by S. E. Green
“Well,” Bart says, squatting down beside me. “Doesn’t look as if that family of yours is coming back.”
“Making yourself at home in our kitchen? Did you make a snack?”
He cocks his head to one side and the tip of his tongue flicks out to wet the corner of his mouth. He stares at me, his eyes large and unblinking. “You’re a curious thing.” He pats the top of my head. “I don’t think you really believe this is happening. The drugs need to leave your system. You really should be more afraid.”
“Afraid of what? You?” Mom sure was. Marji, too. Or perhaps it was more they were traumatized. What would they think to know I was bantering with the very villain who shaped their lives?
Bart stares at me for a very long moment before shaking his head. “Well, Lane. I see we have our work cut out for us.” He leans in, his face a tiny inch from mine.
A black shadow rears within me, clambering to meet the challenge. I don’t move. I don’t blink. For a moment we face off, his breath coming out hot and scented with pickles. Then he blinks, just once, and pushes away.
He walks back into the kitchen, probably to finish that pickle, and I sink into the couch. What miracle will I come up with to get out of this?
Of course, there’s the two-hour text rule with Daisy, but right now that’s more worrisome than anything else. Victor would note the curtains drawn. He’d know something was up. He wouldn’t wait for help, he’d come charging in. But Bart would be ready and then my little couch becomes crowded with me and Victor both taped up and drugged.
Daisy, of course, would repeat the pattern. Then all three of us would be here.
Justin would be the only logical one to go for help. But by then we’ll all be dead.
Truthfully, in spite of my bold and brave dialogue exchange, my brain still warbles a bit from the sleepy mickey. I’m doped, tied up, and all alone. The positive being I’m still alive and my family is safe.
Bart picks up his phone and launches a new song, this one old like the other, but softer. The gentleness of it takes me down a philosophical path. I’ve never put much thought into how I’ll eventually die but being done in by a villain that I hunt seems ironically right. Though not preferred.
No, if I had my choice of death, I’d like to go to sleep and never wake up. A peaceful way to go. What will I see when I go? Heaven? Hell? I better not see Mom and Marji.
But doesn’t one need a soul to see heaven or hell? I’d begun to think I didn’t have one. How could I? It’s hard enough to be who I am without a soul and a conscience and the afterlife looming overhead. My charade of life will finally be over. Done. It’s just as well.
What a tragic way to think.
No, of course, I have a soul and a conscience. It’s what makes me different from my evil heritage. But if I had to choose, I’d prefer reincarnation. I’d come back as a dog and I’d be Corn Chip’s best friend.
People would grieve if I died. Victor, Daisy, Justin. Tommy and Zach. Reggie. Dr. O’Neal and my new roommate. They all care about me. Without wanting or trying, I’ve managed to pick up an entire string of emotional attachments.
How?
And why is my brain going down this route?
Bart rattles around in the kitchen, washing his dish. So thoughtful. I lift my head, looking toward the kitchen, in time to see him step around and move toward me.
“Time to move things along.” He comes to a stop standing beside me, and he leans down and picks up the noose from his bag of terror. He looks up at a beam that runs the length of our ceiling and with a cheery voice says, “That looks sturdy enough.”
Leaning over, he slips the noose around my neck.
61
From behind comes a soft creak, a foot on a loose floorboard. Bart spins around and Daisy lunges. With a butcher knife gripped in her right hand, she swings back and arcs forward as if she were throwing a bowling ball and not stabbing someone.
With a yell, she sinks the large blade into his stomach.
Bart sucks in a breath, taking hold of the knife, and time stands still as his jaw goes slack.
One second. Two. Three.
He stumbles, falling over the coffee table, and lands with a loud thump onto the floor.
“Lane!” Daisy screams, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. She teeters back and forth, her head swiveling between me and a still alive Bart, knife in his gut and all. “What do I do?”
“He’s not going anywhere.” My jaw muscles tighten. “Cut me loose.” Let me at him.
She races into the kitchen to get scissors. Bart wheezes. He moans. He rolls over onto his side, giving me his back. Don’t die, you bastard. Don’t die.
Daisy’s back with scissors. She slips the noose from my neck and flings it aside before gently pushing me over to get at the duct tape. Everything becomes quiet and motionless as I stare at Bart’s back. Even that damn music of his ceases to play.
“Is he dead?” she whispers, frantically sawing the tape.
I hope not.
“I knew something was up when I didn’t get a text from you. Then I came here and saw the drawn curtains.” She keeps sawing. “Damn. Damn. Damn.” She saws so hard it severs my skin. I cringe.
She casts a nervous glance over her shoulder at Bart, now curled in a tight ball, his back still to us. Blood spreads out from under his body, darkening the throw rug.
“I climbed up the tree and came in my bedroom window.” She keeps cutting. “Fuck, Lane, there’s so much tape.”
I look at the front door. “Where’s Victor?”
“Still at work. He couldn’t leave. I left Justin there. Because when I didn’t get a text from you, I knew something was up. Then I came here and saw the curtains—” Her hands shake. “Wait, I just said all of that.”
I go back to Bart, and my heart sinks. He’s barely breathing now. He’s going to die and it won’t be by me.
