by Fenton, Liz
“This isn’t your fault,” I say. “You are such a good person; you aren’t responsible. Like you said, your body was telling you what should happen. That’s all.”
She starts to bawl then and throws her arms around me. I hold her while she trembles against my shoulder. Her tears soak through my shirt. How can I tell her about Sam now when she’s already grieving this loss? I don’t know what to do. It seems callous to tell her in this moment, but if I don’t, she will find out when she looks at those pictures.
“Are you going to tell Sam?”
“No,” she says sharply and pulls away from me.
“Why not?” I ask, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watch her face change.
“He’s not a good husband, but you already know that, don’t you?”
“Carrie . . .”
“Let me guess. You were about to tell me.”
“I was.”
“You’ve been here an hour. You had so many chances. I led you down several paths.”
“I was afraid to hurt you.”
“Don’t you think it’s too late for that?”
I nod, the tears falling faster than I can wipe them away. “I’ve made so many mistakes. But what I’ve done to you is the very worst. And I know you won’t believe me, but I am so very sorry.”
Something flashes in her eyes. “Lila, you don’t get it, do you?”
I don’t respond, waiting for her to continue.
“You can’t wipe it all away with a sorry.”
“I know that,” I say.
“Nothing will undo what you’ve done.”
“I know that too.”
“You didn’t ruin my marriage. The truth is, Sam has never been that great a husband. And I kept thinking I could change him. So I wasn’t surprised by his behavior when I saw the photos of you kissing. I was shocked that you were involved. That you would betray me this way. You broke my heart. And it will take me a long time to put it back together again. But I will. It’s you that will have to live with what you’ve done to me. And I guess that will have to be your penance.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
FRIDAY
CAPTURED
Q snaps his head back and forth, his jaw tight. Looking at me. The camera. Then back at me again.
“Chase, or should I say Derrick?” I call out, my voice shaking slightly, remembering him and his brother, Quincy, as teenagers. “It took me a while, but I finally remembered.” I stare up at the blinking light and think back to the two teenage boys who sat next to their mom at the trial every day. Whose eyes I could barely meet when their dad was sentenced to thirty years in prison.
“I’m so sorry for what happened to your dad. But I did what I thought was right!” I look from Q to the camera and back again, crying in earnest now, the tears falling faster than I can wipe them.
Q—Quincy, I know now—is walking back and forth in front of me, seemingly lost in thought. He keeps wiping at his forehead, which must be sweating under his mask.
“Q, how long have you two planned this?” I calculate back—Chase has worked for me for two years. I flash to his interview—the way he already seemed to anticipate my needs. At the time I chalked it up to being earnest. But now I realize he’d already been studying me—his agenda already set. “I had no clue who you were. What you were capable of. That much is clear.”
I turn away toward the wall. The room is silent for several minutes, except for the sound of Q’s pacing. I lie there, my cheek flush against the concrete floor, rewinding and then fast-forwarding my time with Chase. He’s never shown an ounce of his festering rage, always seemingly on my side—looking out for my best interests. How had he done that—acted like nothing was wrong, all while planning his revenge? I’ve made a living determining what demons live inside people. And I was drawn to Chase because he seemed to have none of the internal complications that my clients and colleagues struggled with. It feels unfathomable that he could be responsible for what I’ve been through the past week. His dad’s case was one of my biggest failures. There is a part of me that understands his anger. His need for revenge.
The door creaks open a few minutes later, and I hear Q’s large feet loom, along with the smaller shuffle of someone else’s feet.
Chase.
I pull myself up and am face-to-face with my friend, kidnapper, and torturer.
“Derrick,” I say, his name rolling off my tongue awkwardly. To me, he is still Chase.
