Murder

by Ella James

  He starts to shake. Even with the heavy snowfall, I can see it in his shoulders. Hear it in his breathing. He sounds hoarse, like he can’t get enough air.

  I take a long second to calm my own body. Panic attack. That’s what he’s having. That’s what I’m having. Because we’re here. We’re almost to the spot.

  You’re okay. You’re not a victim here tonight. Take care of Bear. Go wrap your arms around him.

  So I do.

  I wrap myself around my poor Barrett. I make my way around to the front of him. His face is like a riot; I don’t think he sees me.

  “Bear…” I stroke his arms. “Sweet Bear. Look at my eyes. Look at me. It’s Piglet. Can you look at me?” I rub his chest. “Tell me where you are, sweetheart. In real life we’re right here together. Listen to my voice. Where are you, baby?”

  “It’s…so cold.”

  “You’re cold?”

  “The gun is cold.”

  “Barrett.” I grab his face. “You need to look at Gwenna. Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

  He does, for just a split second. His gaze is gone fast, wrenched away. His hands are in his pockets.

  “I had a plan,” he chatters. “Gwen, I had a plan. To keep you safe. I love you. You’re…the world.” His voice breaks. “You could move on. The twins did. Everyone moves on.” He rubs his head.

  His eyes are so wide.

  My heart gallops. “Barrett, I’m safe, and no, I can’t move on. I’m here with you. I love you, and I need you.”

  “Do you?” There. He looks at me.

  I nod firmly.

  “I’ve never felt like this, Gwenna.” His voice cracks on a sob, and then he’s sinking down into the snow. He draws his legs up to his chest and holds onto his knees. His head hangs down and he’s crying, shaking like those icicles in the trees. He seems like he’s cracked wide open, and it’s so fucking scary.

  “Bear…” My hands: inept. All over him. His back. His arms. His chest. “Barrett… Come here, baby.”

  I’m crouched down; I try to hug him.

  “It would scare you. I know.”

  “What are you talking about, sweetheart? C’mon…let’s stand up.” He’s up. He’s still looking around.

  “If they hurt you…because of me. Gwen. I should go now. There’s this house… I rented it.”

  I grab his wrist and tug him with me, moving in the direction of the store.

  “C’mon, baby. I’m so cold. I want to get back in the car.” My voice cracks, even though I’m trying to be casual.

  “You don’t want me. It’s not worth it, Gwen, and I don’t trust them. Even Blue says not to trust them. His dad’s people, they’re ex-us, they’re… They’ll do anything he tells them to, if there’s a threat…” He stops and looks around, his gaze lifting. “They could be anywhere.” His voice is dry and broken. “Come stand near me. I’ll get out the gun.”

  “What gun?” I touch his arm. “Baby, do you have a gun? With you right now?”

  My heart stops somewhere in the region of my throat. I wonder if I’m going to throw up.

  “He’s Blue’s dad. Bluebell. Michael. Gwen…” He blinks slowly. “You met him in the beer bar. He told me he kept asking you to get a fish bowl.”

  My whole body ignites.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That night.” Tears drip from his eyes. “Breck was there. And Michael. We called him Blue. I saw you outside. I saw your snowflake tattoo. You said smoking cigarettes was lonely.”

  Nausea swirls through my gut. It’s so intense, I have to swallow.

  “What?” I choke. My head fills up with static.

  “We talked that night. I gave you my scarf. You left. I didn’t mind,” his slow voice says, “because I really liked you.”

  “Shut up.” I don’t know why, but I can feel my body shaking. My head…goes so hot. When I blink at him, I see gold spots dancing.

  “They all left…and, I was fucked up…at the bar. My brother died. I tried to get in touch with Breck—”

  My arms and legs buzz—

  “I tried calling him. A cab… But there was so much snow. I drove really slow but…then I kinda lost my shit.”

  “Barrett—”

  “I was drunk.” The word fades on a sob, but I don’t care, I just don’t care, he needs to shut up.

  “I was going…so slow.”

  “SHUT UP!” My hands are by my ears, but I can’t block the sound out.

  “I didn’t mean to! I—”

  I slap him.