One last whack and my hands come free. With my feet still taped together, I roll off the couch and crawl over to Bart. My world spins with the damn drugs still in my system. I’m going to yank that knife from his gut and pierce his heart with it.
The palms of my hands sink into his blood spreading and darkening the carpet, making it into a giant sponge.
“What are you doing?” Daisy follows. “Get away from him.”
My fingers dig into his shoulder and I move him over onto his back. Blood pumps from his neck where he used the scalpel. The leather pouch still sitting on the coffee table now has only the pills. When he fell over the table he must have grabbed the scalpel. Son of a bitch.
Through hazy eyes, he looks at me and his bloody lips quiver into an arrogant smile.
Then…then he’s gone.
“NO!” I yell, and I punch him. And I punch him again. No! He was supposed to die by my hand. Mine!
A huge silence fills the room. Daisy puts her hand on my shoulder and I glance up to see her staring at me, not Bart. Me.
Something crosses her pretty face, an unexplained eeriness, but as quick as it’s there, it’s gone.
I turn from her and all I think is, I wanted to kill him, and he took that away from me.
I don’t think about the fact that I’m alive.
That Daisy is okay.
That she just stabbed a man.
No, the fact that I didn’t kill him is all that buzzes through my head and festers in my soul.
62
I’ve watched bad people suffer by my hand, and at the moment of truth I looked into their eyes and we both knew they got what they deserved.
But what happens if it’s someone like Holleen or the real Maggie Cain? If you don’t get what you deserve? If what you deserve is something different—a family who loves you, a future, great laughter.
What if you deserve a real sister and daughter and instead you get me?
And what happens if you kill someone, defending a sister who doesn’t deserve it?
Daisy is now a killer because of me. Holleen is dead bec
ause of me. The real Maggie Cain, too. I blame myself. I should have killed Bart Novak the first chance I got.
I love Daisy. It’s my job to make sure nothing bad happens to her. Somewhere along the way I even convinced myself that she was lucky to have me. But now I know she’s not. She trusted me, and now she’s a killer.
I’m toxic. She’d be better off without me. They all would.
Lights flash, bringing me from my thoughts. In the distance, a siren cuts through the air, all around neighbors materialize from their homes. One cop pulls in, then another, and another.
Daisy kneels in our front yard, in the exact same spot she’s been since we emerged from our house. I stand a cautious distance away.
“Miss?” A cop hesitantly approaches her. “Are you hurt? Is that your blood?”
Daisy doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at the blood covering her hands and upper body. Blood belonging to Bart Novak, the man she just killed because of me.
The cop reaches for her. “Miss?”
I step forward. “Leave her alone. It’s not her blood or mine.”
With a hesitant glance at me, the cop reaches out a hand to Daisy, and I snap, “Back the hell off.”
He holds up both hands. “What happened here?”
“I did it,” Daisy mumbles. “I killed them.”
I take another step forward, placing my hand on my sister’s head. Gently, I pull her against me. “We’re not talking to anybody but our father.”
I killed them. What the hell is she talking about?
The cop steps away, trailing behind first responders moving into our home. Never make a scene, Mom told me that once. Keep your emotions in check.
I never imagined I’d be thinking this, but I could use her skills right now. Her words of advice. She’d know how to handle this whole thing.
Everybody’s looking. Daisy’s in shock. I’m standing here covered in duct tape. We’re both smeared with Bart’s blood. Hell, even our neighbor is crying, though I don’t know why.
A detective approaches, taking us both in. He looks at first me and then down to Daisy. “What happened here? You said you ‘killed them’. Who’s them?”
“Do not answer that.” Victor crosses the yard. “You want to talk to my daughters, schedule an appointment.”
With a nod, the detective turns away and Victor comes down in front of Daisy. “Sweetheart? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”
Daisy’s lips tremble. “He was going to kill Lane.”
63
Victor called Gramps to come get Justin and he got us a suite at a local extended stay place. Justin has no idea what’s going on. He thinks he’s on a mini-vacation with his grandfather.
That was yesterday, and Daisy has barely climbed from her bed. As I stare at her, my thoughts go to the day we went to the funeral home in preparation for Mom’s service…
The elderly funeral director tilts his head to the side, a sad and gentle curve to his lips. He looks across the table at me, Victor, and Daisy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
How does he do that? He sounds like he actually means it.
Victor clears his throat. “Thank you.”
In his calm and low voice, the funeral director continues, “What we need to do now is make important decisions about how your wife and mother will be remembered. This is your chance to express your feelings.”
“Excuse me,” Daisy murmurs, pushing back from the table and leaving the office.
Victor clears his throat again, glancing at me. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you girls.”
“We wanted to come,” I say. Daisy insisted on it, actually. I stand, too. “I’m going to check on her.”
Victor nods, and I quietly leave the room. The funeral home and grounds are spread out and it takes me fifteen minutes to find my sister. She’s outside standing near a tree, watching a memorial service currently going on.
I step up beside her. “You okay?” I whisper.
