My Wife's Husband

by E H Davis

  Jens shrugged, deciding that as long as Laurent was talking he wasn’t shooting.

  There was regret in Laurent’s voice.

  “Sundays,” he reminisced, “at the Gardner and the Museum of Fine Art. Everything ... everything still possible.”

  He fell into a gloomy silence, his eyes roving, detachedly tracing the cabin’s vaulted main room, its cathedral ceiling and exposed beams. Jens wondered if he was falling apart, decompensating.

  “Corbin, you got anything more to drink?”

  Jens pointed his chin at the liquor cabinet. Laurent got up, poured himself a bourbon, drank it in one draught. His eyes watering, he poured himself another and brought it over to the chair he’d pulled in front of the couch. He straddled it, nodded at Jens, sipped his drink.

  More civilized now, talking — a good sign, thought Jens.

  “Then her father died, and her mother took up with that lowlife, ‘the devil’ Vivi called him, for what he’d done to her.” His anger erupted. “That ‘chomo’, molester, pig!” he spat. “He was her uncle.”

  He flicked at his pants where he’d spilled his drink.

  “I’m not sorry I killed him, though it was an accident.”

  There was sadness in his voice — Jens wondered for whom. Himself?

  “I’m not a killer.” Laurent shook his head. “Never meant to kill anyone.”

  He looked at Jens steadily, his thousand-yard stare turned inward, struggling with his demons, his guilt. “They’d asked for it. Like Warren.”

  Jens nodded, hoping to mollify him, delay him from taking action.

  “But she’ll be here soon. Then we’ll be together, forever,” he blurted.

  Does he mean to kill Vivian, too? And commit suicide?

  Jens struggled covertly to get his hands free, but the knots held tight.

  Impulsively, Laurent darted into the bedroom and peeked out the window. From there — staring out at the falling snow piling up in the drive, covering Ferdie’s cruiser and her body — he carried on his one-way conversation with Jens, as he sipped his drink and watched for Vivian to show up.

  ________

  Jens was desperate to do something with Laurent out of the room, though still in earshot. He rolled off the couch, lay on his back with his knees bent to his chest, slipped his hands down over his feet, and stood up. He found the scissors Nola had used to cut Laurent’s bandages, snipped through his leg ligatures, and raced over to Nola to free her.

  He tore the plumber’s tape from his mouth. Nola stifled her cry when he ripped hers.

  From the bedroom they could hear Laurent choking on his rage. He laughed, holding back the tears, chugging his bourbon. Suddenly, he hurled his glass against the wall. His crazed laughter told them he was on his way, charging back to the main room.

  To do what, exactly?

  Jens worked frantically to cut Nola’s bonds, but the wires were insulated, too thick for the flimsy surgical scissors.

  Nola’s eyes filled with terror. She shook her head vehemently, signaling Jens to go — save himself, get help, come back for her.

  He started to lift her up, to carry her, but stumbled, woozy from his head wound.

  “GO!” she hissed.

  His eyes tearing, he ran from the room, down the stairs to the basement, to the utility closet, to the water heater, where he’d hidden Daniel’s gun.

  Laurent’s absurd voice sought him from upstairs.

  “I’m sick of waiting, where is she?”

  He was coming!

  As Jens stuck his hand into the compartment where he’d last seen the gun, he heard Laurent roar upon discovering Jens’ escape.

  “Gonna get you now, motherfucker,” he sang, squealing, like on laughing gas.

  But the compartment was empty.

  Teddy had taken the gun.

  Jens bolted out into the corridor, cast about for an escape. He crashed through the wood and glass patio doors, running, slipping, sliding in his own blood. His efforts were hampered by his still-bound hands, making him clumsy. There was no time to stop and untie them with his teeth.

  A shot rang out just as he made it into the woods.

  Blam! Another! Blam!

  He was hit, grazed in the leg, but kept running — until he collapsed. Then he heaved himself up, kept going. He had to get help. For Nola and Ferdie.

