by Sophie Stern
The sheriff seems to understand, and he turns to leave. I follow him to the front door and step outside with him. Neil stays in my living room.
“Sheriff?”
“Yes?”
He turns back to me, and even though we’re in the shadow of my porch, I don’t miss the tears glistening in his eyes.
“What’s going to happen?”
“I have no idea, Finley.”
He gives me a sad little shrug, which wasn’t really what I was looking for. I was hoping that the sheriff would be really take charge and strong. I was kind of hoping that he’d somehow be able to give me an idea of what exactly the next moves would be, but I know that he can’t.
That’s okay.
It’s fine.
Sometimes when you try to move forward, you don’t get exactly what you’re looking for. You might want passionate hope, but end up with just the dim satisfaction of knowing that you did your best.
That’s kind of where we are right now.
“Okay,” I manage to say.
He stays on the porch for a second and then he turns to me.
“Finley, when I buried my boy, I thought that was going to be the end of things,” he says. “I never expected this. I never expected any of this.”
Then he turns and heads back to his car, gets inside, and drives away.
Chapter Twelve
Neil
She comes back inside and reaches for me, pulling me close.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Somehow, her words mean more to me than anything else anyone has ever said to me before.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I know.”
We stand together, holding each other. Finally she pulls away, looks at me, and nods.
“Shower.”
“What?”
“We need a shower. Come on.”
She grabs my hand and hauls me through her house and up to the bathroom. When we’re in there, she starts the shower, and then she turns back to me and starts pulling off my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
“Neil, we’re both dirty, tired, sweaty, and covered in who-knows-what. It’s time for a shower. Besides, a shower is the best way to clear your head.”
“I can think of some other ways that are better than a shower,” I point out, but she only laughs and shakes her head.
“Trust me,” she says. “I would love to fuck you in the shower, but have you seen the size of that thing?” She jerks her head toward the tub. It’s just your standard, run-of-the-mill tub with a hanging shower curtain. “It’s the world’s smallest shower. We’ll both fit, but only barely. I mean, if you bend me over and fuck me from behind, my head will pop out from behind the shower curtain. That’s not sexy.”
Maybe not, but the visual makes me smile.
Why is Finley so much fun?
Today is basically the worst day ever, but it doesn’t feel like it when I’m with her. When we’re talking, I don’t feel like everything is going to hell or like things are truly terrible. In fact, the opposite is true. When I’m with Finley, I feel like I can fly, and I feel like no matter what I might have to face, I’m going to be able to get through it with her by my side.
Once she’s satisfied that the shower is just the right temperature, she pulls the curtain back and gestures for me to climb inside.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I’ll sit here,” she says. “And I’ll wait for you.”
“We can both fit.”
“There’s no way.”
I’m not convinced, but I’m too tired and emotionally wrung-out to argue, so I step into the tub and sit down. Then I let the water pour over me. While I sit there, Finley starts to sing. I have no idea what the hell she’s singing, but I know it’s the most wonderful song I’ve ever heard in my life. Somehow, when she’s singing to me, I don’t feel like the world’s dumbest supervillain.
I don’t feel like the guy who let his best friend die.
I don’t feel like the guy who was just ten minutes too late to save his closest buddy.
Right now, I feel different than all of that. I feel like everything’s going to be okay and I feel like somehow, I’m going to make it through this.
She sings until the water starts to run cold, and then I realize that she’s missing her chance to shower.
“Finley,” I say, suddenly anxious, but she just keeps singing. I climb out and I’m ready to tell her to hurry up and rinse off before she’s taking an ice-cold shower, but she’s ready with a towel. She wraps it around me, silences me with a kiss, and points me toward the bedroom.
“I’m going to rinse and then I’ll come over to you,” she says. She strips down and I barely have time to look at how ridiculously cute she is before she’s the one inside the shower.
Maybe I should stay and sing to her.
I don’t know any songs, though.
When I was a kid, my grandpa couldn’t sing, and my parents died when I was really small. Maybe that was part of the reason Sammy and I always got along so well. His dad was always at work, so the two of us had that in common. We were loners: people who didn’t seem to belong anywhere, no matter how hard we tried.
Pushing the thoughts aside, I leave the bathroom. It’s a reluctant move, but I need a couple of minutes to clear my damn head.
We were so close to finding out what happened, but I have no idea what’s going to happen now. Part of me is ecstatic there’s now a chance we’ll be able to find out what happened. Maybe there will be justice. Will Marcy be tried? Will she be sent away?
I have no idea.
But I hope so.
There’s another part of me, a more cynical one, that thinks whatever happens next is going to be horrible. There’s a part of me that thinks the sheriff is going to get to his office and suddenly decide that I’m not worth fighting for. It would be easier to just brush everything under the rug and forget about what Finley and I told him.
That would be the simpler move.
It would be far better for him to conveniently forget what we talked about. Is that the kind of man he is, though? He was always a workaholic. He was always busy and away, but he was also always fair. I just hope that no matter what he decides, he chooses to be fair this time, too.