She nods across the lawn to where the people have gathered to mourn. In the front row stands a girl a little younger than us, crying. “Mom will want that, I think,” Daisy says. “She’ll want us crying. Isn’t that what good daughters do?”
I don’t answer that. I’m not a good daughter. Just like she wasn’t a good mother.
“I’ve been looking all over for you two,” Victor whispers, coming up behind us. “What are you doing?”
I turn toward him, smiling gently. “We were thinking about Mom and how much we miss her.”
Daisy’s eyes slide over to mine and though it’s slight, I see it all over her face. She knows I don’t miss Mom, and I don’t think she does either. We’ll pretend, though, for Justin and Victor.
I’m not sure why that memory plays in my head, but it does. Back then I didn’t know the history between Mom and Daisy. My heart aches that she kept all of that to herself.
Victor’s been gone all morning. The FBI released the crime scene at our house, and he went to supervise the cleanup. I offered to help and he adamantly refused.
So here I sit staring at Daisy. I killed them. Did I hear her right? Maybe she said “him”.
With a sigh, I cross the small distance between our two beds and I pull up the white comforter from where she kicked it off to cover her curled up body. For a few seconds, I stand listening to her heavy breathing and watching her rib cage expand and contract with her slow and deep breaths.
I’m glad she’s sleeping, but I also wish she’d wake up. Now that Victor’s not here, I want to ask her about the “them”.
Leaning forward, I lift a strand of her blonde hair that’s stuck to her lips and carefully lay it on the pillow. “Thank you for saving my life,” I whisper. “I don’t deserve you. You’re better—all of you are—without me in your lives.” If only they knew who I was and what I had done. “I’ve led everyone to believe I’m a good sister, daughter, friend. But I’m not. It’s a lie.”
It’s all a lie.
Turning away, I go sit back on my bed. I’ll see Daisy through this and then I’m gone. There are only a few things I’ll need—my Jeep, my journals, my gear. I’ll start over someplace new and far away from here.
Distance will bring me clarity. It’s hard to focus around my family. It’s hard to breathe.
My cell buzzes with a text from Tommy: HOW YOU HOLDING UP?
OK.
DAISY?
HARD TO TELL.
JUST BE THERE FOR HER, he types.
I’M TRYING…
NEED ANYTHING?
Despite everything going on, I smile a little. I’M FINE.
JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU MAKE ME FEEL GOOD. I’M GLAD YOU’RE IN MY LIFE.
I don’t respond. I simply stare at those words and the more I stare, the faster my heart beats.
He sends me a heart emoji that has sudden and unexpected tears coming to my eyes. What the hell?
But as quick as they come, they leave.
Tommy is another person I need to pull back from.
Everyone is better off without me.
I put my phone down and lay back on my bed. Closing my eyes, I allow my thoughts to drift. I try to make them go to Tommy and the conversation I need to have with him, but they stick instead on the day Victor told us Mom was gone.
“Something happened to Mom,” Victor quietly tells the three of us.
Tears well in my brother’s eyes. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
Victor looks at the three of us, sitting side-by-side on the L-shaped couch. Of course, I know what happened to Mom, but he doesn’t know this. No one knows.
He paces away, stopping. He swallows, then clears his throat. His jaw clenches, and he presses his fingers into his temples.
“Dad?” Justin whispers.
I wish I could change spots with him, but I can’t. I have to sit here and watch him struggle to tell us the worst news of our lives.
He breathes out, opening his eyes and turning to look at us. “I need to tell you something.”
“What’s going on?” Daisy asks. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Did something bad happen?” Justin murmurs.
The emotion Victor struggled to contain surfaces and silent tears trail from his eyes. “She was on the job hunting a killer and walked into a trap.”
A rush of air leaves Daisy’s lungs. “What are you saying?”
“He’s saying someone killed her,” I quietly speak.
Victor’s wet eyes come to mine, and he nods.
“What?” Daisy lunges off the couch. “This isn’t funny.” She whirls on me. “Is this a joke?”
I reach for her. “Daisy.”
She slaps my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Daisy.” I try again.
“I said don’t touch me!” she screams.
Justin falls into me, crying. Victor slumps to kneel on the carpet, burying his face in his hands, silently weeping. Wrapping my arm around Justin, I stare up at Daisy.
Red crawls her neck to flush her face. “It doesn’t even matter to you, does it?”
“Of course it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She jabs a finger in my direction. “Look at you. You don’t even care.”
I hug Justin tighter. “I do care. I care about you, Justin, and Dad.”
It happens slowly, the rage building inside of her, the quivering muscles as she tries to contain it. My gaze tracks down to her hands clenched so tight, blood splotches and strains against her fair skin. I look back into her face and I see it there, way in the depths of her eyes—a darkness I’ve never seen before.
I don’t want to, but in this moment I find myself intrigued by Daisy. Like Mom used to be intrigued by me.
With a sigh, I come from the memory. Truthfully, with the fallout after Mom’s murder and everything that’s been going on, I hadn’t thought of that moment.
Ever.
I had been intrigued by my sister. Curious. Maybe even titillated by her brain. An uncomfortable sensation that quickly left. Just like her. She turned and stormed from our home.
She was gone for six hours.