Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  “I haven’t heard,” I answer.

  “Detective Turley came by this morning to ask a million questions. He’s probably with Gus now.”

  “Dad and Gibbs will be here by 7:30 tonight.”

  “And you?”

  “Both of me, unless I figure out a way to change that. I also sent a note to my mother, but I haven’t heard back.”

  “So the plan is . . .”

  “Jag and I will meet them at the airport and drive them here. The hospital will discharge you to Dad. Then we’ll go to my house for however long we need.”

  “Are they staying in Austin, or will we be flying back to Alaska?”

  Jag turns toward me and holds my hand. I squeeze back.

  “I want all of us to stay here.”

  She reaches for Jag’s other hand. I hold hers, so we make a circle. “I’d like that.”

  “You’re sleeping in my bed, Sis, so I hope you don’t snore.”

  “No snoring. But I might scream or cry in the dark.”

  “I’ll hold you. We’ll get through this.” I kiss her cheek. “Jag and I are going to my house to wash up and get the house ready for visitors. We won’t be long. Can we get you anything before we go?”

  “Their heads on a pike. I realized while I was hanging in that trailer, between rapes and torture, that no matter what I did, some version of Caden would live. I had sworn to myself I would kill every Caden in every universe. But every time I killed one, another version of me didn’t. Every time he attacked you or someone else, another version didn’t. And some Cadens never attacked anyone. I could never get them all. But I would like to live in a universe where he and his brother don’t.”

  We squeeze her hands one more time and leave. Jag and I are silent as we walk into the waiting room. He stops and holds both my hands. “Two questions: You want me to meet your father at the airport tonight?”

  “And Gibbs. And me.”

  “There’ll be two of you?”

  “No. I’ve got it figured out. Next question.”

  “You want me to go to your house now and quote ‘wash up’? I can go back to my house for that.”

  I move closer and play with the hair around his left ear. “You could, but you’d have more fun at my house. Besides, you could stay with us tonight. If you want. I kinda like having you around. You know, for protection. My ninja.”

  We draw together for a sweet kiss.

  30

  As Jag follows me to my house, I think about the possibility of meeting myself at the airport. I said I’d figured out what to do, but I’d lied. What were the possibilities? Laney, Dad, and Gibbs walk into Baggage Claim and hug Jag and Laney. Then there’s two of us forever. Or we see each other and Poof! One or both of us disappear or die. But then I remember seeing myself outside my house. She had to have been me behind the sunglasses.

  I don’t think she saw me, however. She didn’t talk. She spread her legs and waved back at the house. At the time I thought she was waving at me, but now I think she waved at Eddie, looking out the window. Which explains the legs.

  So I glimpsed her world, but she saw nothing of mine.

  I stop at the entry keypad and punch in my code. Jag will follow close behind and not have to stop. I’ve often thought how anyone can gain entry into our gated enclave. We pass through the entrance and turn left. Halfway up the street before mine I see police lights flashing. Two, perhaps three, cars have gathered around some kind of SUV, maybe a Jeep or Land Rover. Drugs? I’ve never seen that many police cars in our neighborhood.

  I park near the end of my driveway and remove Khannan’s pistol and bullets from the center console. I stuff them into my pockets before opening my door. No need to risk having a cop see me carrying a gun. Jag waits for me on the sidewalk.

  “Nice house,” he says.

  “You’ve been here before.” I hook his arm and walk him toward the front door.

  “So you say.”

  “Guess nothing happened of any consequence to stick in your memory.”

  “Or maybe I was so focused on you I didn’t notice the house.”

  “That’s a good answer.”

  I unlock the door, and we enter. I was hoping the place would be clean, and I wouldn’t have to do much before Dad and Gibbs arrived. So far, so good.

  “You want to take a shower?” I ask.

  His mouth drops open. “With you?”

  “I can’t believe such dirty thoughts run through your mind.” I hold his waist and shake my head. “I meant you could take a shower in the guest bathroom while I wash your clothes so you’ll be clean and presentable to our guests.”

  He blushes.

