My Dead Husband, page 19
‘Tell her what?’ Freddy looked at me and then Kayden. ‘I don’t understand. You had a kid?’
‘Tell her how old you are.’
I bolted to my feet and stared at him, my heartbeat cracking inside my chest. ‘He’s twenty-five. Nice try, you sick fuck.’
‘Is that right?’ Kayden beamed at Freddy. ‘Is that how old you are?’
‘You told me to lie about my age, you deranged psychopath.’
‘So how old are you? It’s a simple question.’
‘I’m nineteen.’
55
I keeled over as my belly cramped, as vomit forced its way up my throat and spewed over my shoes and the carpet. My knees buckled and I puked more as though I could expel what Freddy and I had done from my body.
I collapsed onto my hands and knees and retched until I was empty, hollowed-out.
This was it: what Paisley had hinted at.
It wasn’t that Freddy had been hired to seduce me.
This was why they’d picked him.
‘Please no,’ I gasped. ‘Please fucking God no.’
‘Ellie, Jesus…’ Freddy knelt beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I lashed out, slapping him, needing to get him as far away from me as possible. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘You really are a moron, aren’t you, kid?’ Kayden chuckled. ‘You’re adopted.’
‘Yeah, I’m adopted, so what… No, no, fucking no.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Kayden sang, ‘fucking yes.’
I fell onto my side, my breathing acidic and burning from the vomit, my mind replaying the moments I’d shared with Freddy, the intimacy: the sex and the laughter and the kissing and the belief he might be the man to finally make it all better.
‘Ellie is your mother. You hear that, sweet wife? You fucked your own son. And you say I’m the sick one.’
56
‘You’re a fucking liar!’ I screamed, leaping to my feet and moving toward Kayden.
He dragged Mum to her feet by her hair, eliciting a warbling cry that went right to my centre, to the piece of me which had sworn to always protect her and keep her safe ever since I was a little girl. Nothing else would’ve stopped me – the sickness of what he’d done was too great – but that did.
I paused, rubbing at the vomit coating my lips.
‘I used the money Lottie kindly provides to hire a private investigator and find the mite. He was working in a bar and trying to get his dog-shit band a record deal. He’s quite like you in that way, Ellie, with his mediocre talents. But, of course, you would be similar.’
Freddy was standing beside me, rage emanating from him. I could feel the heat but I dare not look at him. Because then I might throw myself at him instead of Kayden, bury my thumbs in his eyes, do whatever it took to make him go away forever. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault Kayden was deranged.
‘When’s your birthday, Freddy?’ Kayden went on, his grin never faltering.
Freddy whispered the date: the same date I’d given my child away.
I paced up and down the room, my hands in my hair, tugging at it so hard several pieces came loose and my scalp stung. But it was easier than thinking about what we’d done together, the sex, the sex.
I’d had multiple orgasms with my own son.
I’d thought to myself, Fuck, he’s good, he’s so good.
And he was my son.
He was my son.
‘No, no, no, no.’ I wept then collapsed against the chair. My heartbeat was too frantic. I choked and struggled to breathe. ‘It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be.’
‘But it is.’ Kayden leaned down and brought his face close to Mum. She was staring off into space, her eyes glassy, the same way I must’ve looked in my waking coma when I blotted Freddy’s existence from my mind. ‘Do you see what you’ve done, Lottie? You thought you could skip off into a nice normal life. But look. Look at where it got you. This is your punishment for what you did. This is the price you pay. The past always catches up. Always. You were never safe. We were waiting.’
I rubbed my legs up and down over and over. I couldn’t sit still. There was too much pain scorching through me.
I knew I’d never love again. I knew I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror. I might take a razor blade to my wrist when the agony of this perversion crushed too heavily.
If I got out of there alive.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
‘My son. My child.’
‘Your son.’ Kayden laughed. ‘Your child.’
