As Sick as Our Secrets

by A B Whelan

  *****

  Betty’s call finds me in my apartment, which I keep ominous and moonlit to get myself in the right mood. She’ll be here by ten. I text Olivia to get herself ready and pour myself more wine. I should have brought Olivia here or stayed with her in her apartment, but I couldn’t risk being followed by Richard’s hired hand. It’s better this way, yet I find it hard to shake my unease.

  The pictures of the Fifty Shades Killer’s victims Betty took at the police station lay spread out before me, along with newspaper clippings and black-and-white pictures of all known victims. I’ve been staring at them for a while as I listen to the tape recording of my first and only session with Skyler.

  I think I’m ready for what’s coming.

  I feel strong.

  I feel confident.

  A knock on the door drags me out of my artificially induced gloomy world. Through the peephole, I spot Peter standing in the hallway bearing Chinese takeout.

  I open the door, but I don’t invite him in.

  He holds up the bag of food containers. “Need company?”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, but not tonight. I’m sorry.”

  His smile turns down. “You have company?”

  I open the door wider to allow him a better view of my apartment. “No, that’s not it. I have to take care of something personal tonight.”

  He tries to pretend he doesn’t scan every square inch behind me, but he isn’t a good actor.

  “Need help? I’m free tonight.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Things would be so much easier if Peter helps us, but he has a successful career and a life worth living. I can’t allow him to risk all that. It’s true that Betty has a family, but there is no way to exclude her. Once the plan was hatched, she became the mother tiger, a protective force who would do anything to right the wrong and make the world a safer place for her children. I thought it all through. She won’t be in any real danger. If we get caught, I’ll take the blame, and it’ll be as if she’d never been here.

  “It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  The statement works, because he staggers backward as if I am suddenly contagious and holds out the food for me. “Oh, no. Go have fun with your friends. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I take the bag, but he doesn’t let it go. As I pull harder, he moves closer. I can feel his body radiating heat, his cologne slithering around me.

  His lips part.

  A strong gravitational pull moves my head closer to his, but before we kiss I step back, keeping my eyes on him.

  “If you have time tomorrow, I’d like you to come over for dinner,” I say.

  He squints at me, blushing. “You cook?”

  “I’m actually a wonderful cook if I exert myself,” I chuckle.

  “Okay…sure…why not. See you at seven?” he suggests, shrugging, and I agree on the time.

  Alone, behind closed doors, I walk straight to the freezer and pull out the second and final joint. I smoke it sitting crossed-legged amid the photos and articles, listening to my recorded session with Skyler again for the fifth time, placing myself in the right frame of mind.

  Olivia

  TUESDAY

  I find a spot to stand in the parking lot of Randy’s Donuts on Manchester Boulevard, a twelve-minute walk from my rundown apartment, where I wait with my fingers wrapped tight around my pepper spray.

  The stained concrete of the parking lot reeks of decades of unsanitary use. Gangster wannabes loiter about in small groups standing next to refurbished old American cars. Spanish dance music and American rap songs compete for attention, occasionally drowned out by sirens and impatient honking from the streets. When I was the proud Mrs. Campbell, I was too prejudiced and paranoid to set foot in Inglewood, but now this is all I can afford and what I call home.

  The number of catcalls and whistles rise to a worrisome level as I shift my weight on my legs, nervously switching my sight between the street and the unlit lot behind me. When I spot a black Maserati slowly rounding the corner, I feel relieved. Then I remember how ridiculous that is because Richard is no longer my husband, my protector. He is a serial killer with a grudge against me.

  As I watch the car pull to the curb, a pang of terror thrusts into my chest.

  I walk to Richard’s parked car. I’m so scared I can’t feel my fingers. I force my legs to keep walking because people are depending on me, and I can’t let them down.

  I put my hand on the hood of the car and bend my back. The tinted driver’s window goes down halfway.

  “Get in,” Richard says casually, as if the last two weeks hadn’t happened.

  I open the door and remove the box of chocolates and bouquet of red roses from the front seat before I sit down. “I’m surprised you brought me presents after what I put you through,” I tell him, trying hard not to give away the fear in my voice.

  “You’re still my wife,” he says without looking at me as he puts the car in motion.

  “Where are we going?” I didn’t expect to start moving so fast, and as I jerk my body to look out the window, a thorn breaks the skin on my finger. I hiss and start sucking the blood.

  Richard acknowledges my little injury with a sideways glance but doesn’t address it. “Well, since you’ve seen the video, I guess there are no longer any secrets between us. I gave some thoughtful consideration to things, and I believe it’s time for you to see who I really am. You’ve earned it.”

  My stomach twists, and I taste bile in the back of my throat.

  I place the gifts in the back seat, where I allow my eyes to linger for a minute. When Richard bought this car, everything was still good between us. Perhaps not perfect, but safe and comfortable. I’d put shopping bags on this back seat. We’d make love on this back seat.

  Richard is watching me. “You look lovely. I’ve missed you.” He puts a hand on my thigh.

  I want to scream.

  I look well-dressed this evening because I spent countless hours bringing back the artificial outer layer of me that was so defined when I lived with Richard, but I doubt I’ve managed to make myself look lovely.

