Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

  “What? No, he wasn’t. I would remember!”

  “I found him in your bedroom, on top of you. I had to stop him. I cut his throat. Mom helped me. She made me swear never to talk to you about him.”

  “You’re telling me you murdered our stepfather, and our mother helped?”

  Lauren turns off as quickly as a switch flipped. She turns her head to the side, evaluating Juliet. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “Of course it matters.” A penny drops. “You didn’t go away to school. You went to jail.”

  “I went to a fucking mental hospital with a bunch of criminally insane schizophrenics, so you could be safe and warm in mommy’s arms. No one ever worried about me. I was the one who had to deal with him. I was the one who had to deal with the consequences.”

  Juliet’s memory feels foggy, but she is having a hard time believing this story. She would remember if she’d been molested. She remembers everything—except the face of the man who was her stepfather.

  Her gorge rises, and she chokes it down. “Why would Mom help you cover up a murder? That’s wrong.”

  “She figured out he was diddling her kids. When she found out the truth, well, Mom was sorry she didn’t cut his throat herself.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why you and Mom weren’t close? She always resented you. I was her favorite, and I had to go to that place, and she was stuck with you. I was the one who suffered all his attention. I was the one who got pregnant. I was the one who sacrificed my life. All because we had to protect sweet, innocent little Juliet.”

  “Was there a trial? Were you convicted?” A connection forms. “Wait, you were pregnant?”

  “I miscarried.”

  Juliet feels uncomfortably warm. Something is wrong. And at this point, she has no idea what to believe, whether this is plausible or not, when another, even more horrid thought hits her. I’ve handled threats to this family before.

  And it all comes together for her. The rage, the sadness. Her infertile sister, already off balance, who would do anything to have a child to love.

  “You met Vivian Armstrong in the hospital, didn’t you? You stayed friends with her all those years, and when the time came, you murdered her and stole her child for your own. You sicken me.”

  Lauren waves her hand like a queen to a crowd. “You are nothing to me.”

  “Is that why Detective Gorman came out here, because you killed our stepfather, and he figured it out and tracked you down? He knew you were tied to Vivian. He knew about Mindy. He came to confront you, and you killed him.”

  The serene smile doesn’t leave Lauren’s face, though one edge of her lip quirks. There is pride in her face, in her smile. Pride at stopping the threat to her family.

  “Oh, my God, Lauren. What have you done? Who are you?”

  “Gorman was in the way. It was the most expedient thing to do. I’ve spent my life clearing a path for Mindy to have the world. Now that she’s received the stem cells, she’s going to be healed, and get back on her skis, and she’s going to have an incredible life. Just as she should. And if anyone tries to hurt her, or stop her, I will make sure they are taken care of.”

  Juliet sits heavily.

  “You’re mad. You’re absolutely insane.”

  “I’m the sanest person you’ll ever talk to, little sister. I have my priority, and it’s my daughter. It’s always been Mindy. Everything I’ve done for the past seventeen years has been for her.”

  “What do you think Mindy will feel like when she finds out her mother is a murderer?”

  “She will never know.”

  “No? How are you going to assure that? Kill everyone involved? Murder the CBI team and the Nashville detectives? It’s too late, Lauren. The DNA proves it. They already know what you did.”

  Lauren’s face doesn’t change. She continues watching Juliet with her pasted-on Mona Lisa smile.

  “This is ridiculous. I refuse to listen to any more lies. I’m leaving, right now.”

  “Are you?”

  Juliet’s heart is racing. The warmth she felt earlier is spreading. Her feet feel like lead. She can’t lift them. Her knees are locked, her mouth dry. Spots swim in her vision. Her head feels so heavy.

  “What have you done, Lauren?” Her voice is thick, her tongue too big for her mouth. Saliva begins to flow; she can’t stop it, she’s drowning. The room is spinning, spinning.

  “As I said, I will do whatever is necessary to keep my daughter safe.”

  “So you’re trying to kill me?”