  “SHUT UP, BARRETT!”

  I don’t know why—I don’t get it!— I turn and start to run, and I can see the snowy road, this snowy road. I can see it, I can see the white petals vibrate as I walk. I see the scarf. I’m thinking it’s so pretty, all the white. I’m cold. I’m almost back, though, just a little longer…

  “IT WAS ME!”

  I’m running, but the words are like a bullet.

  “IT WAS ME WHO HIT YOU, GWENNA!” The sentence collapses, half sobbed. He steps toward me, reaching. “I didn’t mean to, Gwen…”

  He gasps.

  Barrett is losing it, I think from very far away.

  He holds his head as his whole body shakes with violent sobbing. I don’t understand. Can only watch.

  BARRETT

  January 1, 2012

  3:29 a.m.

  It’s so damn dark. Except the road. It’s white. It all smears into gray for me. I wipe my eyes and grip the wheel and try to breathe through my pathetic crying.

  I called Dad after the bar closed. Waiting for a cab, the wait for fucking ever. It was stupid—I knew…but I kept seeing them. The twins. Kellan—in that doorway. Jesus Christ. I want to fucking hold him. He’s my brother!

  Lyon. My other brother.

  So I called the doctor. On-call. I asked my shitty fucking dad if he’d seen Kellan. He laughed and asked who was calling.

  “Your fucking son.”

  There was this pause. Long enough for the cars sloshing by on Main Street to get loud. Then he said, “This isn’t Kellan.”

  “Dad, it’s Barrett.”

  “So he is alive.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I tried to see him. Kellan wouldn’t—”

  He laughed. “Did you go to him like that? Where are you? I hope there’s not a terrorist around.”

  I try for the brakes as my eyes blur again.

  “I’m in Breckenridge,” I told him. I don’t know why.

  He laughed. “I don’t care where you are. You stopped being in this family when your mother died and you forgot how she expected you to behave.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Are you really in the Rangers? These are their standards?”

  “Goddamnit, Dad. I called about my brothers.” My throat is tight with tears. I can’t help it.

  “One is dead now, Barrett. No one knows what will happen to the other. But you? You should forget about it. Take yourself back to wherever you came from and find yourself some family there. When this one needed you, you weren’t around.”

  I curl over on my side now in the driver’s seat, pressing my foot against the pedal, holding onto my throat as I weep for my dead brother. Who I’ll never see again. Never again. I want to fucking break his casket open. I can’t believe he’s really in it. Lyon… I can feel his little hand in mine, can hear him say, “It’s all right, brother.” The way he laughed…

  But I’m not their brother. No one’s brother… No one’s son. No one. I waited for an hour, I called Breck. I couldn’t even get a ride.

  I cry harder, and I’m by my mother’s bed. I want to feel her hands, the way her fingers sift through my hair, but her thin fingers are cold and still. I talk to her. My father says she doesn’t hear it. He says I should go to school.

  I’ve failed at everything.

  My foot gets lost, loses the brakes. The car creeps forward, plodding slowly over heaps of snow.

  I wish I wasn’t here. It’s cold and whit
e and I can’t see. I’m drunk as fuck. Shoulda drank more…

  Kellan said I’m not his brother. Not Dad’s son.

  I’m nothing, I think, as I listen to my own sobbing. My father didn’t want me, so I left. The twins—I told myself that they were better off without me. Couldn’t keep our mom alive… They had each other. I wanted to disappear, so I did, but I’m here now. It’s so white. So bumpy. Fuck, I need to fucking breathe.

  I rub my chest. I can’t stop. I feel kind of sick.

  Even the car…the dash is really bumpy…blurry.

  I should really…hit the brakes.

  My brother’s dead.

  A loud sob shakes the car, and my foot fumbles. Brakes…but. Oh, that was the gas. My hands grab the wheel. I can see them on it. White trails, snowflakes trailing by… Just like a snow globe.

  Bump!

  The car is stopped. It rocks gently back and forth, like there’s a log in the road. I hit the brakes. Confused, I hit the gas.

  It just feels wrong. It feels familiar, like those little fucking kids under the convoy tires.