‘He’s lying.’ I could feel Freddy staring at me from his place near the sofa, but I refused to turn to him. I’d vomit again if I had to meet his intense gaze. ‘Ellie. You didn’t have a baby, did you?’
‘I did. And I gave him away. On your birthday.’
‘I have proof,’ Kayden said cheerfully. ‘Hang on. I’ll email it to you. If I decide to let you go, you can peruse it at your leisure.’
He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He must’ve had the email saved, because he only had to tap a few times before dropping it back into his pocket. My phone vibrated against my leg, but I didn’t reach for it. I believed him without the proof.
The dates matched.
I’d fucked my son.
My son.
I’d fucked my fucking son.
The enormity started to work its way through Freddy. His breath was loud, ramping up through his clenched teeth, as though he was about to explode in a fury of violence.
‘Look, Lottie, your daughter and your grandson. Look what you did to them. Look what you fucking did–’
Mum screamed as she leapt away from him, spinning and slapping him across the face. There was a loud tear as strands of her hair came loose in his hand, and then she ducked and ran across the room.
I didn’t think.
I was sick and I didn’t care if I died, as long as Kayden died too, as long as he got what he deserved.
I jumped and ran at him, pulling the letter opener from my pocket.
Kayden cackled and backhanded me across the face, making it seem far too easy.
I crashed into the floor. My bones shook.
And then he was on me, his breath hot against my face, the same way it’d been countless times during our marriage. ‘Have it your way.’
He brought the knife to my throat.
57
The knife kissed my skin coldly.
Part of me willed him to apply more pressure, to keep pushing until it plunged deeply and I didn’t have to live with the perversion I’d committed. But my body responded as my mind lost hope. I brought the letter opener toward his side, meaning to stab him, to hurt him as he’d hurt me countless times.
Freddy looped his arm around Kayden’s neck and dragged him to his feet. For what felt like several torturous minutes – but was truly only half a breath – I stared at the sight of my son with his arm around my resurrected husband’s neck. Freddy’s face was twisted in rage, his eyes blazing, and for a hateful second I remembered how he’d looked once when we were having sex: that same rage, that same obsessive expression.
My son.
I rolled away, panting, touching my neck to see if Kayden had done any damage. Which was a stupid thing to check for. He’d already hurt me more than he ever could.
I didn’t know how to feel when I found my skin unharmed. It would’ve been easier if he’d slit me open, let torrents of blood gush down my body: the body I’d thrown against Freddy’s, grinding his length, bouncing and moaning with no clue we shared, we shared–
Everything, we shared everything. He was the boy at the heart of this.
Finally, time resumed, and Freddy spun Kayden around.
‘Fucking animal.’ He headbutted Kayden so hard he flew across the room, smashing into the wall. ‘Fucking monster.’
Kayden threw himself forward, trying to bring the knife in a wide arc toward Freddy, but the younger man – my son, my strong, beautiful, broken baby boy – was far too fast.
He rushed him and smashed his shoulder into his chest, tackling him to the floor and then falling upon him.
The attack was feral.
I could only sit there, paralysed, as Freddy entered a state of pure fury.
He punched Kayden in the face over and over, the sound like a baseball bat hitting a piece of meat, throwing his whole body into the strikes. Mum was suddenly behind me, her hands on my shoulders, helping me to stand and pulling me away from the violence.
Kayden brought the knife up into Freddy’s side, burying it deep, a blossom of vivid red spreading through his shirt.
But nothing could stop Freddy. He punched and punched until Kayden’s arms fell slack, until his body began to twitch and reverberate in death throes.
He kept on, crushing Kayden’s nose into his face, his cheeks swelling to twice, and then three times their regular size.
Minutes passed and Freddy kept going.
Finally, the paralysis which had gripped me fell away.
I stared in full horror at what was happening, at what I had done. I couldn’t stop thinking it was my fault, over and over, on a hissing loop in my mind: all your fault all your fault all your fault. Because I should’ve known, the moment I saw him, that Freddy belonged to me. I should’ve remembered those hopeful eyes and those lips and the feel of his skin against mine.