  The smile turns sad, and Lauren gestures to the cups on the table. Juliet turns to look at them, but the thoughts won’t come. She barely hears Lauren’s next words.

  “Oh, sister. You’re already dead.”

  Juliet crashes to the floor.

  74

  Zack hangs up with Juliet, a terrible feeling of dread spreading through him. Lauren at the crime scene is unfathomable. And yet...her attachment to Mindy, her fierce protectiveness, the lack of friends, the practical isolation of the child, the claustrophobia of their relationship—Lauren spending weeks refusing to leave her side until forced to do so and not allowing visitors—it all makes an obscene kind of sense, and leads him to a frightening conclusion.

  Lauren murdered Vivian and stole their baby for her own.

  This thought alone is enough to propel him straight to the Wrights’ house, but he is on foot. He has no car, and there is no question of trying to make it up the mountain in anything but a vehicle.

  He turns in circles, assessing, looking. There are people around. He can ask someone heading into the garage, pay them if necessary. And while he’s doing it, he can call a cab or an Uber. See which reaches him first.

  Bolting off the porch with Kat at his side, he notices a man with a long-focus lens camera standing down the brick-lined alley. Two steps later his mind registers what his eyes have just seen. The face is familiar, but it’s the red baseball cap worn backward that identifies him. Zack saw him this morning in the parking lot, sitting in his car, taking shots of the hospital.

  A reporter.

  Zack about-faces, darts down the alley toward the man, who sees him charging and starts backing up, horror on his face, one hand out as if that will stop the onslaught of frantic man and angry dog.

  “Hey. Hey! I need your help.”

  “Dude, I’m just here taking pictures. No harm, no foul.”

  “You’re a reporter. I saw you at the hospital. I need a ride. It’s an emergency.”

  “Is it Mindy?”

  Zack starts to say no but realizes this may be the most expedient way of getting what he needs. “Yes, it’s Mindy. Her mother is at the house, she just called and said there’s a problem and can I meet her there. I don’t have a ride. Can you get me up the mountain?”

  “To the Wrights’ place? Shit, dude, for a price, sure.”

  “What’s the price?” Zack reaches for his wallet. There is no time to negotiate. He has to get to Juliet.

  “I don’t want money, man. Interview.”

  “Fine. Fine. It’s a deal. Let’s go.” Zack starts toward the garage, but the photographer points down the alley.

  “My car’s right over here. I know the gate security agent, he let me park it by the village entrance.”

  They are in the car—a small green Subaru Impreza with a ski rack on top, the back full of equipment, technical and ski—and rolling away less than a minute later. Kat is perched in the backseat, legs at angles, balancing against the sharp, fast turns.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  The reporter adjusts his Maui Jim sunglasses. “Actually, dude, yeah. I’ve been scoping the story for a while now, trying to get Mindy alone to talk to me.” He seems unembarrassed by this blatant greed. Zack wants t
o punch him but has a feeling even violence won’t stop the kid.

  The car zooms around the circle, and they are climbing. Zack wants to jam the car into fifth and make it go faster. Whatever is happening, it’s happening now, and he needs to get there.

  “Could you hurry?”

  “I’m going as fast as is smart, dude. The roads are still icy up high. I’d rather not plunge off the side of the mountain.”

  “Who are you even with? You don’t exactly have the corporate vibe.”

  The kid grins, puts out a hand. “Bode Greer, at your service. I work for Ski Magazine. I did the profile on Mindy a couple of months ago. We got along. I figured I have as good a chance as anyone to get in to talk to her. I think she dug me.”

  The smug, knowing smile is enough to make Zack’s blood pressure rise. He knows exactly what Greer means. He gives the boy—he is only a boy, in his early twenties, handsome, carefree—a long look. He is shocked to hear himself say, “You aren’t getting anywhere near my daughter, young man.”

  If he wasn’t so scared, so witlessly terrified, this sudden surge of protectiveness would make him laugh. But as it is, he knows only one thing. It is paramount that he protects Mindy. From the reporters. From Jasper. From Lauren. Hell, even from Juliet. He needs to get her separated from the entire world here, all the people who have been using her and riding her coattails and forcing her into the daily servitude of being a world-class athlete. She needs peace to heal, time to get to know her real family.

