Wuthering Frights

by Elise Sax

  Rockwell was thinner than he was the last time I saw him, and his hair was a lot longer. Otherwise, he hadn’t changed. He was still condescending, and he spoke to me like I was a roach that needed to be stomped on. He stood over me, sneering, and his posture was all about ownership.

  I glanced again at the knives. I wasn’t a violent person, but I had to admit to myself that I would have enjoyed stabbing my husband.

  “Did you break out of San Quentin?” I asked him, finally finding my voice.

  “Nope. They let me go.”

  “What?” I asked. I felt like my world was crashing down. With Rockwell’s appearance, the door to all of my hopes and dreams slammed shut. There was nothing good about him showing up here. He either wanted to kill me or make my life miserable.

  “Technicality. They opened the doors and let me go.”

  “Nobody told me. Nobody warned me,” I said.

  “I told them not to. Wanted to surprise you.”

  “You succeeded. I’m surprised,” I said.

  The dogs came back in the house, excited, but once they saw Rockwell, their tails slipped between their legs and their heads dipped low. “It’s okay,” I told them. “Go lie down.” They slinked off and laid down in the pantry.

  “We’re going to have to get rid of those,” Rockwell said. “I hate dogs.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening. Are you saying you’re moving in here?”

  Rockwell didn’t blink. “You’re my wife. This is my house. Community property.”

  The world swam around, and I saw stars. “Is that why you’re here? Your pound of flesh? This is my house. My inheritance. We’re not married anymore.”

  “We’re still married, Matilda, and we’re going to stay married for another four and a half years until I get my money.” He spoke in his usual passive-aggressive voice. Why hadn’t I recognized his passive aggressiveness when we were married? He was so clearly disdainful of me. When we were married, he would speak to me that way, and it would make me hate myself for not being enough for him, for not being smart enough or pretty enough.

  But that was then. This is now. Now after running my own business. Now after solving murder mysteries and talking to dead people. Now after making wonderful friends in an amazing place. So, now his passive aggressiveness just made me mad. Mad enough to stab him in the eye.

  My breathing returned to normal, and I had finally gotten over the shock of seeing him. The shock had been replaced with pure rage.

  “No, we’re not married anymore,” I insisted, standing. “The papers were drawn up. I signed them.”

  “I didn’t sign them, and my lawyer can keep the divorce locked up for as long as I need. So, welcome your hubby to our home. After we get rid of the dogs, I’m going to sell that loser paper and get an infusion of cash. I’m going to buy a new car.”

  “No,” I breathed. I loved the paper. It was my business. It was my future. I loved walking across the courtyard every morning to the Gazette office. I loved when Klee gave me attitude and when Silas called me boss and helped me become a journalist. I loved it all.

  There was the sound of a car door slamming, and I jumped. “Is that your boyfriend?” Rockwell asked.

  My face grew hot. Since Rockwell had killed his lover’s husband, I was worried about what he would do to Boone. I was relieved that Adele was holding my engagement ring for me. Not only would Rockwell go ballistic if he knew that I was engaged, but he would also probably sell the ring.

  “Don’t do anything to him,” I said.

  “I can’t guarantee anything.”

  I bolted to the door and locked it and then ran around the house and locked the other doors. A few seconds later, the knob on the kitchen door rattled.

  “What the hell?” I heard Boone say on the other side of the door.

  “Go away! I’m going to sleep!” I shouted.

  “What? You don’t sleep, Matilda. Stop joking around. Open up,” Boone said.

  Rockwell smiled at me like a Cheshire cat. “You want me to talk to him?” he asked me.

  I ground my teeth and wagged my finger at Rockwell. “I changed my mind!” I called out. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  There was a long pause, but I could sense that Boone was still there. “Are you all right, Matilda? Do you need help?” he asked me, still on the other side of the door.

  Oh, boy, did I need help. I needed all the help in the world. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this nightmare. “I’m fine! My toe hurts. I want to be left alone. See you tomorrow.”