I head into the bedroom and realize that my extra clothes are in the wash. I head downstairs to Finley’s washer and dryer and pull my stuff out, and then I get dressed. I hear a meow and realize that Echo is hungry.
Again.
“You’re always hungry,” I tell the kitten, but I say it in an affectionate way because I don’t actually mind that Echo wants to snack. One of the wonderful things about being a kitten is that you can do whatever you want. Kittens get to be as hungry as they need to be.
Sometimes I miss the simplicity of being young. Sometimes it seems like being a kid would make things so much easier.
I grab the food and top off Echo’s bowl, and then I start looking through what Finley has in the fridge and the cupboards for dinner tonight. There are several choices we could start on, but I think spaghetti is a safe choice. Who doesn’t like spaghetti?
There’s a knock at the door just then and I look at the clock on the stove. It’s only just after noon. Who could be coming by? Maybe it’s the main carrier with a package that needs to be signed for. I have no idea. I should call Finley, but I don’t want to interrupt her shower. She’s had just as crazy of a day as I have.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross my fingers and hope that it’s not Sheriff Peterson. I appreciate the fact that he wants to do the right thing. I just hope he actually follows through. Finley’s got an older house with a sort of awkward design. Simply put, there’s no keyhole, so I have no way to check who is at the door. Not that it matters, anyway. Chances are whoever it is won’t recognize me and will quickly be on their way.
Only, when I swing the door open and see the gun pointed at me, I realize that
I am quite mistaken.
“Hello Neil,” Marcy says. “What a surprise.”
Chapter Thirteen
Finley
The shower is chilly when I get in and downright icy when I’m done. One of these days, I’m going to need to invest in a better water heater. I get that. That’s no surprise. That said, I grab a towel, wrap myself in it, and head to my bedroom. I grab a pair of sweatpants and slip a t-shirt over my head. I decide to go braless because, well, I don’t think we’re going to be leaving the house again today. We’ll need to eat at some point, sure, but we can either order in or have sandwiches.
Neil is going to need something calm and stable in his life today, and I don’t think there’s room for anything that’s going to cause him chaos or stress. Cooking and making decisions? Those aren’t things we need to do today.
I head downstairs and as soon as I reach the bottom of them and see into my living room, I wish that I’d grabbed my cell phone because I came downstairs.
“Hello, Finley.”
My heart seems to stop beating within my own chest.
“Marcy,” I manage to say. “W-W-What are you doing here?”
Shit.
Why am I stuttering?
I never stutter.
I’m a brave, badass woman, and I don’t stutter. That’s so not my style. It’s just not something I’m interested in. I’m more interested in making sure that I always present myself as strong and in control.
Stuttering is not the right way for me to do that.
“Ted and I noticed you being weird at the library yesterday,” she says coolly. She’s standing beside him and she’s holding a gun. Neil is sitting on a chair with his back to me, and I can tell even from here just how damn tense he is.
Once again, helping Neil to have a relaxing adjustment back to life as a free man isn’t exactly going the way I planned.
“Is that so?” I ask. My eyes dart from the gun to Ted to Neil and back again. What the hell is Marcy playing at? My cell phone is upstairs on the charger, and I don’t have a home phone. As far as I know, Neil hasn’t gotten a phone yet, so unless Sheriff Peterson decides to come back because he forgot something, we’re kind of on our own.
There’s no way this is going to end well for any of us. It couldn’t possibly, but it’s up to me now. If Neil tries to move, she’s going to shoot him. That’s just obvious.
“That’s so,” Marcy says. “Now, why don’t you have a seat?” She gestures toward the chair beside Neil, but I shake my head.
“No, thank you. I’m fine just where I am.”
“Sit down, bitch!” She shrieks, shaking the gun. This seems to surprise Ted, because he looks at her sharply.
“Marcy, you need to relax,” he says.
“Relax?” She laughs maniacally, and it’s so intense that I kind of wonder if her head is going to explode from the sound. Then she shakes her head. “I’m so far past the point of relaxing, Ted. You have no idea.”
“We just came over to talk to them,” he says in a calm voice.
“Then why did you bring a gun?” Neil asks carefully. “Surely we can discuss whatever is on your mind without resorting to violence.”
“What do you want to discuss?” I ask, piping up. Somehow, having Neil stay calm is helping me to chill out myself. Either we’re going to die or we aren’t. There’s no use being scared, right?
“I think you know exactly what we want to discuss,” Marcy says. “Neil. Out of this town. You ruined all of our lives once upon a time. You aren’t going to do it a second time.”
He raises an eyebrow. Ted is strangely silent, looking from Marcy to Neil and back again.
“Oh, Marcy,” he says. “Finley and I went to the old mill today. We learned a couple of things about you. I think we both know that the only person who ruined lives in this room was you.”
Marcy pales just a little, but she doesn’t lower the gun. She’s moving it between me and Neil, and the gesture is wobbly and shaky. She’s coming unhinged, and we don’t have a lot of time before she freaks out completely and makes a shitty choice that ends in people dying or being seriously injured.
“You shut your mouth, Neil,” she hisses out, but Ted looks confused.