  Vivian, help me. Help me save our girl.

  He tries Juliet’s cell phone, which goes to voice mail immediately. This is not good.

  He realizes Bode is still talking. “—no offense, dude. I’m just saying she’s a cool chick. She was a fun interview. I’m not trying to exploit her or anything. It’s a huge story, whether she can keep her lead in the World Cup standings or whether she’s going to miss it this year.”

  “The story is bigger than her World Cup standings, trust me.”

  “Tell me. And hey, there’s a recorder in my pocket, mind reaching over and turning it on?”

  “What?”

  “Oh. Did I not mention we’re on the record?”

  “You manipulative little shit.”

  Bode smooths his cap. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to make a living. You’d do the same in my shoes.”

  They are flying up the mountain now, hitting the straightaway that leads to the final set of switchbacks that will bring them to the Wrights’ drive. Zack’s hands are balled into fists. He bites the inside of his lip, and the pain is sharp and intense. He relaxes his hands and takes a deep breath, the metallic tang of his blood on his tongue. His blood that will save her. His blood that flows through her veins. In his blood, the truth.

  “Fine. On the record. An interview with Mindy and me. Now shut the fuck up and get me to that house.”

  * * *

  It is quiet when he arrives. Juliet’s truck is in its usual spot, off to the right in the guest slot. The garage doors are closed; the house feels empty. He doesn’t know why he expected it to be any different than normal—maybe he imagined the two sisters tearing each other’s hair out on the front deck, fighting to the death over him. The idea makes him snort, and Bode, who has just put the car into Park, glances over inquisitively.

  “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

  “Okay. Now what?”

  “Stay here.”

  “Come on, man, you said—”

  “Mindy isn’t here, Bode. And we agreed—an interview with Mindy and me. Now, stay in the car. And no taking photos, all right? I’ll be back in a minute. Kat, stay.”

  She whines but listens. He runs up the front stairs, dodging the icy corners, and rings the bell, but no one answers. He tries the knob, but it’s locked. He doesn’t have a key. What’s he going to do, break down the door in front of the reporter? That will go over well.

  He presses the doorbell, tries Juliet’s cell phone again, too, knowing something is terribly, dreadfully wrong.

  Bode is out of the car now, sensing the urgency. Kat’s head is out the window. She begins to bark. The garage door goes up.

  Lauren’s car appears at the end of the driveway. The car stops, and Zack can imagine what this looks like—him on the front porch, looking ready to break down her door, a stranger’s car blocking the garage doors. Zack waves and runs down the stairs. Lauren pulls up closer. She is alone. Where is Juliet?

  He is standing by the car now. Lauren puts down the window.

  “Where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Juliet?”

  Lauren points to her sister’s car. “Isn’t she inside?”

  “I don’t know. The door is locked, no one’s answering. I thought she was meeting you here.”

  “She is. She called and said she had something to discuss. I was shopping, drove up here as quickly as I could. She called you, too, I see.” Mild curiosity, or is it derision? He can’t tell with her anymore. He wants to wring her neck. He wants to reach through the window and pull her hair, twist her head to the side, force her to admit what she’s done. But his hands hang limp at his side, and she shakes her head impatiently as if he’s simply an insect who’s buzzing around her face. What sort of game is she playing? Has she really not talked to Juliet yet? She’s not acting evasive or concerned.

  “Yes, she did call me. We were talking when you came home. She hung up when you pulled in the driveway. She hasn’t answered her phone since.”

  “She must have seen someone else, because I’ve been at the grocery store and just got here. Could you get...whoever that is to move his ratty little car? I’d like to pull into the garage.”

  “I’m happy to. Hey, Bode? Move the car to the other side, will you? Mrs. Wright wants to pull in.”