  I froze in place and listened. It took a full two minutes before I heard Boone’s boots walk away across the courtyard.

  I rubbed my temples where a nasty migraine was starting. “This is what we’re going to do,” I told Rockwell. “I’m going to put you in the storage area at the back of the house. You’re going to stay out of sight until I can get a handle on this.”

  He stepped forward and got in my face. “You don’t talk to me like that, Matilda. I’m in charge.”

  “Those days are over, Rockwell,” I said. He flinched almost imperceptibly. He was still standing in a power pose. He was still condescending and passive-aggressive, but for whatever reason, he backed down.

  “Twenty-four hours,” he said. “Then, the man of the house has officially returned, and we’re doing this my way. The right way.”

  I gagged, and I threw up a little in my mouth. I gathered sheets for him and showed him the storage area in the used section of the house, kitty-corner across the courtyard. “Don’t come out,” I told him and closed the door.

  I walked across the courtyard and peeked through Boone’s window. He was lying on his cot, reading a hardback book. I tiptoed back to my side of the house and unlocked all the doors. I hadn’t eaten all day, but I didn’t have an appetite. The dogs came up to me and sniffed my legs. I sat on the floor in the kitchen cross-legged and petted them.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get rid of you,” I told my adopted dogs. “We’ll get rid of him, instead.”

  But how? Rockwell was right about community property. He owned half of everything I owned. It didn’t matter that he was a murderer, that he had gaslighted me and tried to kill me, he was my husband and had claim to the house and the paper.

  I needed to call my lawyer, but I didn’t hold out a lot of hope that he could help. So far, he couldn’t even get me divorced. I needed backup. I needed to work around this situation to get it fixed. I needed to think outside of the box.

  Wow, somehow I had gotten an injection of optimism. For some reason, I believed I could figure out how to get rid of Rockwell and save my life and home in Goodnight.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I said to my dogs. “Yes, I know this is all but impossible. It’s my own Mission Impossible. Lord, I wonder if I can get Tom Cruise to help me.”

  I stayed up all night, lying in bed and looking up at the ceiling. I ran every scheme I could think of through my head, trying to figure out how to handle Rockwell, but I came up empty. I couldn’t believe that they let a convicted killer out of prison after only a few months. He was a maniac. He had tried to kill me, Gladie, and her grandmother. He chopped up a man into little pieces. He had gaslighted me and put me away in a place that shackled me to a bed.

  Rockwell Dare wasn’t a nice guy.

  So, I entertained the notion for a couple of hours that I had imagined the whole thing, that Rockwell hadn’t been let out of prison, that he had been merely a spiral fractured toe hallucination. I mean, how crazy was it that he would skulk around Goodnight, get mistaken for a ghost, and then show up wearing Boone’s clothes, saying he was going to sell the Gazette and buy himself a new car?

  It was crazy. It was loco. It was impossible.

  By six in the morning, I had convinced myself that Rockwell was still in San Quentin, and all I had to worry about was whether my fiancé or his brother was a serial killer. Easy-peasy. No sweat.

  At five minutes after si
x o’clock, Tilly stormed into my room. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded. “Your husband broke out of jail?”

  I sat up in bed. “What? Why? What do you know?”

  “What do I know? I know that I was setting a ghost trap in my bedroom, and a skinny man with long hair walked in and told me that I needed to get out of his house.”

  “Oh my God. What did you do?”

  “I threw my bottle of TUMS at him. Hit him square in the head.”

  “Oh my God. Then, what happened?”

  “He pointed at me and said I would pay for hitting him with TUMS. He told me he was your husband.”

  “Oh my God. Then, what happened?”

  “I threw my bottle of milk of magnesia at him. It cracked open, and he ran off to clean himself up.”

  I flopped back on the bed and covered my face with a pillow. “This isn’t happening.”

