Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  Finally, those eyes I believed I loved look into mine.

  “I know Tobias because he’s my … brother.”

  In my life, I have been hit, tied up, and held against my will. Had my skin cut open with a knife.

  And none of those compare to the pain that I’m feeling right now.

  Tobias is Jack’s brother.

  I am gutted.

  Like my stomach has been cut wide open with a blunt knife and my insides are spilling out all over the floor.

  I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to hold the hurt in. I’m afraid if I let go, it will start pouring out and never stop.

  I always thought it would be Tobias who finally finished me off.

  Turns out, it’s the brother who will do me in.

  With an invisible blade.

  “He’s your brother?” I don’t know how I manage to speak in this moment.

  “Yes.”

  The room tilts. The floor I’m standing on giving way beneath my feet.

  I catch hold of the door to keep myself up.

  Jack starts coming over to me.

  “Don’t come near me!” I cry, putting a hand up between us.

  He halts in his tracks, not coming any closer.

  I press the heel of the hand not currently holding me up to my forehead, trying to gather my racing thoughts.

  Lies. It was all lies. Every touch. Every word he said.

  Everything was a goddamn lie. And I fell for it, like the idiot I am.

  I just went in blindly. Trustingly. Letting my feelings for him lead me. I stopped listening to my own rules.

  I deserve everything that is happening to me right now.

  I stare across the room at him. “Ho-how … wh-why …” I don’t even know what I’m asking. What I actually want answers to.

  Does it really matter?

  No.

  He’s Tobias’s brother, and that is all I need to know.

  Which means, I need to get out of here. Away from him.

  My keys to my apartment are in my bag. As are my rape alarm and mace.

  Which is on the floor, next to the sofa. Behind where Jack is standing.

  Fuck.

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  He looks stunned. Like I’m the one who just dropped the mother of all bombs in here. “Of course not. No. I never could. Audrey—”

  “I’m leaving,” I cut him off before he can say any more. “I am going to walk past you and get my bag. And then I’m leaving.”

  “No. Audrey, please. We need to talk about this—”

  “No!” A burst of anger flies out of me. “What I need to do is get far away from you.”

  “You have to let me explain.”

  “I don’t need to do a single thing! Except for get out of here.”

  Jack stares at me for what feels like forever.

  I can see guilt in his eyes. But that guilt means nothing.

  Nothing.

  Because I know he would do it to me all over again. Use me again like he has been doing.

  He is only feeling guilty because he got caught.

  Jesus. How long would he have kept lying to me? Sleeping with me?

  I feel sick.

  Jack turns away from me and picks up my bag from the floor.

  I watch his every move, ready to attack or flee, whichever becomes necessary.

  He takes a couple of steps toward me. I tense up.

  Then, he stretches his arm out, holding my bag out to me.

  I swallow hard. Forcing my feet to move, I quickly step forward, getting only as close to him as necessary. The man I could never seem to get close enough to, and now, I want to be as far away from him as humanly possible.

  Reaching out, I snatch my bag from him and clutch it to my chest.

  “Audrey, we have to talk. This isn’t right. That picture—”

  “Stop talking!” I cry.

  I can feel my eyes filling with his betrayal.

  Heart pounding, I turn away from him, refusing to let him see my tears.

  I’ve already opened the door, and I’m walking through it when he says in a low voice, “I am sorry, Audrey. I never meant … for this.”

  I pause for a second, keeping my back to him.

  Then, I just slam the door on his words. So hard that the drywall rattles.

  Running to my apartment, I dig in my bag for my keys, blinking away the stupid tears threatening to fall.

  Finally, I find them and let myself in, and then I lock the door behind me, sliding all the dead bolts into place.

  I slump back against the door and then slide down it until my ass hits the floor. Bringing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them. Let my head fall to them.

  And I allow the tears to silently run down my legs.

  “Audrey.”

  The sound of Jack’s deep yet soft voice on the other side of my door jolts me awake.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but my ass is numb, my legs are stiff, and the tears I was crying have dried on my face.

  Even though everything aches, I don’t move, afraid he’ll hear me.

  I hear him sigh. It sounds sad.

  I hate that my heart reaches for him. Stupid, dumb heart.

  How can I still feel anything for him?

  I let myself be vulnerable with Jack. I showed him the worst part of me, and he betrayed me. In the worst possible way.

  “Audrey … I know you’re there.” His words are tentative. “I can hear you breathing through the door.”

  I instantly hold my breath even though it’s pointless because, like he said, he knows I’m here.

  “Look …” he exhales the word. “You don’t have to say anything … just listen to what I have to say. Please.”

  I say nothing.

  He must take my silence as my acceptance.

  It’s not that I want to listen to him. But moving from this spot doesn’t seem doable either.

  “I’m sorry I lied. No … that’s wrong. I’m not sorry. Because if I hadn’t lied, I would never have gotten to know you, and for that, I will never be sorry.”

  Tears start to pool in the corners of my eyes again.