Freddy’s breathing became laboured and the room filled with the stink of blood and shit and piss, as Kayden voided himself in death, and Freddy wouldn’t stop. On and on, he brought his blood-smeared fists down against Kayden’s face.
A triumphant part of me sang as Freddy unleashed himself on Kayden’s corpse. My mum’s hand on my shoulder felt very far away, numb, everything numb. And yet there were whole worlds writhing and boiling beneath the veil of numbness.
One part urged me to dart forward and join in: to peel away Kayden’s skin and force it down his throat, to cut off his rapist’s cock and shove it into his eye socket. Macabre and evil vignettes blazed in my mind, sending tingles over my body, willing me to leap on his face with both my feet, crush his jaws, crush his soul.
But it was my baby boy who was inflicting this damage, my beautiful, precious baby boy, the one they’d taken from me, the one they’d said I was too young and immature to take care of. Yet look what had become of us without each other’s love. I never would’ve fallen for Kayden if I’d had my Theo, my Freddy, the life I should’ve fought with every last breath to protect.
This part of me screamed it wasn’t too late. We could salvage this. He could still be my bundle of joy.
What a fucking joke.
‘Evil.’ Freddy hit Kayden. ‘Piece of.’ He hit him. ‘Shit.’ He hit him.
I took a step forward, hand outstretched, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch Freddy. To touch him would mean to feel his flesh against mine, the confusing warmth, awakening yet another piece of me: the piece which refused to believe he was mine, refused to believe I’d committed one of the most reprehensible acts imaginable.
I let my hand drop and gawped at the bloody mess he’d made.
Kayden’s face had exploded in a torrent of gore and it spread around him, sinking into the carpet, splattering Freddy’s face so he became a picture of carnage.
‘Freddy.’ My voice was as distant and numb as everything else. I must’ve seemed strangely calm, even as my insides were twisting and my fingers twitching for the blade. I’d slice myself open like I tried to as a teenager, but this time I’d do it right: hit the right place, let it all pour out. ‘That’s enough.’
‘He’s already dead.’ Freddy’s movements were slowing down, his arms tiring from the ferocity of his attack. His voice was devoid of emotion, as distant as mine. Like mother, like son. ‘But I have to make sure.’
Freddy grabbed the knife from Kayden’s limp hand and stabbed him in the chin, working it from side to side, dislocating his jaws as he wrenched it brutally.
I brought my hands to my face, reflex telling me to cover my eyes, but my fingers spread as though of their own volition. Too much was happening too fast and it hurt, and I wanted to run, and I wanted to stare, and I wanted to get involved, and I wanted to be dead.
Freddy pried the blade free and lacerated Kayden’s cheeks, and then brought the blade up in both hands and threw his whole body down, sinking the knife into Kayden’s chest and holding it there, pressing his face down near the mess he’d made.
‘Feel that, you fucking freak? Feel that? Do you? Do you fucking feel it?’
He twisted the blade around and around and around, staring as though in fascination at what he was doing. I did the same: watching far too enthralled as Freddy opened his mouth in a wolfish grin and then bit down on Kayden’s lip, or what remained of it. At first I thought I was hallucinating, remnants of Paisley’s drug gripping me.
But no – he gnawed and then spit soaked strips of flesh at Kayden’s face.
‘Freddy,’ I whispered. ‘You have to stop. You have to…’
My voice caught and I realised I was crying. I wasn’t sure when I’d started, but my throat felt tight, choked. The fractured part of me collapsed into the actual and then I collapsed, my legs giving out.
I fell onto my side and gazed at the sickening show Freddy was performing.
I brought my knees to my chest and hugged them, weeping, pathetically and purposelessly because that’s what I’d always been. I saw it now, clearer than I ever could before.
Pathetic. Purposeless. My whole life leading here, to this hate and pain and hell. My whole life leading to my punishment. Punishment for letting my boy go. Punishment for not fighting hard enough.
