Five Will Die, page 16
After downing one more beer for the road, he found Chuck in the back room, a girl half-naked on his lap.
“I’m out, Chuck,” Alex murmured, mock saluting him as he left. The guy was somewhat of a cocky asshole, but he was the closest thing to a friend Alex had at that point. Even though Chuck had money, he was pretty pissed at his parents, it seemed. They both had that in common, which brought them together. Not to mention the fact Chuck’s biological parents were apparently pieces of shit as well. It was just that Chuck was fortunate enough to land with a decent family early on.
“You okay to drive?” Chuck asked as the girl kept kissing his neck.
“Of course,” he replied, waving his hand. Chuck shrugged and waved to him, the girl on his lap insistent they finish what they started.
Alex got in the car, his head a bit woozy from all the booze. Maybe he’d overdone it. Still, he didn’t feel like calling his foster parents and asking for their help. He didn’t feel like getting a lecture or watching Joshua, his foster father, grin with that “I told you so” smile about him. He just didn’t.
He’d be okay. It wasn’t far. Just twenty minutes and he’d be home. And he would have, if it hadn’t started raining. He would’ve been fine if he hadn’t had that final beer, perhaps, or if Chuck hadn’t been busy with a girl and they’d have hung out a little longer.
Five minutes was the difference between an easy, smooth but drunken drive home—and the disaster that ensued.
Because as he was going around a turn, the rain pouring down, he felt a clunk, a bump, as something big flew up over his car. He stopped in the middle of the turn, the rain pouring down. And that was when he saw it. The blood on his windshield. The limp male body, splayed out in the grass. And that was when he sank to his knees, knowing he was no better than the woman he’d spent all those years trying to outdrink and outrun.
He called Chuck immediately, but he didn’t answer. He called again and again, hoping the nickname “Two pump, Chuck” was a true statement.
Chuck called two minutes later.
“Chuck, I did a bad thing. A real bad thing. I need help,” he uttered into the phone, the rain still pouring down as he stared at the body.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“The bend outside of Mars Creek, right on Miller’s Run Road.
“Fuck. I’ll be right there.”
And he was. Chuck was right there to help as best as he could. But he never could fix things completely. Sure, he helped him get rid of the body down the embankment, helped him clean up his car. He helped him inspect the car for any traces of trouble and made sure he got home. He helped calm down the inconsolable Alex so he didn’t give himself away, assured him no one would ever know he was there at that time. He invited him over to spend the night so the foster parents didn’t get suspicious, and in the morning, Chuck helped buff out the scratches on the paint that could be traced back.
He saved him that night and every night after, at least physically. Still, Chuck couldn’t save him from the guilt and from the knowledge that after everything, he turned out to be not so different from his mother after all. The apple and all that.
HE HADN’T HEARD A SCREAM when he’d killed that man that fateful night. Nevertheless, the memories flooded back all the same when Monica’s terrified shriek and order for them all to get out or hide rang through the building.
When they saw the floods of cubicle workers head to the elevator, Scarlet had pulled him into her office. They’d shut off the light, hunkered down, and prayed. He’d rocked himself in the corner, trying not to think of those scenes from his childhood that still haunted him or of that night when he’d followed in his mother’s footsteps and killed a man. Tears had streamed down his face as he’d tried to keep it together, if for no other reason than to comfort Scarlet.
“They’re coming for me. The manuscript threat. The nuts. It’s over,” she whispered, spinning out. He’d never seen her so scared. He’d grabbed her hand and tried to calm her, convincing her they were fine, that the police would be there any minute.
But that wasn’t a comfort for him. Even passing them on the street was a worry. As long as he was alive, he’d always be afraid of them. Perhaps that was the curse that Crime & Punishment had taught him in his AP Literature class, months before that fateful night when he’d driven that car. Months before Chuck had helped him roll the body down the embankment as Alex fell apart, watching his life end up just like his mother’s. The apple never fell far.
When the gun shot rang out, Alex hated to admit that a tiny part of him hoped it was Chuck at the other end. Because if Chuck died, then so would the secret. He’d no longer belong to anyone, and freedom would be his for the first time in his life.
The police had rescued them after what truly felt like an eternity, cleared them from the office. They were moved to the holding floor for questioning, Scarlet still shaking in the corner. Alex had been shaking for other reasons. Chuck had emerged, grayed and horrified. Alex had never seen him like that.
“He blew his brains out. I watched him. Right there,” he murmured as he passed Alex. Chuck had a crazed look in his eye, like a man coming undone. How undone would he come? Would he start remembering other bloody scenes from the past? Would a cold case from years ago open back up, Alex thrown in jail to rot for his past sins?
His hands were trembling. He shoved them in his pockets. The pills were still in his desk, along with the whiskey. If he could get to the floor, to his desk, he could take matters into his own hands. He could put an end to it before they had a chance to put him away. No one would be surprised. Poor thing, traumatized from his father’s murder as a child. Poor Alex, destined to fail.
He exhaled. Keep it together, Kid, he told himself as he had over and over again through his life. There was no one else to help him keep a hold of himself. He had to do it on his own, even now. Chuck wouldn’t talk. No one would listen if he did. He just had to make it through the next few hours and then off he would go. For good. He’d start over, never looking back.