  “But I am sorry for the way you found out. It should have come from me. And I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how. As time went on, it got …” Another sigh. “I knew I would lose you the moment I told you, and I wasn’t ready for that … I don’t know if I ever will be.” I hear his intake of breath. “Audrey … I need you to know that being with you … the way I feel about you … that was never a lie.”

  A tear runs down my face.

  “I came here … because …”

  Why, Jack? Why did you come here? Why did you do this to me? I was fine until you came here and turned my life upside down.

  Another sigh. “Toby didn’t kill those women, Audrey.”

  The way he calls him Toby. With familiarity.

  Because he is his family.

  His brother.

  The thought makes me feel violently sick.

  “It wasn’t him who hurt you that night. I know the evidence pointed his way … but I know my brother. It wasn’t him. And I came here … because you were here. I knew the real killer would follow you here. You were …”

  His reason for killing.

  He doesn’t say the words. He doesn’t have to.

  “An obsession like that doesn’t just stop overnight. I knew he would follow you here. I came … not expecting … you. It is true; I wanted to get close to you, become friendly, so I could … I don’t know. Get some insight. Find out who was in your life. See if anyone was watching you. Following you. I just didn’t fucking expect …”

  What, Jack?

  Another deep exhale. “You, Audrey. I didn’t expect you.”

  He sounds defeated.

  “I didn’t expect this between us. To feel the way I do every time I look at you … like … I …”

  Like you … what?

&nbs
p; Another sigh. I hear movement. A rustle. I can just imagine his hand dragging through his hair the way it does when he can’t find the words he wants to say.

  “For a guy whose words make him a living, I am doing a shitty job at expressing what I feel.” A sad-sounding laugh leaves him. “I’m crazy about you, Audrey. When I’m around you … I feel alive in a way I haven’t in a really long time. And I know I lied and that I am the last person you want to trust right now. But it’s the truth. How I feel about you.

  “And I didn’t put that picture in my wallet. I’m not the kind of guy who carries photos around in his wallet. And I’m also not that stupid. Forgive me for saying this, but I told you that I wasn’t ready for you to know who I was, and that was the reality of the situation. So, no way would I risk having anything that would cause you to find out.

  “When I came here, I brought nothing here with me to link me to Toby in any way. And I definitely did not put a printed-out newspaper photo in my wallet.

  “I know you don’t want to listen to me or hear what I’m saying, but you need to. Someone planted that picture there. Which means, whether you want to believe it or not, that I was right … the real killer is here, and he wants me gone. And that means, we’re both in danger.”

  I don’t know why I open the door.

  Maybe it’s because he said we’re in danger, and that has been a fear of mine. A worry of a copycat. Especially with the recent murders.

  Maybe I open it because something in the back of my brain wonders if what he said could have merit. He seemed really convincing when he said that he didn’t put the picture in his wallet. I would like to say that I know when Jack is lying, but clearly, I don’t.

  I never really knew him at all. Not even a little bit.

  But I’m also not dumb enough to not see the logic in what he’s saying about him not wanting me to know who he was, so why would he carry a picture there in his wallet? And then tell me to get the money out of it to pay for dinner?

  He could have forgotten.

  No. Jack is a lot of things. Mainly a liar. But a stupid man he is not.

  He was clever enough to find me and follow me here.

  Maybe I open the door because I have questions. Now that I’ve calmed a little, I have questions I need him to answer.

  I could have asked through the door.

  Or maybe I open the damn door because I’m in love with him. And people do blind, irresponsible shit when they’re in love. Even things that could get them killed.

  Jack is on his feet. Staring at me.

  I can’t even imagine what I look like right now.

  He looks wrung out. His hair is messed up from running his hands through it, I assume.

  But still beautiful.

  Always beautiful.

  I hate that.

  I hate him.

  And I hate even more that I don’t hate him, not really.

  “I’m sorry—” he starts in a soft voice.

  “Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice arctic. “I have questions. I want you to answer them.”

  “Anything,” he tells me, the look on his face earnest. Not that I can trust any way Jack looks anymore.

  “And I want the truth,” I add. “All of it.”

  “Everything I have told you from the moment I met you has been the truth. Except for Tobias. Keeping who he is to me, that is the only thing I have ever held back from you.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, needing to stop my heart from reaching out to him. My idiot, traitorous heart.

  “And your ex-girlfriend.” The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them. And it’s a damn stupid thing to say at such a serious time as this.

  Jack frowns. “What ex-girlfriend?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What ex-girlfriend, Audrey?” His voice is firmer.

  I shift on my feet. “The friend in Australia. You were weird every time you mentioned him, so I figured it was an ex.” An important ex-girlfriend.

  His expression shifts to guilt again. I feel like I’m going to get used to seeing this expression. “I was talking about Toby. He was the one who sent my manuscript off. When I said it, I knew I had dug myself into a hole, so I panicked and just said it was an old friend.”

  I think back to that moment in the restaurant, and it all makes sense.