  “We can find temporary clothes in Eddie’s room. I’m sure I need to wash his sheets before Dad and Gibbs sleep on them.”

  I take him to Eddie’s room, which is surprisingly clean. Video game posters cover the walls. Eat, Sleep, Game, Repeat hangs on the wall behind his desk. “Find something to wear in his closet.”

  “OK.”

  Jag opens the closet door and looks while I strip the bed. I make a pile on the floor.

  Jag holds up a Dallas Cowboys jersey and black sweatpants. “What do you think?”

  “I can’t stand the Cowboys, but you’ll only wear them for about an hour. Put your dirty clothes in the pile.” I point and cross my arms over my chest and give him my best coy smile.

  He grins and tosses Eddie’s clothes on the bed. “OK.” And then proceeds to unbutton his shirt. He tosses it in the pile. He unbuckles his belt and pulls it free. He undoes his waist button and reaches for his zipper.

  “You’re not.” I say, panting, trying desperately to keep my eyes on his.

  “Just following orders.” He pulls his zipper down then pushes his pants to the middle of his thighs.

  My eyes fight me until they focus on his bulge. He’s wearing shiny grey spandex boxer briefs. He pulls off one leg of his jeans then the other and tosses it into the pile. My mouth is cotton dry as he stares at me with a sly smile.

  He hooks his thumbs into his briefs and pushes the waist down a half-inch. But he stops.

  He won’t do it. I can win this. I cross my arms and gaze into his eyes. “If you want those washed, put them with the others.” Much depends on how this game ends. I can’t flinch and run out of the room. And I can’t attack him if he strips. Besides, I’ve seen him naked, I tell myself. Yes, but Bailee’s life was at stake. What would make me leave him alone this time?

  I notice a tiny quiver in his thumbs and decide to give us both an out. “Would you like me to turn around?”

  “I think for now that would be best.”

  “As you wish.” I turn and stare at the wall. When I notice his briefs drop onto the sheets, I turn around to see him looking ridiculous in Eddie’s clothes, arms and legs sticking a foot past the cuffs.

  “Eddie must be a little shorter than me.”

  I bite my lip. “And much skinnier.” I wrap the sheets around his clothes and carry the pile in my arms. “C’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

  We walk toward the utility room. “Bathroom is through that door. I’ll get your clothes going then I’ll take a shower in my bathroom. If you’re hungry, the kitchen’s over there.” I point. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  He smiles and closes the door. After carrying the pile to the washer, I check his pockets, removing his keys and wallet, which I set on the dryer. The sheets go in first, then his pants and shirt. I turn his underwear inside out and notice two smudges of stickiness in the pouch. He did the same to me, but he’ll never know. Well . . . maybe not never. Soon. Damn, this is hard.

  I toss in his briefs, add two detergent pouches, and close the lid. As the machine begins to fill, I walk back to his door and hear the shower going. I knock. “You doing OK?”

  “Very lonely, but I’ll survive.”

  I smile and walk toward the kitchen . . . which is surprisingly dirty. The sink is full of dishes. I can’t believe Khannan would
leave such a mess. Something else for Jag and me to do before we can go back to the hospital.

  My bedroom door is closed. Just before I touch the knob, I hear a clattering sound. From inside my room? Sounds like window blinds pushed by the wind. Why would my window be open?

  I open my door and push it forward. My blinds are closed but sway inward. I move toward the window, noticing my bed covers clumped against the footboard.

  The door slams behind me, and something flies over my head. My left hand jerks up to guard my face as I start to turn. A rope is yanked against my neck, pinning my fingers against my throat. My heartbeat thrashes in my ears as my legs begin to buckle. Then a surge of anger shoots through me. I will not let this asshole kill me again. I reach into my pocket, searching for the pistol, just as Garrett leaps up from the floor behind the bed, pointing a rifle toward me.

  Screaming, I jerk my body backward, slamming into the person behind me. A pop and whooshing sound passes in front of me. I see a dart stick into the wall. My hand pulls the gun from my pocket and points it toward Garrett. I flick the safety and squeeze the trigger three times. Garrett screams.