Mum was moving, her legs passing by me, an efficient shuffle. Maybe she was going into the garden: her escape, a way to pretend none of this was happening.
‘I’m going to call the police,’ she announced in a strangely official tone. ‘Freddy, did you hear me? I’m going to call the police.’
Why was she asking him?
Because she was scared he was going to do the same to her. He was going to hurt her, lacerate her, misshape her. Her own grandson. She was scared of her own grandson.
‘Fine.’ Freddy was working the knife deep into Kayden’s eye socket, staring with a sick grimace on his face. ‘That’s fine. Whatever.’
I glanced up to find Mum staring at me with her cheeks glimmering with tears. We met eyes for a moment, and I read the mess of emotion: the guilt and the regret and the pain and the apology.
The bitch. The fucking evil bitch.
She could’ve warned me about Kayden. But she didn’t.
She’d lied to me for years and now she stared as though we were going to embrace and it would heal all I’d learned, all that had happened.
Mum left the room and I lay my cheek against the floor, thinking strangely about how soft it was, how clean it smelt. It was much cleaner than what Freddy was doing, than the butchery on the end of his blade. He picked it up and studied it like a curious boy in science class, and finally I closed my eyes against it all.
But it didn’t help.
Paisley took shape in the darkness of my eyelids, a wet wide smile on her face, the sound of Freddy’s mutilation becoming the harsh tenor of her voice. ‘I told you I’d win, you stupid girl. I always win.’
58
Six months and the pain had not faded. The violence of Freddy’s attack was a vivid, hateful kaleidoscope in my mind, each time I closed my eyes, a curtain of crimson pulling shut and locking me into the past.
I smelt the stink of Kayden’s death in every meal: the blood, the shit, the sweat. I heard the squelch of the knife in muddy shoes across grass. The flicker of a passing bird became Freddy surging across the room, tackling him, brutalising him.
I’d moved out of Weston, quit FCA, and I was living in a nearby village and working in a shop. I’d turned myself into an automaton, focusing only on basic physical things. Stocking shelves, serving customers – with a fabricated smile if I could muster it – walking home, collapsing and staring at the ceiling. Writing had been impossible after everything which had happened. The words, which had once flowed so easily, refused to appear. Or perhaps that was an excuse; perhaps I knew I didn’t deserve the outlet, not after what I’d done.
But I couldn’t keep this stowed away inside anymore. As I watched the sun glitter against Theo’s gorgeous London office, I knew it was time Theo knew the truth. I couldn’t live in stasis.
This feeling was working its way inside of me, like a voice screaming.
Do something, do something now. You can’t be passive forever.
Freddy had received seventeen years for his use of excessive force against Kayden. Whenever I thought about him, my lover, my son… whatever I thought, it was a pitiable fate. He’d saved my life and now he would rot away the best years of his life. He had become a shell of a person. I hated him: hated what we did, rather. And I hated myself. I never wanted to see him again, and yet I needed to hold him and tell him it would work out in the end.
Kayden and Paisley had stolen my right to ever feel normal again. Each time I bought a coffee, stood in line at the supermarket, I expected legions of people to turn and point their fingers at me.
‘Son-fucker! Son-fucker! She fucked her son!’
Kayden was dead. What about his sick mother?
I wasn’t at all happy with letting her live unpunished. But I wasn’t sure I was capable either: of what I’d have to do to make this right.
Theo’s graphic design office sat across the car park, with a fancy calligraphy-style logo affixed to the spot next to the door. When a sleek silver BMW pulled up and the boy from my visions, my past stepped out, a shiver ran through me. I placed my hand over my mouth and watched as this tall handsome man – as sleek as his car, sleeker – walked on confident legs toward the front door.
I stepped from my place under a tree, raising my voice. ‘Wait.’
He stopped, turned. His hair was cut neatly, and he was wearing a shirt and chinos and shiny shoes. He looked like a different species to me.