  It’s bizarre how circumstances can change our perspective on things. Wallowing in depression in my dingy apartment, I visited a dark place where I believed that my marriage wasn’t that bad and that my married self was a happy and content woman. I’d fallen so low that I wished I’d never allowed Ashley to dig up my husband’s secrets.

  I’m better now.

  I think.

  “This is not a date, Richard,” I say softly, because I don’t want to lure the monster out of him. “I’m only here because you promised you’d tell me everything. I have the right to know.”

  He withdraws his hand. “And you will soon enough.”

  I look out the window and watch the blurring night lights on West Manchester Avenue. We pass freeway entrances, but Richard seems content with the city streets. This is not the way to our house in Los Feliz and not the way to Lake Hodges, where Skyler was found. We are heading somewhere new and unexpected. My heart rises to my throat.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see soon enough.” There is a click. He has locked the doors.

  We drive in silence for a while, my mind racing and my heart pounding.

  “You killed those girls, didn’t you,” I blurt out, though I know it’s a mistake. Only I can’t control my urges to get him to admit to his crimes as fast as possible. I want out of this damned car.

  He shoots me a dark look and accelerates.

  I messed up. I moved too fast.

  My nails tear into the seat as I try to hold on in the turns. The tires squeal as he pulls into a dark alley under a bridge on First Street. With one sudden move, he unbuckles and launches himself at me. I feel as if six hands are searching me, patting down every inch of my body. His ferociousness pins me to my seat.

  He rips the spy camera pen from my pocket, rolls the window down, and tosses it
into the dirt. When he doesn’t find any other suspicious items on me, he turns my purse upside down and starts ransacking though its contents.

  “What are you doing?” I scream, panicking.

  “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m going to admit to anything?” He finds my phone, and it meets the same fate as the pen. My flashlight flies out the window as well, along with my pepper spray and taser.

  I’m defenseless now and on edge.

  When he is done searching me and my purse, he sits back in his seat. With both hands, he smooths back his hair and lets out a long exhale.

  “There. Now we can talk.”

  Terrified, I sit with my back against the window, breathless, and watch Richard steering the car back onto the road.

  “To tell you the truth, Olivia, you’ve really surprised me. You were always so lukewarm. I had no idea you were capable of all your spying and deceiving.”

  I don’t respond. Richard doesn’t seem to mind.

  “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt any of you. Quite the opposite. I was lifting all of you out of the gutter. I was giving you the life you dreamed about, but you were ungrateful. All of you.”

  The car stops on a dark street surrounded by tall, flat-roofed warehouses with no windows. I squirm in my seat, trying to prepare myself for what will come next. There is no way Richard kept his victims here. We are a two-hour drive from Lake Hodges, and only a fool would risk driving that far with a dead body in the car. Richard is not a fool.

  He pulls up his knees and slightly turns to his left, watching me.

  “Come on, Livi. Don’t be like that. You have no reason to fear me.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” I lie.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and sneezes. In a second, I weigh my options to unlock the door and escape before he can grab me. I come up short.

  “Why did you have to ruin everything? Everything was so perfect. Look at us now!”

  “Did you kill Skyler?” I ask again. I’m not here to reconcile our marriage.

  He chuckles. “Right to the point. That’s so not you, Olivia. That friend of yours ruined you. If you would have kept your mouth shut…well…let’s just say things would have been different. Now you’re forcing my hand.”

  I purse my lips, tears pressing at my eyes.

  “What am I supposed to do with you now, huh?”

  I shrug.

  “Yes, she did die in my arms, but I didn’t kill her. She came to the foundation for help. Her parents didn’t want anything to do with her, and she was tired of turning tricks on the street for a hit. I believed her, and I tried to help her, but she lied to me. Why do you women always lie, cheat, and deceive? You are like animals. Nothing is unethical when it comes to achieving your goals, and I always fall into your traps. She begged me for help. I set her up to start at a local community college to begin her studies. But she didn’t show up for orientation. I went to look for her and found her in Temecula, running with her old crowd again. She was an ungrateful bitch!” he hisses.

  “I was driving her back to L.A., but she was high again. Stupid girl. I couldn’t get caught with a druggie in my car, so I took her to my mother’s old house in Escondido. It’s a nice property on a hill with a beautiful valley view. Quiet. Peaceful. I gave her a bath. I wanted her to get a good night’s sleep and sober up, but she didn’t want me to touch her. Me? She’d sleep with any lowlife that she came across, but she didn’t want me to touch her? Stupid bitch.

  “I tied her to the bed for her own good because I had to come home for dinner, and she couldn’t be trusted. You’d have been upset if I was late. When I drove back the next morning, I found her curled up in a ball by the bedpost. Her eyes were red from crying. She almost broke my heart.

  “I brought her breakfast. We ate together. But she ruined it because she kept asking me to let her go. I told her that first she needed to get clean. No more drugs, alcohol, or Johns, and then I’d take her back to L.A. where she can go to school. She cried some more. Most girls would have been grateful for my help, but this little bitch was crying and moaning.