The Killer
I am not my past. I am not my future. I am now. Right now.
And soon, they’ll have another body to deal with. Soon, Todd will be the last thing they talk about.
Soon, I’ll kill. Soon, the first will die. The first that counts for me, anyway.
Damnit, why does the universe always let things get in my way?
No matter. Because now that they’re all a whirling mess of chaos, it will be even easier to strike. Now that they think I’m an innocent, they’ll never suspect that the devil is about to be loosed.
I can feel the blood smattering about. I can smell the scent of fear. Soon, revenge will be mine. They’ll wish they’d never laid eyes on the boy with red hair.
They’ll realize what they’ve missed. The red-haired boy has been lurking close, hiding in plain sight.
Chapter Forty-Three
Gretchen
It felt like seventeen days had gone by when the police finally released them. They’d been through hell and then some. How had it all gone to shit?
Everyone scattered. She sat still for a few moments, afraid that if she moved, she’d realize it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real life, her mess to sort out now. It had always been her mess, though, hadn’t it? She just hadn’t realized it then. She’d been too focused on—what? Success? Love? Sex? How had she fallen so far?
She shouldn’t be alone, they said. But what else was she now? Alone. Fucking alone. For good.
Chuck had also been frozen in place. She reached for Chuck’s hand as they walked to the elevator, but he shrugged her off. She was truly on her own now, had lost it all. A cursed talisman no one would ever want to be near again.
She wondered if it was too late to call Chelsea Rhodes back and take her up on her offer to stay with her. It would mean hearing Chelsea’s sniveling and sobbing all night or perhaps hearing her inappropriately timed motivational speeches, but it was better than going to the hotel room alone. The police were searching her home, ripping apart any semblance of normalcy she had. What normalcy? Life was over for her. In the blink of an eye, no that wasn’t correct, in a series of choices made, life was over for her.
Even the resolute, the driven can fall.
She stepped into the elevator with Chuck, his jaw clenched, hands in his pockets. They heard footsteps, and Chuck held the door for the third passenger. The doors closed, and a chill came over Gretchen.
Perhaps it really was all over. Perhaps she’d pay for her sins indeed.
Chapter Forty-Four
Scarlet
I did something really bad. I’m afraid they’re closing in on it, that it’s going to come out. I’m leaving town for good. I just wanted to say goodbye.
The tables at the coffee bar on the first floor were empty. She read the text message from Alex again, her hands shaking as she sat there, immobile.
Who was anyone anymore? And how had everything fallen apart so quickly for her?
She’d known Evermore was a stop on her way, a stepping stone. She’d get the experience she needed and be on her merry way, off to the top before turning thirty. She’d already picked out the Louie Vuitton heels she’d buy when she got that first real job.
Ever since she was young, all anyone saw when they looked at her was some chesty redhead with an air of seduction. They didn’t see how capable she was, how worthy she was of more. She was determined to show them.
Now, though, sitting in the wreckage of what had happened, wondering what role her lusty endeavors played in it all, she sank back in her chair. Alex was gone. The police were at their door. She could’ve been killed. And for what? For Evermore? Was it even worth it anymore?
Her legs were weak. She’d been cleared from questioning for the night and really should go home. Almost everyone had scattered after the ordeal and after the police had asked them all more questions than they could answer. The building was empty except for police going in and out, some stopping to ask if she was okay.
How could any of this be okay? How could this not be a sign that maybe life wasn’t quite what it should be?
She felt powerless, alone, for perhaps the first time in her life. And then a dark voice beckoned her.
“Scarlet?” he said, and she looked at the front door to see Lucius, still in his suit, looking disheveled but still whole. “Can I walk you home?” he asked, his voice quiet and stoic.
She was confused. She’d sworn she’d seen him leave the building a while ago. Had he come back now? For her? Maybe he didn’t want to be alone, either. She looked at him, not with lascivious eyes but critical ones. The way he studied her, the way he reached out his hand made her feel more at ease, more seen. He approached her, and she felt as if she knew him as more than Lucius the marketer, Lucius from Evermore. She felt like when her hand touched his, there was a familiar comfort there—but also an inexplicable chill. Clearly, she was on edge from everything.
“Tough night,” he murmured as she leaned on his arm. The two set off into the dark night, walking down the sidewalk as the city still bustled. Their lives had changed forever, but the horns still honked, the flashy lights still brightened the dark night. Life went on in the city, always. Perhaps that was both the curse and the comfort. The chill in the air bit into her, prickling her senses. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her.
“Everything’s just so fucked up,” she whispered.
“Isn’t it always?” he said. “I’ve come to learn that life’s a shitshow and, if you’re lucky, you’ll get a little justice.”
Her head hurt too much to analyze Lucius’s deep words. She felt numb but glad to have someone to lead the way. She rested herself against him as they plunged forward, deeper in the night toward her apartment building. She couldn’t wait to climb into bed and put everything behind her.
“The next right,” she murmured, but realized he was already angling them that way as if he already knew.