“What is he talking about?”
“Nothing. He’s a psycho who killed your best friend,” she snaps.
Interesting.
So Ted doesn’t know.
After all of this time, he has no idea that his wife is the one who killed his best friend.
“You never told him?” I ask before I can stop myself. “You never told Ted the truth about the night Sammy died?”
“Shut your fucking mouth!”
“What the hell is she talking about?” Ted says. This time, his voice is harsher. “And put the fucking gun down.”
He reaches for it and manages to disarm Marcy. Then he holds the gun at his side.
“You said you wanted to bring the gun in case people freaked out. Well, Marcy, you’re the one freaking out. Now tell me what they’re talking about.”
Marcy has the sense to pale. Neither Neil nor I move at all. I probably should. I should run upstairs and get my phone and call 9-1-1 because right now, this night could go either way. I’ve never seen Ted look like this before, and I’ve never seen Marcy look so scared.
Shit.
So she actually did it.
If there was any doubt in my mind before, it’s gone now.
“Nothing. They’re crazy.”
“Marcy, you have to the count of three,” Ted says.
“We found an earring,” Neil speaks up. “At the old mine.”
Marcy is completely silent, but if possible, she turns even paler. Her skin seems to have lost all color at all, and she looks like she’s going to faint.
“We went to see if we could find any evidence that would help clear Neil’s name,” I add. “Because he wasn’t at the mine when Sammy died. He was going to meet Sammy. They were going to talk about you,” I added. “Sammy liked you.”
At this, Ted’s eyes soften, and I get the feeling that this is something he already knew. He understood how Sammy felt about him, and I’m guessing that Ted probably felt the same way.
“Ted’s not gay!” Marcy screams, stomping her foot. “He’s not fucking gay!”
“No, but I am bisexual, and I wish you’d stop forgetting that,” Ted says, looking at his wife carefully. “That’s never been a secret, but you’ve always been really strange about it. You’ve never wanted me to talk about that side of me. What happened that night?” He asks. Then he turns back to me and Neil. “What about the earring?”
“It was Marcy’s earring,” Neil says. “She was there that night. She shot Sammy and ran off. The sheriff assumed it was me and rearranged the crime scene to make it look like he’d seen me do it. He knew I was the one coming to meet Sammy. Marcy here just beat me to it. Isn’t that right, Marcy?”
She shakes her head, and now tears are streaming down her face. I don’t feel the least bit sorry for her, but damn, she looks even guiltier than I thought she would.
“You don’t understand,” she says.
“Marcy?” Now it’s Ted’s turn to be pale.
“Please,” she turns back. “You don’t understand, Ted. You have to understand. He was going to steal you away from me.”
“That’s why you wanted to get married so fast?” Ted whispers. “You told me you were pregnant and that you lost the baby. That was a lie?”
Marcy doesn’t say anything.
“All this time, you told me you stayed home sick that night and that’s why you didn’t go to the game. Really, you were planning to kill my best friend?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him!” She shouts suddenly. “I just wanted to scare him away!”
“Like you wanted to scare Neil today,” Ted asks, looking down at the gun. Then he holds it up, but it’s not pointed at me or Neil.
It’s pointed at Marcy.
She suddenly seems to real
ize what’s happening.
“Please,” she says, holding her hands up. “You have to understand.”
“Tell me if it’s true,” he says.
“Ted, let me explain.”
“Tell me if it’s true,” he says again.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” She yells. “He was going to steal you away from me! You were supposed to be with me, not with that-“
But she’s cut off from finishing her sentence because Ted places a careful bullet in the center of her forehead and she slumps to the ground. Then he looks at me and Neil.
“You heard it,” he says slowly. “A confession.”
“We heard it,” I whisper.
“Finley, will you please call the police and let them know that I’m ready to be arrested for the murder of my wife?” He asks carefully, and it’s the saddest, strangest, most horrifying thing anyone has ever asked of me. He looks at her body, but then he closes his eyes, and he sits down on the center of my couch and places his hands on his lap. He’s still holding the gun, but he seems to realize this and he hands it to Neil.
“Here, Neil. You hold onto this for me, will you?”
I can tell that Neil is hesitant to touch the gun – fingerprints and all of that – but he takes it and sets it down.
“Finley?” Neil says.
“I’m going now,” I whisper, and I run up the stairs to get my phone.
Chapter Fourteen
Neil
The police are gone and we’re alone, standing in front of Finley’s house. She’s got Echo in a cat carrier in the car along with a chance of clothing. The police are keeping her house as a crime scene for a few days, and then she’ll have to arrange for cleaners to come in and tidy up the place before Finley is able to move back in.
“Are you sure you want to go back?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“It’s…you’re never going to be able to un-see what happened,” I warn her. I know firsthand just horrifying PTSD can be, and something like this is definitely going to leave its mark on Finley’s mental health.
“It doesn’t matter if I move or stay in the same place,” she says. “This is where it happened. This is where everything finally ended, and it’s where you came to me. In my mind, it’s where you got your fresh start, Neil. I’m not going anywhere.”