  Bile leaps into my throat as I throw the door open.

  GWENNA

  December 31, 2015

  “Gwennie…”

  I take a backward step, arms out to keep my balance.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Gwen. I didn’t mean to. I got out and…” His eyes close. He sways and sobs. “Breck and Dove, they came…and Breck stayed. He said you were dead! When I woke up, we were on an airplane.”

  Panic rises in me, cresting quickly, dropping just as quickly off. My mind feels fuzzy.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I murmur.

  “That’s the problem,” he is saying wildly now. “Blue’s dad, Michael’s father, he’s a big shot. He’s the Chairman of the JCoS and he was in on it. He thought he was helping us, but since then, Gwen… They know I love you, and I’m scared now! If I tell you, Gwen—” He shakes his head. “There was no way. There was no way not to. If I never told you, you would never know…these things…that you deserve to know.” His eyes squeeze shut. “It’s my fault. I should just leave, but I’m too selfish. I don’t know. I should be dead…”

  “I died,” a strange voice says.

  “I’m sorry, Gwenna. I have to protect you. I couldn’t leave and tell you nothing! You’ll have to protect yourself, hide out while I—”

  I tackle him. I guess I get my hand around the gun. I must, because it sails into the darkness. I go at his face, his throat, his shoulders: hitting, punching, clawing. I rip him to shreds because he’s everything I love. He’s everything I want.

  He wrecked it…

  BARRETT

  January 1, 2016

  I don’t care when I hear them come up on me. I can tell by the way their footfall sounds, even in snow: there must be eight at least. I see them moving in the trees around me. I hope they come fast. The snow’s so deep, and I’m so tired… I left Gwen when she passed out. I called her friend. Hours ago—or days?

  And suddenly there’s Dove, and Blue, and more.

  I look at their faces only.

  I don’t want to see the guns.

  I shut my eyes and summon Gwenna’s face. She’ll never understand. I love her. It was all an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt her…I didn’t mean to love her.

  “Couldn’t help it.”

  My eyes shut, on their own.

  “Bear?” Dove’s voice; maybe Blue’s hands on my shoulders.

  I blink up at him and then…the sting.

  TWENTY FIVE

  GWENNA

  January 4, 2016

  In darkness, light looks brighter. We keep passing all these little towns in—where? Where are we? Kansas? Oklahoma? Somewhere prairie-ish. It’ll be pitch black except our headlights. I’ll be half asleep, my mind wiped blank for half a second. Then that light. It looks like the beam of a spaceship from behind my eyelids. I’ll open them up and it’s like, two farmhouses and a barn. Blinding in the darkness. There’ll be this lone horse hanging by the fence line, mane all blowing in the wind, maybe a piece of tumbleweed darting across the road, and it’s just so depressing. So depressing.

  It’s my fault, though. This is what I told Jamie I wanted. Get back home to my bears. See Papa. I can tell she doesn’t think I’m strong enough. She keeps mentioning my mom’s, or Rett’s house. How they want to see me. Yeah.

  “Are you awake?” she murmurs.

  “Of course.” I sigh, then make a mental note to stop the sighing. Nothing says I’m a bottomless pit of black angst like a noisy sigh.

  “You should really take an Ativan.”

  And be transported back to January 2012 in yet another way?

  “No thanks.”

  “Stubborn.”

  “Pushy,” I snip.

  “You’re allowed to be stubborn,” she says with her own sigh. “Right now, I’d say you’re allowed to be whatever you want.”

  I don’t have a reply for that. I don’t have a reply for most things, so I just look at my cuticles, then at the road, lit up some ways ahead by the rear lights of what I think are several eighteen-wheelers in a row.

  The truth is, I wish I could take Ativan. Or Xanax. I wish I could take anything, but these last couple of days, I’ve been haunted by those first few months after the accident. I don’t even want to see an Ativan, much less swallow one and enter zombie mode. I might not have much right now, but I have my own thoughts and feelings—awful though they are.

  I take a sip of my McDonald’s latte, lift my gaze up to the car clock. It’s 12:39 a.m. Soon, I think Jamie will want to stop.

