the colonial estates, all painted rainbow colors, that crowded around it. I sat Joanna’s casserole dish of banana pudding on the chair next to me.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Finally, the room’s only door opened, and Gray hobbled in, leaning on one crutch. The tiniest of smiles crossed her face.
Standing, I shook her free hand. “It’s great to see you, Gray. You look better. Much better.”
It wasn’t a polite lie; she did look much better. She wore comfortable sweats, and her hair was tied back into the same ponytail she always kept. But the bags under her eyes had vanished. The dark circles, paled. Her skin glowed—hydrated fully in the absence of alcohol.