  He had to find Vivian and Teddy to warn them away.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  That morning, Vivian had awakened groggy and numbed. It was like this everyday — she had to coax herself into clarity, enough so she could orient herself, collect the illusion of identity scattered by her medication, and meet the world as the functional, creative person she’d once been. It was slow going, but she was almost there.

  She glanced out the curtained loft window giving onto the front yard, seeing only grey, overcast skies and the promise of snow. With a groan, she forced herself to get out of bed.

  After splashing water on her face and peeing, she dressed hurriedly and climbed down to the main floor. No one was about. Not Jens, not Nola. Not Teddy, probably still sleeping in his room, downstairs in the basement.

  She drank juice from a bottle from the refrigerator, knowing she should use a glass but was too lazy. Remembering to take her meds, she went to the cabinet where Jens had stored them, tapped out a pill, and slugged it back with another gulp of OJ.

  “Dad hates it when I do that.” Teddy emerged from the basement stairs.

  “Don’t I know it,” she answered.

  Teddy hugged her. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  He took the jug from her and drank deeply. They exchanged smiles.

  “It’s good to be with you, Mom, I missed you.” He put the juice away.

  She caressed his cheek.

  “Me too, Teddy-bear,” she said, calling him by the childhood name that only she still used. He seemed not to mind.

  Teddy was dressed in a tracksuit and running shoes.

  “Where you going in that gear?” asked Vivian.

  “For a run. Want to come?” His voice was charged.

  Vivian, still groggy from last night’s meds, glanced out onto the porch, to the leaden sky beyond.

  “You’re serious — in this weather? I don’t know ...”

  “C’mon, Mom, it will do you good. We’ll go slow. What do you say?” he pleaded.

  She’d always had a hard time resisting him.

  “Okay, maybe I’ll tag along.”

  ________

  Laurent leered over Nola, his nose splint gleaming white, his eyes black unforgiving orbs.

  “You’ll pay for that, my dear,” he fumed, pulling her up by the hair and dragging her to her feet. She screamed.

  He whipped out his sling blade. It opened with a flick of the wrist. Nola shrunk back, silenced, expecting to die. He bent over and cut her leg ligatures.

  He showed her the full length of the blade, waving it near her eyes before slinging it closed.

  She got the message.

  “Let’s you and I go for a walk — find your asshole boyfriend.”

  ________

  Jens had circled back, finding the way slippery in the woods, his grazed leg aching.

  He panicked — where were Teddy and Vivian?

  All he could think to do was head back to the house and do what? Take one of the cars parked in the drive? All the keys were hung in the kitchen, in case of an emergency. Now under siege by Laurent. As he trudged through the snow, he used his teeth to undo the knots at his wrist.

  He could try to talk Laurent out of killing the others, offering to sacrifice himself. With no gun for leverage, that seemed a losing proposition.

  Then it struck him. Ferdie. He’d go back to her cruiser and using her two-radio call for help. He’d been too hell-bent on getting Teddy and Vivian to safety to think of it sooner.

  Stealthily, he approached the house from the woods.

  Jens snaked on his belly across the drive in the snow until h
e knew he was out of Laurent’s line of sight. He stood and quickly ran to Ferdie’s cruiser. The door was open. Someone lay prone across the front seat, face down.

  Ferdie. She wasn’t moving.

  Laurent had shot her in the back. She was passed out, apparently from loss of blood.

  ________

  Teddy and Vivian were almost to the driveway when they heard gunshots. The heavy snow had turned their jog into a slow trudge.

  Vivan started forward, but Teddy grabbed her arm.

  “Mom, I want you to wait here until I tell you it’s safe, okay?”

  “It’s Laurent,” she moaned. “I know it.” Her face was stricken with fear. “Please don’t go near there, please.”

  “I have to — Dad could be hurt or Nola. Promise me you’ll stay here, Mom.”

  She nodded in agreement. He hugged her and took off into the woods, to circle around to the back of the house. Vivian popped up as soon as he was out of sight, and followed.