  The rope tightens around my neck as I twist and push. Sweat pours out of me, and I start to black out. Then I’m rammed forward onto the floor as the door behind me crashes in. I hear slugs and grunts and bones breaking as I struggle to get my knees under me. Caden’s body is pushed face down on the floor, his wrist held by Jagger to the back of his neck. Caden screams. A bone breaks, and Caden’s body slumps.

  “Laney! You OK?”

  I’m on my hands and knees, sucking in air, the rope with handles on the floor beneath me. “Yeah. Garrett’s behind the bed. I shot him.” I’m shocked I hope he’s dead. The boy with the soft fingers who stroked my hand. The same fingers who strangled Bailee and assaulted me. And would’ve done so again if his aim had been better.

  Jag crosses in front of me and bends over to pull Garrett up. Jag is naked and wet. He must have run from the shower.

  Garrett bleeds from his shoulder and leg. I glare into his eyes, hoping he’ll deflect his. He stares back with a sneer.

  “Can you get rope or tape?” asks Jagger.

  “Yes.” I stand and run as best I can toward Mom’s room. I grab coils of rope from her drawer then jog toward the kitchen where I find duct tape in a cabinet.

  When I return to my room, Jag is tying Garrett’s hands behind his back with the garrote Caden twisted around my neck. Garrett groans. “Does it hurt when I pull your arm?”

  Garrett growls. “Yes.”

  Jag pulls harder. “You piece of shit.” Jag plants his knee into Garrett’s back, forcing a scream. “Tape Caden’s wrists together.”

  I hand him rope then kneel at Caden’s side. Maybe he’s dead. I pull his left arm to his back. When I pull his right arm, he groans. His wrist and humerus are both broken inside his bloody sleeve. At first I flinch at his sounds then I think about what he did to Bailee, and I pull both forearms together roughly, ignoring his screams, as I wrap the tape several times. I remember begging him to please stop hurting me, but he never did.

  Jag lifts Garrett by the ropes connecting his arms and feet, forcing his back into a painful curve. I hear a thud outside my door when he drops Garrett to the kitchen floor. Jag returns to drag Caden by his legs into the kitchen. I notice a bloody gash across his cheek and a bandaged hand—maybe where my bullets hit him last night?

  “Tape.”

  I toss him the roll. He wraps tape around Caden’s legs then both of their mouths. He stands, looking at me, breathing rapidly. “Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head then run to him, pulling his body to mine. “Thank you.”

  “How did you keep from being killed?”

  My body shakes and tears flood my eyes. Words rush out of my mouth. “I had the gun in my pocket. They’d broken my window, and I heard the blinds moving. I don’t know.”

  He holds my face. “You’re fucking amazing.”

  I clutch him to me until my shuddering stops. Leaning back, I gaze at his body. “You’re not so bad yourself. You’re naked again, Jag, and I can’t do anything about it. This is getting frustrating.”

  We hear banging on the front door.

  Adrenaline surges again. Will this ever end? “Get your pants on. It’s the police.”

  Jag runs back to his bathroom and pulls on the sweatpants.

  I go to the front door as an officer yells. “Austin Police. We have reports of gunshots inside this house. Please open up.”

  “We’re OK. I’m going to unlock the door.”

  I flip the deadbolt, turn the handle, and step out of the way. Three policemen burst through with guns drawn. “Hands above your heads.”

  Both Jagger and I raise our hands as they frisk us.

  “Caden and Garrett tried to kill Laney,” says Jag. “They’re tied up over there.” He jerks his head toward the kitchen.

  One officer runs out of the foyer.

  “They’re clear,” says another officer.

  “Who are you?” asks another, short, barrel-chest, thick neck.

  “I’m Delaney West. This is my house. He’s Jagger Ray, my boyfriend. We rescued my sister Bailee and Gus . . . Mr. McClintock last night from Caden and Garrett. They escaped. They must’ve come to my house to hide, breaking in through my window. We just got here an hour ago. They attacked me when I entered my bedroom.”

  “We need an ambulance,” yells an officer.