  It doesn’t matter where we stop, or when, really. Even without the Ativan, I’ll go to sleep at some point. I’ll wake up. We’ll have to find breakfast, gas the car back up, and get back on the road.

  And in another day or two, we’ll be back to Gatlinburg. Home. And I will see my bears. I’ll keep on sleeping, eating, showering, because what else is there to do? Dig a pit and fall inside and die? I’ve thought of it—believe me. But giving up is pointless. Not to mention, difficult. I’m not wired that way. I never really have been. Even in 2012. I never really gave up. I got sad, but I didn’t quit holding on.

  That’s the worst thing about life, I think. The way it doesn’t stop when your heart does. It feels illogical, the way time marches on, and you walk too, slowly, surreally, feeling like a fish on land. Even when you can’t make sense of it, eventually, you kind of have to. There’s no other way. You do—because you have to. End of story.

  I wish they wrote books and made movies about this: this helpless, numb continuum. I wish I could go off the deep end. Shave my hair off. Bash someone else’s car windshield in. Refuse to leave the bed. But that’s not real life.

  What is?

  I don’t know.

  What will I do when I get back there?

  Will he be there?

  Jamie told me “no.” She said Nic’s been keeping up with him through his friends. Breck’s buddies. Of which he—Nic—was apparently one.

  Nic says Bear isn’t even in the South. I heard Jamie on the phone with him last night from where I stood outside her door, crying silently, about to go inside and cry in her bed. She was saying, “So he disappeared? Back to that cabin?”

  Then her super ears picked up my sniffling and she got off the phone. But I know what she meant, I think. Bear had a cabin over the summer. He spent some of this past summer up here in Breckenridge. Before deciding to find me, I guess.

  I look at the dashboard and I see us walking down that road. I know what I know about his real feelings for me because of how he disappeared. Jamie found me in some PTSD fugue, lying in the snow, but there was blood under my fingernails. My knuckles are still bruised and cut. My right elbow is sore and looks a little greenish. When I tried to talk to her that night—two nights ago, I think—I barely even had a voice.

  I think I screamed at him.

  I know I hit him.

  I
don’t really remember…but I have this feeling. I remember feeling…rage. I can almost kind of see his face. Wide eyes. Red eyes. I can feel the difference in our sizes. He was solid underneath my fists. He was mine.

  Tears pool in my eyes and start to streak down my cheeks.

  I loved him!

  I wanted nothing more than him.

  Barrett.

  My Barrett.

  Made up. Fiction. Gone.

  The man I loved doesn’t exist.

  He didn’t love me. He felt sorry for me.

  How pathetic did he think I was? The way his guilt mixed in with empathy and sorrow. Not to mention loneliness.

  I was his atonement, I think. Or rather, I wonder. I heard people talking the day after: New Year’s Day. Something about how he didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to lose his dick inside of my vagina, I guess. Didn’t mean to lie, to go to Christmas with me, didn’t mean to tell me all about his life.

  What happened between us was an accident. The second tragic accident featuring the us as co-stars.

  Oh, how much I hate him.

  Want to hate him.

  I don’t even know I nodded off until I wake under a hotel awning dreaming something strange, in which I’m saying, “Can’t.”

  BARRETT

  January 5, 2016

  “Hold on now.” The woman holds one finger up. “Say that again?” She’s almost smiling. It’s this weird half smile that’s not a smile. Her head is tilted sideways. I keep waiting for my heart to pound, but I’m steady as a stone as I say it again.

  “I’m guilty of a hit and run. On New Year’s Eve, 2012.”

  Her lips roll themselves together. I watch her grayish eyebrows tighten and her brown eyes sharpen. I can see her thinking.

  “Twelve…” Her cheek indents from where her molars bite down on it, but her gaze is shrewd on mine. “I think I might remember something. Tell me more, mister…?”

  “Sergeant Drake.” I blink. “Sorry. My name is Barrett Drake. Retired Army.”

  I tell the woman everything I can, omitting every detail that involves my friends. Two hours later, I’m booked into the Breckenridge County Jail.