Those We Trust

by Victoria Ellis

  I really do believe that had I not put the pieces together on my own, Simon would have never told me he was Mara’s killer. If he would have told me, that would mean he’d have to admit that he’s a flawed, ignorant, selfish bastard. He would never. The perfume bottle and videos weren’t the end all be all. It started with those fucking short shorts, the wine date, sucking up to me, and telling me how wonderful I am. Simon whisking me off to the city so I would ignore that he was having an affair with someone I considered a close friend. Mara bringing me lunch at work to figure out ways she could intricately weave her crazy ass into my life. They are both goddamn psychopaths.

  I believed that being a psychiatrist would be the death of me but it turns out that my profession is going to be the only reason that dumbass Simon stays out of prison, the reason our child has a father that he or she isn’t afraid to tell people about, and will not be judged for the actions of because the only people who will ever know what happened to Mara are in this house.

  Some women may think I am insane for doing what I am about to do. Most women would have turned their lying, adulterous, piece of shit husbands into the authorities faster than the men got their pants down to fuck their mistresses. Not me, though. I can’t think of myself, of only my wants and desires anymore.

  I have to think of our unborn child and how fucked up they would be if their father goes to prison for murder. His fucking sperm couldn’t do the job for the past how many years? Life is a cruel bitch for giving us a child now.

  I think about all of the ways we could try and cover this up if it gets traced back to Simon. Of course it’s going to get traced to Simon—his cum was probably in her vagina; he doesn’t know how to cover up a murder. No amount of shitty Google searches were going to save him from himself. What an idiot. I knew Simon’s shit would catch up to him eventually; he would get his karma for what he put me through, but I never thought things would end up like this. I never imagined he could stomach taking it that far.

  It isn’t until I’m sitting in my living room with all of the lights off and catch my reflection in the window pane that I realize what we need to do.

  It scares me and I jump slightly, looking up and seeing my reflection. For a moment my eyes don’t compute that it’s me and not some psychopath watching me from out in the dark. And that’s when it all clicks. The night of the dinner party. I saw a man standing outside watching Mara’s house. I informed James, Mara, and Simon of this. I truly think there was someone watching us, which still creeps me out to a certain extent, but now that I know I have a goddamn killer living in my house, I don’t think anything else could shock me.

  I will frame Patient X for Mara’s murder. And it will be the easiest thing I have ever done. Much easier than sleeping in the same bed as Simon. Easier than carrying his child in my womb, than seeing his cheating face every day, and certainly easier than pretending to want to help him.

  Because if I had it my way, Simon would fucking fry in the electric chair.

  ~

  When I wake up the next day, I have been in such a deep sleep that I forget what a shitshow my life has turned into. I smell the coffee that Simon is making as I stretch out in the big bed, contemplating my next move.

  How can he be so unassuming as to just do regular things like make coffee? Doze off on the recliner? Celebrate a fucking wedding anniversary with his wife right after murdering his lover? I always knew he had a screw lose up in his head, from what he went through with his family, but I never did peg him as a killer.

  Here we are though, life is just what you make of it, isn’t it? What a bowl full of a fucking cherries.

  I call off of work, something I haven’t done in a decade or damn near close to it. I decide I will let Simon tell me his version of the story leading up to the killing Mara, then I will decipher whether or not it is the truth. He’s gotten terrifyingly good at compulsively lying. He can even look me in the eyes when he does it—there are no twitching habits, he doesn’t look off and to the right, his eyes stay focused on me the entire time. If that doesn’t scream sociopath, I don’t know what does.

  ~

  I find him sitting at the island, per usual, sipping from his coffee mug while reading the Herald News on his phone. After pouring my own mug I sit next to him and slowly swivel around to face him. He continues reading as if I’m not there, no good morning or even a stifled hello comes from his lips. I am quickly getting annoyed so I decide to get down to the point.

  “What do you think happened to Mara?” I ask, not beating around the bush.

  “We know what happened, Abbey. She was stabbed, slain, murdered in cold blood,” Simon says, shuddering at the In Cold Blood reference.

  “Yeah, I’m well aware that some total loose cannon psychopath murderer stabbed her, what, five times?”

  James didn’t tell us how many times she was stabbed, only that she was. I’m just testing him.

  “He stabbed her seven times,” Simon says, putting his phone down on the table and looking at me, finally.

  “He? The police have no leads. You can’t be thinking James did it. There’s no way.”

  “I just assume. Women aren’t capable of something like that.” His voice trails off at the end and he stares off into the backyard now, coffee mug pressed against his lips, eyes far away.

  Women are extremely capable of murdering someone. This woman would love to stab you seven times, hell, seventeen times. Why stop when you’re having fun?

  “Jane Toppan, a nurse who confessed to thirty-one murders, or how about Nannie Doss, who killed four of her husbands and close family members? Women know how to kill just as much as men do and probably for better reasons, too.”

  I would have loved to look him straight in the eyes with that comment but he refuses to look in my direction.

  “I suppose you’re right. I was just throwing a pronoun in. You are incredibly talkative this morning,” Simon says, still without turning to face me.