  There I was, feeling this pathetic jealousy, thinking it was an ex-girlfriend, and he was actually talking about his brother. The man who is in prison for stalking, kidnapping, and physically assaulting me. Oh, and also murdering multiple women.

  I feel sick again.

  I turn from him and walk into the kitchen. I get a bottle of water from the fridge and gulp some down. I don’t bother to offer him a drink.

  I’m not exactly feeling hospitable at the moment.

  I look over at him. He’s still standing in the open doorway.

  “You can come in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We can’t exactly have this conversation with the door open for the neighbors to hear. I’m sure they have heard enough already.”

  “I just want you to feel comfortable. Safe.”

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  He holds my eyes. “No.”

  “Then, come in and close the door. But just so you know, I have a rape alarm and mace in my bag. And a drawer full of kitchen utensils that can serve as weapons.”

  Jack leans back against the door he just closed. “Noted. You’ve also got a mean right hook, if I remember right.”

  His lips lift into a small smile, but I am in no mood to take a stroll down memory lane with him right now.

  “You said you had questions …” he prompts when I don’t say anything.

  I do have questions, but trying to gather them up and get them in any sort of order is feeling impossible right now.

  “So, you know my surname isn’t actually Hayes? That it’s Irwin.” I start with something small. I can work my way up to the big stuff.

  Jack nods in response.

  “And am I right in assuming that your real surname is Ripley, not Canti?”

  “No. It is Canti. When I said that I only kept that Toby is my brother from you, that was the truth. Toby and I have different fathers. That’s why we have different surnames.”

  I guess that’s why I don’t see a similarity between them. Not that all siblings necessarily look the same. Cole and I don’t.

  “My mom and dad divorced when I was a kid,” he explains. “And Toby’s dad was an asshole. He ran off when Tobias was a few weeks old. I was eleven when he was born. I pretty much helped my mom raise him.”

  “So, the small part of your past that you gave to me, that was all true. The military. The writing.”

  “Yes. And you weren’t exactly forthcoming on your past either, Audrey.”

  “And now, I know why you didn’t push the issue.” I laugh humorlessly. “And there I was, thinking you just weren’t a pushy guy.”

  Jack says nothing. There’s just that guilt lining his eyes, which has been there since I found that damn photograph.

  “Why did I not recognize you? I knew your mom from the trial. You weren’t there. I would have remembered.”

  “The military wouldn’t let me leave to come home for the trial. When your brother’s on trial for murder and kidnapping, they don’t look upon that favorably to give you time off.”

  “Don’t forget stalking and assault,” I add bitterly. I absentmindedly press my hand to my scars.

  “It wasn’t him, Audrey,” he says the words softly.

  “The evidence said otherwise.”

  “Audrey—”

  “The jury of twelve men and women all found him guilty.”

  “And not a single drop of DNA matched his.”

  “So, he was careful. A lot of killers are.”

  Jack sighs and drags his hand through his hair. “My brother is not careful. He’s not clean. I spent the best part of my life getting that kid to s
hower. So, to say he would keep a crime scene spotless is a stretch.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s stretching. You were away in the military. People change.”

  “Toby didn’t.”

  “What about the evidence found in his bedroom at your mother’s house? The trinkets he stole from the victims? The knife he used on them … me?”

  “Planted.”

  “By who? Why would someone frame him? Come on, Jack. You seriously want to sell to me that it wasn’t Tobias? That some other person murdered these women? Stalked me? Kidnapped me? And then framed Tobias? Then, tell me who. Give me a reason.”

  He holds my eyes. “I don’t have one. I don’t know who the killer is. I just know that Toby is innocent.”

  “I think you want to believe he is.”

  He shakes his head. “I know it wasn’t him. He is not a killer.”

  “We never really know anyone.” I give him a pointed look.

  “True. But I watched my brother save a bird from the neighbor’s cat a year before the murders started. He nursed it back to health. Jesus, when he was five, I sat with him while he cried himself to sleep after he accidentally killed a butterfly.”

  I pause at his words.

  “A man who does that would not kill animals and leave them on your doorstep, and he most definitely would not kill another human being.”

  “I … that means nothing.”

  “I spoke to him that night. The night you were taken. On the phone.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It was the home phone. I called, he answered, and I spoke to him for eleven minutes.”

  “What you’re saying right now proves nothing!” I fire back at him.

  “I have proof, Audrey. I can show you the call log from the phone company.”

  “They would have said in the trial …”

  “It was dismissed as evidence. Yes, the call logs show a call was made to my mother’s house. That it connected and that I spoke to someone for eleven minutes—right in the middle of the time you were being held—but it doesn’t prove who I was talking to.”

  “You could have been talking to your mother.”

  “But I wasn’t. She was sleeping. She was sick in bed.”

  I know this. It was all said at trial. But nothing about the phone call.

  “I am telling you, Audrey. I spoke to him that night. He was home. He wasn’t there with you.”