  “Already on their way,” says Thick Neck. “I’m Sergeant Harris. We found an abandoned Jeep registered to Caden Landon two streets over.”

  An officer walks back, holding my pistol. “Who used this gun?”

  “Me,” I answer. “It belongs to my Mom’s boyfriend. I got it out of his nightstand.”

  “Before you went into your bedroom?” asks the Sergeant.

  I glance at Jag. “Yeah. I was worried about Caden and Garrett. I thought that was Caden’s Jeep. I’ve seen it at school. Garrett’s been by my house before. He knows the entry code.”

  “Why?” asks Sergeant Harris.

  “Because we were going out Tuesday night, but I changed my mind. Look, my Dad’s flying in from Alaska tonight. Jag and I need to clean up before then.”

  We hear sirens come up my street then stop. Soon after, medics enter the house. After ten minutes, Caden and Garrett are taken outside.

  Jag and I endure another hour of questions while officers take pictures in my room and gather evidence. I move the sheets and Jag’s clothes into the dryer. We clean the kitchen. Caden and Garrett had helped themselves to whatever food was left in the refrigerator.

  We do find Cup Noodles in the pantry and eat those. Once again, I’m starving. I’m sure I’ve lost five pounds since I left for Alaska. We need to pick up Rudy’s barbeque for dinner on the way back from the hospital. I’m craving jalapeño sausage links and creamed corn. Jag wants a pint of chopped brisket and his own creamed corn. And we both want the turkey. We are definitely made for each other.

  Finally by two o’clock they leave.

  I grab garbage bags. “Come to my room with me.” I say to Jag. “I’d rather not go in there by myself.”

  He walks in first. I hold open a bag.

  “Take everything off my bed and throw it in here. I don’t want anything they’ve touched to stay in my room.”

  We fill three bags with bedding, my underwear, and some of my clothes. They’d been little perverts last night and this morning. I find the carpet shampooer and get the few spots of blood up. And we vacuum up glass from my broken window. Jag finds wood in the garage to cover the hole.

  We make my bed with new sheets from a hall closet and a blanket. Then remake Eddie’s bed. Jag’s clothes are dry.

  “Neither of us took a shower,” I say.

  “Yeah. Constant interruptions around here. We should complain to management.”

  I put my cheek against his bare chest. “Do you want to?”

  “I’m good.” He
wraps his arms around me. “You go take yours. I’ll stand guard.”

  “Take one with me?”

  He looks at my face. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Just a shower. Nothing else.” His face grows into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “Well, maybe a little something, but just a little.”

  “I’d love to.”

  I unbutton my shirt and drop it. Then remove everything else while I stare into his eyes, which amazingly do not flinch. “Why don’t you bring those to the washer?” I walk away from him, naked, toward the utility room. I open the washer lid. “Put them in.”

  He does.

  “Now your pants.” He pulls them off and drops them on top of my clothes. I add the soap and push the button. Then I grab his hand and take him to my shower. I reach inside, turn knobs and step under hot water, hiding my blushing skin. Steam fills the stall as I hold out the pouf and add soap.

  “Come in, Jagger. You have a job to do.”

  He steps inside. “And what’s that?”

  “Wash all my bad memories away. Then I’ll do the same for you.”

  31

  An hour later, we’re dressed. I will never take another shower without hearing Jag’s groans, or seeing the muscles of his neck bulging through his skin as I slowly—so very slowly—wash him, or watching his face glow as he does the same to me. The beautiful agony of our release was shocking, all consuming, and beyond fun. Drying each other was the most tender act I’d ever received or given, like soft, intimate kisses over every bit of skin.

  How Caden and Garrett can turn that experience to such violence and humiliation and cruel domination is both incomprehensible and logical. Strip away affection and consent and empathy, and what’s left is unabated power over someone else, a forced helplessness leading to the ultimate measure of snuffing life out with a squeeze to the throat.

  How much suffering do they deserve? I’m not ready to answer that. My desire for revenge still burns.

  “Are you ready?” Jag calls from the kitchen. “We can grab something to eat on the way to the hospital.”