  “For a month I showered her with presents. I brought her flowers and bonbons. We ate together and sat on the patio, talking about her future. I told her that she was smart, and she could be anything she wanted to be, except her self-confidence was very low. One day, I tried to show her how a real man loves. She resented me for it. I wasn’t going to cheat on you, I swear. I simply thought that if I showed her how a kind and loving man makes love, she would understand and raise the bar for who she bangs. I told her I was happily married. I tried to explain to her why I was doing what I was doing, but she didn’t want me to touch her.”

  He laughs out loud, banging his chest. “Can you believe that? She was okay with druggies and criminals abusing her sexually, but she didn’t want me to touch her.

  “I figured that maybe she was like my first girlfriend, Caroline. She wanted it rough too. So, I tied her up and did things to her I know she wanted me to do. But don’t worry, I used objects. I never touched her that way. I didn’t cheat on you.”

  Bile and food swirl inside my stomach, and I have to take a deep breath to keep my dinner down, but Richard doesn’t notice. He sets his elbow on his knee and continues his story as if he’s telling me about his childhood or what happened at the office today.

  “She liked it, everything I did to her. She still cried, but her body reacted approvingly. She was sick in the head like all the other girls before her. They didn’t want romance either. They wanted to be taken and brought to a new level of pleasure.

  “After a couple of months, I felt confident enough to untie her while I was there. For a while she was a good girl, but one day she hit me on the head with a bronze statue. Can you believe that? Thank heavens she didn’t crack my skull or, worse, kill me.”

  He tosses his hands in the air, clicking his tongue. “Then she ended up with your friend,” he scoffs.

  “So you killed her.”

  He shakes his head at me. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let her ruin my life. All I was doing was helping her. It’s not my fault that I attract these helpless cases.”

  Though I feel a deep desire to enlighten Richard, I will not comment on his story. What I need is evidence so that I can put this son of a bitch behind bars for the rest of his life, where he won’t be able to hurt anybody again. I try to stay calm. I’m smarter than to start freaking out, but my emotions are rising. I’ve been living with a psychopath for over a decade and was blind to it all. I hyperventilate. I can’t breathe.

  “You sick son of a bitch! I pray to God that you burn in hell,” I say, breathing the words.

  “What!” He looks at me with genuine shock in his eyes. “I thought you, of all people, would understand my intentions. I took you under my wing. You were grateful for my help.”

  My head is hot, and my eyes are blurry. I pull the neck of my blouse down to help ease my breathing.

  “You murdered those girls! You murdered Skyler! You knew I was looking for her, and yet you lay down in bed next to me, caressing me, kissing me. Oh, my god. I’m going to be sick.” I pull at the door handle, but the door doesn’t open. I start yanking it with all my might and hitting the window with the bottom of my fist. “Let me out!” I scream. “Let me out of this damn car, you psycho!”

  I feel a sharp, stinging pain on the back of my head and swing my other hand back. Richard is pulling me back by my hair. I turn to fight him, but a massive blow rattles my skull, and everything goes black.

  Ashley

  TUESDAY

  Sitting in a rented Chevy across the street from a small, run-down donut shop, I have a perfect view of Olivia standing in the parking lot. Feeling its weight, I rest my hand on the Smith & Wesson lying across my lap. My heart is racing, yet I feel composed and in control.

  “Keep a lookout for Campbell,” I tell Betty. “I’ll watch those shady guys behind Livi.”

 
“He’s here,” says Betty, poking me in the thigh and then gesturing out the window to a black Maserati pulling into the parking lot.

  I sit up and put the car in drive. “Is the camera on?”

  She presses the space bar on her laptop, and the pen camera on Livi transmits a black-and-white image of Richard looking at Olivia onto the screen. “It’s working. We’re good to go.”

  Watching Olivia get into his car fills me with dread. I lift a water bottle to my lips to moisten my dry mouth, but I don’t have time to drink because they’re immediately on the move.

  I roll out onto the street and follow them from a healthy distance. My sweaty palms slip on the steering wheel, and I ask Betty to hand me my leather gloves. I put them on as we cruise under a freeway overpass and continue east toward the center of the city. My heart rises to my throat. This isn’t what I had expected.

  “What is he doing?” Betty says, fidgeting next to me.

  I shrug, trying to keep my shaking leg steady on the gas pedal.

  We take avenue after avenue into parts of the city I’ve never been.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Betty, whose eyes are glued to the laptop screen.

  “They seem fine so far,” she says and turns the volume up higher on the audio feed.

  My heart hammers in my chest, but this is the plan and we’ve prepared for other contingencies. For a moment, I allow myself to think of the worst outcome, but I box those thoughts immediately. Nothing bad will happen to Olivia because we are right behind her and have a bulletproof plan.

  The traffic is light, but there are enough cars driving on the road to give us cover to follow them undetected. Then abruptly the Maserati speeds up, and I have no choice but to follow suit. I almost lose them but catch the dark car turning under the First Street Bridge that crosses the Los Angeles River and leads to an industrial park with a maze of warehouses and storage units.

  “Shit!” hisses Betty. “He’s pulled over under the bridge. Keep driving straight.”