  “You should have heard the things he said about me when he ran away,” Tilly said. “If you think you’re going to get rid of me just because your hubby is back, you’ve got another thing comin’.” I heard her walk across the room. The pillow flew off my face. Tilly was standing over me. “Are you crazy? Why would you want to stay with that man? He’s a killer. He did terrible things to you. Why are women so stupid? Why do women stay with abusive men? You had Boone Goodnight, a good man who wouldn’t kill a soul, who’ll be nice to you, no matter what craziness you get up to. And you’re going to throw all that away for that no-good husband of yours? What’s wrong with you?”

  She took the pillow and slapped me with it. I took it away from her and stood. “I’m not going back with Rockwell,” I said. “I don’t want anything to do with him. For some reason, they let him out, and now he wants half of everything. He won’t let me divorce him, and he’s going to give away the dogs and sell off the paper.”

  Tilly’s mouth dropped open. The honest emotion playing on her face affected me. My eyes filled with tears, and I began to weep.

  “There. There,” Tilly said, and pulled my head down on her shoulder. I cried all over her housedress as she wrapped her arms around me and patted my back. “I’ll help you. I’ll make him miserable. He’ll wish he never thought of coming here. When I get through with him, he’ll run back to prison and beg them to let him in.”

  I hoped she was right, but I knew that Rockwell was more devious than Tilly could ever imagine. She would probably be gone by tomorrow. Rockwell was experienced at isolating me and controlling me. He would probably do it again now.

  “What do you mean, you’re Matilda’s husband?” I heard. The voice was coming from outside, and it was loud and angry.

  I pulled back out of Tilly’s embrace, and we faced each other. “Boone,” we said in unison.

  Chapter 10

  Tilly and I ran outside into the courtyard. Tilly was faster than I was because I was wearing the boot on my foot for my broken toe. Boone and Rockwell were facing off in the courtyard. Boone towered over Rockwell, but Rockwell wasn’t above fighting dirty.

  “I’m her husband. I’m back. You can go on your way now,” Rockwell told Boone.

  “Fuck you,” Boone said. It was pretty much the only thing anyone could say in response to Rockwell.

  I marched toward them. “You gave me twenty-four hours,” I yelled at Rockwell. “We had a deal. Go back to the storage room.”

  “So, this really is your husband?” Boone asked me.

  “No! I mean, technically he is, but I signed the divorce papers. He won’t sign the divorce papers.”

  “I’ll get him to sign the divorce papers,” Tilly offered, raising her fist to the sky.

  “You’re not wanted here,” Boone said to Rockwell. “Don’t you see that?”

  “That’s none of your business. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to not to get between a husband and wife?” Rockwell said. He was using the condescending voice he enjoyed so much, and it was obviously getting under Boone’s skin. His face was red, and it looked like he was going to blow.

  “Go back to the storage room!” I yelled at him. I took Boone’s hand and tugged him into the house. I brought him into my bedroom and closed the door. “I’m sorry. They let him out, and didn’t tell me. But I swear to you that we’re definitely getting a divorce,” I told Boone.

  “He didn’t sound like you’re getting a divorce. Isn’t he a convicted murderer? You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want to be alone with him.” I gave Boone a light kiss. “This is a temporary situation. I’m going to call my lawyer, and he’ll get this worked on in a jiffy.”

  Total lie. I had no confidence that my lawyer could work out anything in a jiffy. I didn’t have confidence that he could get anything worked out at all.

  “Define ‘jiffy,’” Boone said, his mouth set in a tight line. I had never seen him so angry. I didn’t blame him. If I hadn’t been so freaked out, I would be angry, too. “If your jiffy is longer than my jiffy, I might kill your husband.”

  “How long is your jiffy?” I asked.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  Uh oh. “My jiffy might be slightly longer than your jiffy.” I gave him another quick kiss. “Please don’t kill him. Then you’ll be in prison. We can’t be naked together if you’re in prison. I promise I’ll get rid of him. Just be patient. Don’t let him get under your skin. That’s his specialty, baiting people. He does it better than anybody. That, and lying and manipulation. And murder. He’s really good at that, too. Maybe you should go away until he leaves.”