“Hello, Lila,” Chase says, touching his chest, blocking Q from view. “I used to be Derrick, but you already know that. I’m so glad you finally figured everything out. I’ve been dying to chat with you about everything!” He squats down to face me. “We have so much to catch up on,” he says and smiles wickedly. “All your dirty little secrets are out now, aren’t they?” He moves slightly, and now I can see Q. “Go ahead and remove her cuffs and bindings, so we can have a proper conversation,” Chase demands, and suddenly I can see him as the fourteen-year-old boy in that courtroom, looking stoic as he sat next to his mom. His features are more pronounced now, his nose larger, his eyes darker, but it’s clearly him. How had I not seen the resemblance before?
Q’s shoulders slump slightly, and he wrings his hands. His normal demeanor has all but vanished. “You sure, bro?” he asks, his tone much less confident than before. Deferential. Is he scared of his older brother?
“Yes, I’m sure. And take your mask off, you chickenshit!” Chase chides. “Don’t worry, she’ll never be able to tell anyone who we are.” He shoots me a look, and I stop breathing for a moment.
Slowly, Q reaches up and pulls the black ski mask over his head, revealing sandy-blond hair, chiseled cheeks, and an angular nose, similar to his brother’s. His eyes, separated from the holes in the mask, now appear soft. I cannot believe this is the same man who’s held me captive. I can’t believe he’s the same boy who sobbed on his mom’s shoulder in that courtroom.
Q stands there as if afraid to move until Chase tells him he can.
I search Chase’s face for the guy who had once driven to the freaking valley to pick me up when I got a flat tire and didn’t have my AAA card on me or my wallet—having forgotten it at the office. Ethan was out of town. It took a special person to drive through the crowded and miserable Sepulveda Pass after four o’clock when he didn’t have to. For his boss. When had that been? Eighteen months ago, maybe? Had things already been in motion back then?
“Why are you still standing there? Cut her loose,” Chase says in a voice I have never heard. I do a double take. How can he be the same man who helped me pick out my mom’s birthday present?
Q obediently cuts the bonds away from my ankles and unlocks the cuffs around my wrists, refusing to make eye contact with me. I watch him, his movements seeming so much less frightening now that I can see his face.
“Hand me the knife,” Chase commands, and Q gives it to him.
Besides the few and far between trips to the disgusting bathroom down the hall, it’s the first time I’ve been completely free since I was kidnapped, and as the blood begins circulating in my limbs again, I glance at the door.
“Don’t think about it, Lila. I’ve got the knife right here.” He turns to Q. “You can go now. Wait outside,” he says dismissively.
“But I don’t think—” Q looks over at me, and I plead with my eyes. Please help me. But he looks away quickly.
“We’ve already discussed this, little brother. I do the thinking,” Chase says, his voice hard. “You told me you could handle this.”
“I can.”
“Then. Wait. Out. Side.”
I will Q to look over at me. But he doesn’t. I shiver. Is this it? The moment when I die? When the universe balances by ridding itself of me?
Q gives his brother a long look before turning to leave. “Fine,” he says and storms off.
Chase starts to say something but stops and shakes his head. Once the door is closed, he picks an imaginary piece of lint off his perfe
ctly pressed pale-blue shirt. “He’s always been the soft one, ever since we were kids.” He sighs. “Never wanting to make the tough choices.”
“What’s the tough choice here? Killing me?” I say this last part with much more bravado than I feel. Inside, I’m stung with fear.
“Oh. That’s not a tough choice at all.” Chase smiles, and I can’t believe I never saw the real him. That I was fooled by his act. That I let him infiltrate my life so intensely. That I made it so easy for him to destroy me. Considering the things I’ve done, I probably deserve his disloyalty. But it still hurts to know none of it had been real.
We sit in silence for a moment. I wonder if I can muster the strength to grab the knife. To knock him down. To break free.
“I’m sorry for what happened to your dad. I always have been.”
“You never responded to my mom’s letters!”
“I know I didn’t. I should have. I wasn’t sure what to say. She was blaming me.”
“She had a right to do that.”
“l did my best on your father’s case. I thought we were going to win.”