  “Also, Simon, honey?” I say, gently reaching over to touch his hand “James never told us how many times Mara had been stabbed.” Delivering my point, drilling it in hard like a sucker punch to the gut. I know your secret, you fucking bastard.

  He straightens up now, shoulders back, eyes focused outside.

  I decide he isn’t going to say a word about killing Mara and that if I want to get started covering his shit up, I’m going to have to pull it straight out from his lying teeth myself.

  “Listen, Simon, cut the shit. I’ve got your seed in me and I shouldn’t be under this amount of stress but here we are because you murdered Mara.” He looks at me like I’m the crazy one but I’m not, so I keep right on going. “The perfume bottle, the videos from the cameras you planted in their house, the crazy obsession you had with her. She was your lover and you killed her. Please for the love of God don’t deny it. Just tell me why you did it. Why did you think ruining our lives further than you already had would be the best thing to do?” My voice doesn’t even crack. The words flow out with force and I surprise myself with the amount of strength that pours out of me. I want answers.

  Simon doesn’t confirm or deny killing Mara. Which I expected.

  “What do we do now?” is all he says to me.

  Coward.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Abbey

  It will be easy to convince James of the stalker theory once I make sure all of the evidence points directly to Patient X. I need to make sure everything aligns correctly and that no fingers point toward my family, even if Simon is a piece of shit who deserves anything that comes his way.

  Before planting the seed in James’s mind, I know I need to get a foolproof story ironed out.

  Patient X is the man I saw staring in the window at us on the dinner party night. James and Simon can both attest to this story—the two of them being there and seeing how frightened I was. He was clearly watching Mara, who must have been one of the women that he spoke about so frequently in our sessions.

&n
bsp; It makes sense that Patient X sought me out as his psychiatrist to be as close as possible to Mara. I will have to go in and change the dates on some of my paperwork but that will be easy enough. I can make sure I add in key features that Patient X has told me about Mara. Her long, dark hair and her bright blue eyes. I will add in details about James that the patient has informed me of. I will put in just the right amount to make it look like he did it but not seem so obvious that I should have been onto him before now.

  I look down at my protruding belly and run my hand in tiny, circular motions around its entirety. I will protect you, baby. If it is the last thing I do. I will make sure you never have pain from this mess.

  I block out my entire schedule for the day so I can sit alone in my office and work on creating this master plot to frame my patient. I feel like the biggest piece of shit on earth for doing this, for letting an innocent man go down for Simon’s crime. Is Patient X truly innocent though? No. He isn’t. He’s stalking women in the city and it’s only a matter of time before something comes of it. Someone’s daughter or sister or wife will become the next Mara if I don’t get him off of the street.

  I try and talk myself down to feel better about what I am about to do but nothing brings me peace. I will have to live for the rest of my life knowing I framed someone for Mara’s murder. That I’m allowing Simon to go free.

  It’s a price I’m willing to pay for our unborn child to live a normal life.

  While I’m thinking of Simon, his hallucinations come to mind. He has been hallucinating lately. I should have known months ago when I heard him talking to his dad, but I didn’t put two and two together. I thought he was praying or something, finally falling for a religion. His hallucinations have gotten more frequent though since just before Mara died. I assume her death contributes to them, but he won’t go get help. He refuses to acknowledge what’s going on.

  When I’m leaving the house, I notice James packing up the last of his belongings from the house. He was surprised when it sold as quickly as it did. I told him that I understood him needing to leave the neighborhood and starting fresh but I was going to miss him.

  I pull out of my driveway and roll down my window, signaling to James I want to talk to him. He sets down a big brown box marked “STUFF” and I laugh.

  “Hey neighbor, who taught you how to pack?” I immediately regret it. What if he says Mara?

  James laughs and squeezes my hand that is resting on the wheel. “I ran out of the give a fuck mindset shortly after starting to pack, Abs.”

  “I’m going to miss you, you know. You really are a great person, James. I know you can’t be doing great but I hope you’re as good as you can be. If you ever need anything, I will always be here for you,” I say, tears forming in my eyes, always the sappy one.

  “Abbey, YOU are a great person.” James looks into my eyes and I believe what he says to me. “You deserve the world. You give selflessly of yourself and fill each day of your life helping other people. You treat your patients like your family. You treat your friends like your family. You are a radiant source of light and love and I hope you never, ever forget that. And when your beautiful child comes along, I hope you have the strength to make the right choice for that little bean. Most importantly though, I hope you realize all of your perfects and that you deserve happiness.”

  As I drive away from James for what I know will be the last time, I’m filled with a strange sense of wonder. The things he just said to me, the hopes he has for me, have ignited something deep within in me. The road I drive on throws twists and curves at me just like my life over the past year has. I contemplate everything. My life, Simon, our marriage, James, and finally Mara. She was a lot of things—she screwed up my life and hers, as well as James and Simon’s lives. She didn’t deserve to die for those sins though.

  My entire body aches with the pain of what is coming next. Doing the right thing is sometimes the hardest action in the entire world.