  No one was going to lay a finger on her boy.

  ________

  Jens pulled Ferdie’s State Trooper jacket off her shoulders, tugged on both arms until it came free and he could see the bloody wound in her lower back. He pulled off his sweater, folded it, and applied it to Ferdie’s wound to stop the bleeding. He rolled her over onto her back to hold the sweater in place and provide compression. Her breathing was ragged. But she was breathing, thank God.

  He started up the cruiser. He tried the two-way radio, but it did not work. No help would be coming.

  ________

  Teddy made his way to the back porch, where he risked a peek inside, into the kitchen and main room.

  Though he’d never met Laurent, he was convinced that the brutish giant of a man — his nose in a splint, pacing the floor and waving a knife at Nola — had to be him. The asshole had finally made good on his word — he’d come for his mother.

  Teddy crept underneath the porch, making his way to the basement patio doors, surprised to find them smashed, ajar. Stepping carefully over the broken glass, he ducked inside, unseen. He’d hidden Daniel’s Glock in plain sight, alongside his Xbox controls, thinking, rightly, that it was the one place his father wouldn’t think to look.

  His hands trembled.

  This was the real world now, and all his posturing would come down to whether or not he was man enough to stand up to a real killer. He could do it; he had to!

  Cursing Laurent and the mother that gave him birth, he crept up the basement steps, ready to protect his family. He steeled himself. Remorse was for wimps. This is what he lived for. He was a warrior. Releasing the safety and leading with the Glock, he extended his arm rigidly, as he’d seen the Marines do, on the videos he’d watched online.

  Laurent was a dead man.

  ________

  #

  Jens picked up Ferdie’s jacket and put it on. He slipped on her Smokey the Bear hat, pulling it low over his eyes.

  In the trunk, he found a megaphone and a roadside flare gun. He shoved its short-barrel into his belt.

  He took off in the direction of his house, thinking, I need a plan!

  ________

  Laurent perked at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside. He shoved Nola back onto the couch, tapped his revolver against her head, and cautioned her to silence. He went to the bedroom, sidled up to the window, and peeked out.

  There was no one. No cavalry charging up the drive.

  “Come out with your hands up,” barked a voice on a megaphone, the location of the source indeterminate. It sounded to Laurent like it was coming from the woods behind the cabin. Galvanized, he ran to the living room to find Nola wriggling on her back toward the porch door. Cursing, he slung her up and over his shoulder. His human shield.

  “Don’t you make a sound,” he threatened.

  She was too frozen with fear to respond. She wanted to scream, her head hanging down his back.

  “We’ve got you surrounded. Put down your weapons NOW and come out with your hands up!”

  With both guns drawn, the pistol and the revolver, Laurent crept to the porch door, peeked out, ready to make a dash into the woods where he would not be a sitting duck. If he couldn’t make it to his stolen car parked down the road, he could hole up in the woods, Nola his hostage.

  He ducked back inside and shouted, “I’m coming out, don’t shoot!”

  ________

  His flare gun drawn, Jens ran past the mudroom, rounding the house to the porch, where he ducked down and watched Laurent peek out the back door. Nola was slung over his shoulder, terror written on her face, her screams muffled by the tape back on her mouth. With Nola in the way, he had no shot with the flare gun.

  From the corner of his eye, Jens watched Vivian approach the mudroom and enter.

  Another movement caught his eye, inside the game room in the basement — Teddy, Glock in hand, creeping up the backstairs.

  Vivian, Teddy, Jens silently screamed. Get away from here!

  ________

  Jens hurled himself through the porch window, smashing it, sending ahead a shower of glass. He slid off the breakfast nook counter, rolled and scrambled behind the couch, aiming his flare gun at Laurent, now ducked behind the kitchen island. Nola was propped in front of him, dead weight, apparently passed out.

  “You don’t have to do this, Laurent. Let her go. She’s done nothing to deserve this,” pleaded Jens.

  Laurent’s high-pitched, broken-nosed laughter was his answer.