Chase laughs. “You fucked up his case, Lila. He begged you to let him take the stand—to tell his side of the story. And you thought you knew better. One year out of law school. Never tried a case in court. But you were willing to roll the dice with his life.” He leans in close. “Even back then you were so fucking arrogant. And nothing has changed.”
I let his words sink in. He’s saying everything I berated myself for after his dad, Ed, was sent to prison. And then after I found out he’d been killed. I lived with guilt about that one for a very long time. Every time his wife sent me a letter blaming me, I relived it. But how am I supposed to convince Chase of that now? He’d never believe me.
“Derrick, I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head hard. “Don’t call me that. I’m not Derrick anymore. And I don’t believe for a second that you feel bad. You just don’t want me to kill you.”
That’s true. I don’t. But how can I make him understand I only wanted the best for him and his family?
“I’ve been good to you,” I plead. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“You’ve been good to me because I was helping you. Was on your side. Helping do your dirty work. But were you good to Janelle? Ethan? Carrie?”
When I hear all their names strung together like that, I feel ashamed and regretful and so remorseful. “How did you know about Janelle?”
“You told me.”
“I did? When?” I shuffle through my memories, trying to grasp that one.
“About a year ago. You’d lost that drug possession case. You were wasted.”
“The single mom who got fifteen years,” I interject, remembering the devastation I felt when the court handed her sentence down. She’d been drug running for her boyfriend, who only got two years. I’m still in the appeal process and actually started to make some headway recently. “But I don’t remember us having that conversation.”
“I plied you with margaritas. And then I asked you what the worst thing was you’d ever done.”
I shake my head. I remember drinking the first two margaritas. Then flash forward to throwing up in the early hours of the next morning. “Did you drug me?”
Chase smiles. “Maybe.”
My head begins to spin, and I try to hold on to my senses. Get my bearings back. “That case is a perfect example of how you can do all the right things and still not get the verdict you’re looking for. Juries are human and completely unpredictable.”
“That’s what I was so desperate to find out when I came to work for you. Were you an amazing person who made one mistake? But you weren’t. You were exactly the selfish bitch I thought you’d be.”
I cringe. What if I had been different? If he’d taken the job and discovered I was a good person who had simply screwed up on a case? But instead, I proved his point—over and over again. I think about what to say. I’m not a horrible human being, and I am good at my job. “You’re right. I’ve made mistakes in my personal life. I am not a good wife. Or a great friend, for that matter. But I’m an excellent attorney. And you need to know I thought I was doing right by your dad. I thought not taking the stand was the best chance we had for acquittal.”
“He didn’t deserve what happened to him! He never should have been in that prison with those lunatics! He never had a chance!” Chase shouts. “But this?” He holds his arms up. “This you deserve.”
I think back to when I received the news Ed had been stabbed seven times with a shiv in the yard. How I went to the bathroom and threw up, heartbroken over whatever role I had played in putting him in harm’s way. Because ironically, I believed in my gut Ed was innocent. That what happened in his neighbor’s house that night had all been a terrible accident. “Maybe I do,” I say carefully. “But you aren’t this person. Don’t do this. There is still time to make the right choice. Don’t condemn yourself to a lifetime of regret. Trust me.”
“Oh, honey, that’s what you don’t get. I’m not going to regret this at all.”
I bite my tongue. I can’t take his bait. He wants me to rage. He wants a fight. But I can’t give him that. He has conned me for years. Taken advantage of the secrets I’ve told him. Chosen to exploit my life in his sick and twisted way. He seeks revenge. And to punish him, I won’t give him the battle he wants. We sit in silence for a while, both of us waiting for the other to speak.
“I lost my dad when I was young too,” I finally say. “Drunk driver. A careless teen—you know that.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it, though? One bad choice led to tragedy. At least in the case with your dad, I thought I was doing the right thing. I was trying to help.”
“You thought he was guilty.”
“I didn’t. I swear. But I didn’t think him being cross-examined about how angry he was that his wife—your mom—was having an affair was going to help him. If anything, it would have made him look guilty.”