Chapter Forty-Five
Chuck
He’d been a bad man. Looking back on everything, Chuck realized it was true. He’d lived a fucked-up life. He’d grown up in squalor, only to be saved by the lap of luxury, only to fall back down with the devil again.
He thought of all the missteps he’d taken. He thought of that night with Alex, tossing the body down the embankment. He thought of how hard he’d fought to be accepted his whole life, only to shoot himself in the foot. The cover-ups, the drugs, the lies. All of his secrets were closing in on him. How long until they caught up with him, either through prison or through death?
He’d come close to it all ending tonight. He could see the hatred in Todd’s eyes and knew. It could’ve been him. And then what? What would he have to show for his life?
Alex paced in the elevator, clearly a mess as well. He knew he was thinking about it all, about that night. How often did those nightmares plague him, too? How often did he have to wash them away with narcotics and alcohol, numb himself to the reality of who he was?
Gretchen also stood, shaking, in the corner. If he had any sympathy left, he would feel bad for her. She’d lost it all that night. The elevator hit the ground floor. Alex rushed off without a word. He did not look back.
Gretchen stood there for a moment, staring at him.
“Come away with me,” her voice implored. It was a breathy, wispy voice, not the voice of the woman he’d fucked over and over again, whispering with strength in his ear.
Her eyes begged him. He thought if he said no, she would crumple to the ground and never move. So, he did the only thing he could do. He did the last horrible thing, sealed his fate as bound for hell. He closed the elevator door with the touch of a button. She did not move.
He wrote down the address on the piece of paper.
“Meet me there in two hours,” he whispered.
Her face was aglow.
You’re an absolute monster, he told himself as she smiled and tucked the paper away. She kissed his cheek, and he felt her naive sense of hope reanimate.
He pushed the button and let her off. She turned back to him and mouthed, “I love you.”
But she wouldn’t. Not in a couple of hours. Because he wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be. He needed a fresh start away from the sins of his past, away from it all.
He needed to move on from the redheaded boy his mother abandoned. He needed to be more than the lucky son-of-a-bitch the rich family adopted. He needed to be more than the drug running and the secret keeper and the sex fiend.
He would be more, if it fucking killed him.
Chapter Forty-Six
Lucius
“Do you want to come in for a drink?” she asked, maybe because it was the polite, New Yorker kind of thing to do. Perhaps she just didn’t want to be alone after the harrowing events that had unfolded. And perhaps, she’d begun to understand her own mortality.
He had been counting on her to ask him, had been desperate for it. Of course, he’d planned for the worst.
Still, he needed to stay calm. He was letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d turned toward her apartment without her even saying a word. Rookie error. Luckily, the ordeal from Todd had left her all off kilter. Thank God for small miracles, he thought.
Everyone was rattled by the blood splattered in the office, from Todd’s brains blown out for all to see. Lucius felt something else, though.
Motivation. Energy. Lust, even, at the thought of the blood that was about to be his.
“Oh, the horror! The horror!” he thought. He’d always hated Conrad, but the words befit the moment as he followed her into her apartment.
He’d waited decades for this moment. It had been fifteen years, to be exact. If he remembered correctly, it was only a couple of weeks until her birthday. Too bad she’d never see the candles.
She led him inside, and he glanced around at the clean, whiteness of it all. A blank slate. How beautiful it would be soon. He inhaled and exhaled as she poked about turning on lights. And then, before she could turn to ask what he preferred to drink, he struck, a blow to the head so hard, it did its job.
It was time to get to work.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Scarlet
Her head pounded and throbbed worse than any hangover. She lifted her hand to her head to feel it, but her hand wouldn’t move. She opened her eyes wide, recognizing through the daze and haze of confusion her own apartment. She moved her other hand, but it, too, was restrained, the shiny gray duct tape on her wrists and her ankles sending panic through her.
Lucius Barr. He’d followed her into her apartment and then ...
“Stay calm, Darling. Wouldn’t want you to break your nail,” he murmured, a knife at her throat. “Scream and I cut you to pieces.” He poked at her in warning. He backed away. She fought the urge to scream, but she knew it would be no use. He would be upon her before the neighbors even questioned anything.
He paced right in front of her now like a panther. She noticed the silver blade of a knife in his gloved hand, tapping out a beat against his other hand as he paced. Stalked. Stared. She debated her best course of action.
“Lucius? What’s going on?” she croaked, trying to do her Pilates’ breaths to calm her racing heart. If she was going to survive, she couldn’t let panic get the best of her.
“Duct tape, huh? Not fun, is it, to be trapped? To be a helpless creature, terrified. You should know, shouldn’t you?” he asked, running his free hand through his hair now, still stalking back and forth, back and forth, in an infuriatingly calm manner now. He held all the cards, and he knew it.
She racked her brain, trying to sort it all out. He’d seemed like such a square man, sexy but square. Always where he was supposed to be, when. Reliable. Kind. What the hell was happening? And what had he done already? She thought of the hand, of the manuscript threat. What had been connected to Todd, what was because of Chuck’s business, and what was Lucius? And most importantly, why?