  Boone took a step back. “I’m not leaving you alone with him. He’s dangerous. He killed a man.”

  I nodded, vigorously. “Exactly. He killed a man. So, you should get out of here. You’re in more danger than I am. He wants to keep me alive for four more years so he can get his inheritance. I know it’s weird. It’s a long story.”

  Boone crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. He scowled down at me. “Believe me, Matilda. I can handle myself. If your homicidal husband comes after me, I’ll kill him.”

  “Exactly,” I said, pointing at him. “I’m not worried that he’s going to hurt you. I’m worried that you’re going to hurt him, and then your brother is going to arrest you, and I don’t want to walk down the aisle on death row.”

  Boone exhaled and dropped his hands by his sides. “How about if I kill him a little bit? I could break his arms and his legs.”

  I thought about it for a second. “Both his arms and both his legs? Fine. If he’s still here next month, you can break all of his limbs.”

  Boone’s eyes widened. “Next month? Next month? You think he’ll be here for a whole month?”

  Yep. I thought he would be there for a month and probably for four years until he won his inheritance. I had no idea how to get rid of him. And I couldn’t let Boone break Rockwell’s limbs. If Rockwell was still around in a month, I would have to let Boone go. I couldn’t make him stay in this situation, and I couldn’t live with the both of them.

  After a lot more discussion, I finally convinced Boone that I was safe and that he needed to go to his dig for the day. I fed the dogs, got dressed and watched Boone drive away to make sure that he wouldn’t confront Rockwell again today. As for Rockwell, he had disappeared after the confrontation with Boone, and I hoped that he had gone back to the storage room.

  I wasn’t going to check, though. I wasn’t in the mood to play more mind games with him, and for the first time since Rockwell appeared, I had a plan on how to get rid of him.

  Luckily, Silas got to work at the crack of dawn. As soon as Boone drove off, Silas drove up and parked outside the gate. I limped my way to his car and opened his door.

  “What’s the name of the lawyer you always talk about?” I asked him.

  “You mean the ruthless, sociopath one?”

  “Yes. That one.” Silas had often regaled me with stories about the scary lawyer who lived and worked just outside of Goodnight. It occurred to me that if I wanted to win
against a ruthless sociopath like Rockwell, I would need my own ruthless sociopath. Someone on my side.

  Silas gave me the lawyer’s name and address. “Are you going to use him against your husband? Do you know why they let him out of prison?”

  “How did you hear about that?” I asked him.

  “The Goodnight grapevine. I’m putting Jack on the story.”

  “Don’t do that,” I urged. “Rockwell is a killer. He also wants to close down the Gazette. If you absolutely have to write something about it, you do it yourself. I don’t want Jack around him.” Jack was a wunderkind reporter, but he was still a teenager, and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

  I put my hand out. “Give me your keys. I’m borrowing your car. Mine is at Nora’s.”

  Silas climbed out of his car and handed me the keys. “Come back later. I’ve got news about the profiler report.”

  I hopped into the car, moved the seat up, and drove down the driveway as fast as I could take the turns in Silas’s large sedan. I was overjoyed that I had at the very least a lead on a solution. If this lawyer was as ruthless as Silas said, maybe he could scare Rockwell out of my house and away from my fiancé. Maybe he could scare him back to California and leave me alone in Goodnight.

  The lawyer worked and lived outside of Goodnight along a seldom-used side road that had been the main road around the area before the freeway was built. The road was two lanes, and it had seen better days. It wound up and down the hills and mountains and the sides of the road varied from desert scrub to thick forests.

  As I drove along, I let some of my stress wash off of me. I allowed myself to believe that this new lawyer would help me and everything would be all right. It was funny how my worries changed within a few minutes. One minute I was obsessed about finding out who the serial killer was, to try and clear Boone’s name and Amos’s name. The next minute I wasn’t even thinking about whether or not Boone abducted and murdered girls. Instead, I was thinking about how to save my house, business, and dogs, and how to get rid myself of my convicted killer husband. Perspective is a funny thing.