He flinches slightly when I reference his mother. When I’d hired him, he’d told me he was an only child and that his parents lived in Boston. Retired schoolteachers. Asked for vacation days to go visit them once or twice a year.
“They needed to hear his side of the story!” Chase yells, the knife shaking in his hand. “You’ve said you don’t put the ones you think are guilty on the stand!”
The memory slams into me hard, and I shake my head. “That was a bad joke. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s why you didn’t put Jeremiah on.”
I pause. He’s right. I thought Jeremiah was guilty, so I didn’t let him testify. But it’s not the reason I always kept clients off the stand. As I watch Chase now, his face pale, his pupils dilated, I realize he doesn’t want my reasoning. He wants his dad back. And I can’t give him that. But I can relate to that feeling.
“You’re right about Jeremiah. And in hindsight, maybe I should have let your dad testify. Because now we’ll never know if things could have been different. I’m sorry you grew up without a father, Chase. I truly am.”
His eyes flash. “Does it really matter at this point?” He laughs as he plays with the knife, twisting it by the handle. “At first I was going to kill you. Run you over with a car, something quick and easy. But then I realized that would do nothing—you would learn nothing. Because it’s not only me and my brother you hurt. You breeze through life and leave all these people in your wake—me, Ethan, Janelle, Carrie, and God knows who else.”
Again, hearing all their names one after the other hits me hard. My mistakes with all of them bringing me to where I am right now. I watch Chase roll his shoulders back and crack his neck. Just like his brother did. He’s planned this for so long. I try to catch my breath. So many fake smiles, insincere hugs, years of counterfeit conversation. He bided his time so he could make me pay in the very worst way—not only with my life, but with life as I know it. The very worst part?
I deser
ved it.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice bordering on a whimper. “You’ve already taken everything away—Ethan, Carrie, my reputation. Why not force me to live with that?”
“It’s not enough,” he says, gripping the knife tightly.
I tense. “This may not mean anything to you at this point, but I wish I could change things. I don’t want to be the person I was. Whether or not you believe it, I’m ready to take responsibility. To be the person I should have been.”
In an ironic twist of events, by kidnapping me and holding me hostage, my delusional and homicidal assistant actually forced me to see my missteps. To want to change.
Chase looks at me hard. “I wish I could believe that. But there’ve been too many lies. Too many times you could have made the right choice and didn’t. I’ve been waiting for two years for you to change. For you to do the right thing. And now you’re ready, because I took you and put you in this concrete box and destroyed everything you love, the same way you did to me.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s because you forced me to look at myself in a way I wouldn’t. In a way I couldn’t.” I realize I mean it with every fiber inside me. And not just because he’s going to kill me.
“Stop! You aren’t going to lawyer your way out of this.” His mouth forms a hard line as he speaks. The anger he holds for me changes the shape of his face, making it seem more sharp and angular.
“It’s not too late, Chase. For any of us. We can all make it out of this intact,” I say, my voice soft. Desperate.
He looks at me. “God, for someone so smart, you can be so dense sometimes! Only one of us is making it out of here alive,” he says and raises the knife to my neck.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FRIDAY
FREE
“Ethan?” I call out as I push through the front door of our house, still reeling from my conversation with Carrie. From the knowledge that she was done with me. That there was no forgiveness, no grace to be had. I didn’t blame her and wasn’t surprised. But still, the finality of it stung like salt in a cut. I smell the aroma of the Colombian roast coffee he loves. The beans I had shipped in for his birthday last month. When I walk into the kitchen, seeing him in his favorite faded gray T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare, his hair still messy from sleeping, nearly breaks me in half. If someone didn’t know better, it would look like any other morning, Ethan making coffee and me getting ready to run out the door to a preliminary hearing. But Ethan hasn’t occupied our bed in two nights and has only agreed to meet me after I’d begged him over text and voice mail. And now I think he may have only come to get a cup of that coffee.