  Bode salutes and jumps behind the wheel, and Zack steps out of the way. Lauren zooms past and into the garage, then comes out, keys jingling. She pops the trunk. “Can you grab the bags for me? I thought we could all eat here tonight. Since we can’t eat with Mindy, a family dinner among the rest of us is a good thing, right? We have to get used to our new normal.”

  Either she is the coolest customer to ever live, or Juliet saw the wrong car and Lauren doesn’t yet know she’s been implicated in Vivian’s murder. He grabs two brown bags of groceries and a zipped-up insulated freezer bag. Lauren has already gone inside. Bode signals and Zack nods. He opens the door, and Kat rushes out, straight past Zack, into the house, a streak of brown fur. Zack pushes the freezer bag into Bode’s arms. “Listen, I don’t know—”

  Kat begins to bark, sharp and urgent, and Zack hears a long, high-pitched scream.

  75

  Zack bolts through the garage door and up the stairs, Bode tight on his heels. He enters into a nightmare.

  It takes a moment for him to register everything. Lauren, on her knees, screaming. Kat, two feet away from Lauren, neck stretched taut with the ferocity of her barking.

  Legs, clad in jeans and boots, akimbo on the carpet.

  Three long strides and the face comes into view.

  Juliet.

  Her face is dusky purple, her eyes slivers of white, a thick foam on her lips. He drops to his knees by her side, dimly hears Bode yelling in the background.

  “Call 911,” he shouts, and Bode whips out his cell phone.

  “Is she alive?” Lauren is calling to him, crying, grabbing at his arm. He shoves her away and sticks two fingers against Juliet’s carotid. There is a slow bump, then another, but the intervals are too spaced, and he realizes she’s very nearly dead.

  He has no idea what’s happened, no idea what is causing this, though the back of his mind is screaming, Some kind of poison, some kind of overdose; that foam is a dead giveaway.

  “Is she on any medications?”

  “I don’t know. I think she t
akes an antidepressant. Oh, God, is she trying to commit suicide?”

  They have no time to lose. Without another thought he starts chests compressions, hard and professional, a soldier’s response, counting off as he does. He feels a rib give way. Lauren weeps by his side. Bode drops to his knees across from Zack. His face is white as bone.

  “Ambulance is on its way. Can I do anything? Should I breathe for her?”

  “No. Don’t touch her, don’t touch her mouth. Get Lauren out of here, and let the paramedics in the second they get here. Shout ‘Narcan’ at them as they come in.”

  He pumps on her chest, heels of his hands to her breastbone, feeling the strange intimacy of flesh to flesh, knowing this is the only chance he can give her.

  He calls over his shoulder, “Lauren, look in her purse. Is there any medication in there? Do you know if she’s ever taken illegal drugs?”

  “I don’t know,” Lauren wails back. “She doesn’t tell me anything like that.”

  He hears the sirens now, and a small spark of hope begins in his chest. Kat edges closer, then runs to the windows to watch the fire truck pulling into the driveway, the ambulance right behind.

  And then they are surrounded, and a woman in a uniform is pulling him away, saying, “Sir, sir, let me take over now. What did she take?”

  “We don’t know. We found her this way.” There are needles now, and tubes and an aspirator and oxygen, and within moments, they are administering the Narcan and strapping her to the gurney.

  “We’re losing her, we gotta go, now. The Narcan isn’t working. She’s not responding.”

  “The front door,” Zack says to Bode, who is standing to his right, a hand over his mouth. He has never seen death up close and personal, Zack knows this from the horrified look on the boy’s face.

  Lauren is on the phone now, calling Jasper, he thinks. The gurney begins to clatter down the stairs, and he rounds on her, the fury barely contained. He knows this is all wrong, she is all wrong. Juliet did not do this to herself.

  But he can’t read this mercurial woman standing before him. She is freaking out, falling apart, crying hard, and as they load her sister into the back of the ambulance, he has no choice but to whistle for Kat and grab Bode’s arm. “Stay with her,” he commands, and Bode nods, eyes wide. “Give me your card. I’ll call you when I know more.”