  He held the revolver to Nola’s head and pulled back on its hammer.

  Jens stood, arms spread, offering to lay down his flare gun.

  “Take me instead.”

  ________

  “Let off the trigger, asshole. Now!”

  Teddy was at the top of the basement steps, leaning cautiously into the main room, his elbows locked in a shooter’s stance, his Glock pointed at Laurent. His trembling under control.

  Laurent tossed Nola aside and grabbed Jens by the throat.

  “You!” he hissed through his missing teeth.

  He jammed the barrel of the revolver against Jens’ head.

  “Hey, you, asshole! I’m talking to you.” Teddy’s voice was commanding, though his gun arm shook.

  My son, thought Jens.

  “Ease off fucker!” Teddy’s ferocity was impressive.

  Oh, God! He’s only a boy. Against a killer.

  Laurent sneered but did not ease up on the gun pressed against Jens’ head.

  “Do it!” Teddy commanded.

  Like a trained soldier, he took a step forward. When Laurent did not react, he took two more steps and re-aimed.

  “Screw you!” hissed Laurent.

  It was a stand-off. Teddy was holding his own.

  Jens knew had to do something to save his son.

  ________

  “Don’t, Armand, I beg you.” Vivian, preternaturally calm, stepped into the room.

  Her cheeks were streaked with tears. She reached out to Laurent.

  “Stop, both of you. Please!”

  “Mom, get back.”

  Teddy, sighting down his gun at Laurent, tried to shield her with his body, but she stepped in front of him.

  “Vivian, I’m doing this for you. For us,” Laurent cried. “Can’t you see, he’s stolen our lives?” He pressed his revolver against Jens’ head.

  Jens prayed that Vivian’s appeal would distract Laurent, giving Jens a chance to do something.

  “Armand, if you love me, really love me, don’t do this,” she pleaded.

  Laurent’s gun barrel jerked, but did not ease up.

  “Why didn’t you come to me instead of him?” He glared at Jens. “I would have taken care of you.”

  She shook her head, came closer.

  His face blackened with rage. “You never left him,” he accused.

  His finger on the trigger was the only thing standing between Jens and death.

  Laurent stifled a sob.

  “Afte
r everything I did for you — for us.”

  “Armand, please, Teddy’s all I’ve got. Don’t do this.”

  “Lay. Down. Your. Weapon.” The tension in his Teddy’s voice went up a notch. He was going to shoot.

  “You took me back and then tossed me away — again!” Laurent cried, his sorrow turning to rage.

  Jens tried to catch Teddy’s eye — to let him know he was going to make a move, break away. Teddy moved away from Vivian to get a clear shot.

  “I’m with you now, Armand, aren’t I? We’ll go to Mexico, my love.” She advanced another step. “Just you and me.”

  “No one else?”

  Jens felt Laurent’s resolve drift for a split second.

  “Teddy, now!”

  Jens ducked and twisted, grabbing the killer’s second gun, the semi-automatic that was tucked in Laurent’s belt, and began firing as he fell to the floor. And kept firing.

  Laurent, lifted up, slammed backward, fired a shot as he fell.

  Vivian threw herself in the line of fire.

  Laurent’s bullet, intended for Jens, tore a hole in her chest.

  As she fell, she screamed Teddy’s name.

  “Mom, Mom,” he bawled, rushing to her. He cradled her in his arms.

  She motioned for him to bring his ear close.

  “I’ll always love you.”

  She motioned for Jens to come close.

  “I’m so sorry, Jens.”

  “Vivian, don’t talk,” cried Jens.

  She gasped for breath.

  Jens put his hand to her heart.

  Epilogue

  The winter sky was grey, the sun distant, angled low. They were gathered on top of Black Mountain, on the ledge where it all began, on the cap rock where once Daniel’s blood had pooled in the late summer sun, gathering like rubies.

  Now, the surrounding peaks lay bedded with snow. Pied, a patchwork of white and dark, seen through a vista clear of summer’s lush foliage.