  ~

  I sit in my office, this day taking a wild turn of events. It is eleven in the morning and I planned on, after blocking out my schedule, sitting in this very spot and working on framing Patient X for Mara’s murder. James has unknowingly convinced me to do the right thing for the majority, even if I don’t think it’s the best thing for me.

  I start in on writing what I’m certain will be at least a five-page handwritten letter. I have piles and piles of work, spreadsheets, and medication logs spread out in disarray on my desk but this is my new focus. This has to be done. The sooner the better, before I lost my courage.

  I am trying to gather all of my untamed thoughts and get them onto the paper in somewhat of an organized fashion, but putting it all out there is difficult. My thoughts and all that has happened feels private, although it shouldn’t be. I feel embarrassed and hurt and sad and most of all, I feel sorry. Sorry that this is what it has come to and that this is the course I must take. Sorry that I let it all go on for too long, that I was willing to risk my dignity and respect for myself to protect the one person who should have been worried about protecting me but wasn’t. The decision I finally made was a terrible one to have to make. It will cause pain and heartache and loss, but it will also provide peace. For my child and for myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mara

  The night that Simon tried to kill me was the night that I knew something in my broken life needed to change. When I came to the realization that I was quite possibly in my final moments, it forever changed the way I viewed everything. It was undoubtedly the final act to shock me into seeking proper help for myself and for my marriage, too.

  The stabbing and Simon taking advantage of me, raping me, and my flashback of Ryan while Simon was on top of me, sent me far past my breaking point.

  When I think back to the moments I thought were my last, I can’t help but be overcome with emotion. I truly feel I was incapable of feeling or showing my innermost feelings until those last few days with Abbey, when I brought her lunch and then when I told her the truth about her husband. Abbey helped me in ways she didn’t recognize, with words she had no idea would impact me.

  When I decided to go over to Simon’s house after I saw Abbey hightail it out of their driveway, I had no idea that my life would do a complete 180 that night. I had not even an inkling that just hours later I would be holed up in some shitty low budget motel, confessing everything to my husband, begging him to come to me and understand how broken I am. I pleaded with James to not judge me but instead to help me heal this part of me that was totally severed when I was a child, causing such a downward spiral of agony and deceit.

  My plan that night was to just go over and tell Simon what a piece of shit he was for forcing himself inside of me and for not stopping when I was so visibly out of my mind. He wasn’t going to get to tell me to never speak to him again. He didn’t get to do that to me after everything else. It was my turn to talk. I wanted the last word. All I was able to do though was tell him that if he didn’t tell his wife, I would. I would tell Abbey every last thing from the minor, innocent flirting all the way up to the rape. Because that’s what it was. Rape. Abbey was carrying his child—someone she needed to protect from this bastard. She deserved to know everything, even if it meant hurting her more than we already had.

  The moment I told him this, something inside his eyes grew dark. A sinister look immediately washed over his face. I had never seen his kind, gentle eyes switch like that. If I believed in the paranormal, demons and the like, I’d compare it to some form of spiritual possession. It was as if that wasn’t Simon but someone else, something else. A dark spirit from a far-away dimension taking over his body and performing unthinkable actions.

  One second we were having a decently mild-mannered conversation, as nonchalant as it could be after her raped me. The next thing I knew, he was grabbing for a large knife and looking at me like he wanted to see me take my last breath right there in his kitchen, at his hand. Thinking about it now gives m
e chills but it’s important I go over everything, that I remember all of this for Abbey.

  Simon wasted no time as he lunged toward me as I turned fast on my feet toward the back door. He sliced me across my cheekbone. I didn’t even feel it; my adrenaline was high and I knew I needed to run.

  While I fumbled with the sliding glass door I had never used before, he was able to tug me downward. He straddled me and stabbed my shoulder. I started bleeding out of the new wound but I could tell it wasn’t too deep, obviously not hitting organs or doing damage that would end my life. I couldn’t let him have another chance. I kicked him in the face hard. It knocked him backwards and a deep grunt escaped his lips.

  “You fucking bitch, you think you can cheat on me and get away with it?” A voice that was unrecognizable came from him then. It was monotonous, low-pitched, and gravelly as he said, “I have to do it, don’t you understand? Strong men believe in cause and effect. Strong men believe in cause and effect. No, Dad. I know. I know.”

  He was quickly on top of me again and I took the opportunity to rip his bandage to the side, the one I noticed on his forehead, and dug two fingers into the bloody mess of a hole. He grabbed me by the wrist and forced me away, and I slid backwards on the wood floor. I hit my head against the glass door as he took his own head in his hands and rocked back and forth.

  I stood up and slid the door open and ran. I didn’t look back.

  Simon wanted to kill me.

  He was going to kill me.

  ~

  I didn’t stop running until I reached a shady-looking motel on the side of the road. I was grateful I was wearing a cross-body purse that didn’t come off in the struggle. I immediately called James and confessed parts of the past few months to him. I begged him to please come to the motel and he did. When he got there, despite me being the disgusting person that I am, he held me. James didn’t let go of me the entire night—he let me cry, he comforted me. He was there for me even when I had treated him like a piece of trash. He saw me at my lowest point, further down than I had ever been before, and he continued loving me despite the pain I put him through.