Her Last Breath

by Hilary Davidson

  “Caroline stayed with you as long as she did because of Teddy. But she hated you, Theo. She really did. Caroline knew you murdered a girl years ago. She thought you deserved the worst.”

  Those words truly hurt. They were the last nail being hammered into my coffin. Because Ben was right about this single thing: Caroline had believed the worst of me. I’d always been afraid she would learn the truth and hate me for it. The horrific irony was that my fear kept me from investigating what really happened that night. Caroline died believing that I was a killer. I would never have the chance to make matters right between us.

  What made me want to die was that Caroline had gone to her grave hating me.

  “I would’ve prepared better if I’d known I’d be entertaining guests here. I want this to be as painful as possible,” Ben said. “I’ve got strychnine, which is supposed to be the worst poison of all, thanks to the convulsions. I wish I could hang around for three hours to watch you die. But I have to go out and shoot your accomplices now.”

  “Teddy . . .”

  He punched me in the face. “You ruined everything, you know that? If Teddy gets hurt, that’s on you.”

  That lit a rage inside me that pushed the void back. Falling into the soothing blackness was a luxury I didn’t have. I had to fight for my son.

  “Caroline . . . told . . . me . . .” My breath escaped in short bursts, as if I were still being rattled by amateur electric-shock therapy.

  “What’s that?”

  “Caroline . . . told me . . . about you.” My head drooped forward as if the life had already bled out of me.

  I am full of hidden horrors.

  The voice scratched across my brain, far worse than anything in Ben’s limited repertoire. Ursula claimed the words were from a play; I wasn’t certain that I believed her. They had taken on a life of their own inside me.

  “What did she say?” He stepped closer to me and then, as if reading my intent, he fired up the Taser again. My whole body convulsed, loudly rattling the chain.

  I whispered something unintelligible.

  “What was that?” Ben was impatient now, and he came so close I could smell his shaving lotion. He was desperate for any token, any sign indicating that Caroline had thought of him at all.

  My lips brushed against his throat when I finally spoke. “You underestimated my ability to tolerate pain,” I whispered.

  Before he could step back, I sank my teeth into his throat, right into his jugular.

  CHAPTER 48

  THEO

  I would have been satisfied to die in that darkness. I wasn’t afraid. Ben was no longer a threat to Teddy. My son would be safe. I hadn’t thought I was capable of saving anyone, but at least I’d done that. It didn’t matter if I died now.

  The scar that ran down my chest burned as if a beacon lay inside my flesh. Perhaps that was Death’s way of letting me know he was close. Blood blanketed me from top to bottom. The metallic tang of it lingered in my mouth. I’d killed Ben Northcutt, and the dreadful shame I was supposed to experience over taking a life was nowhere to be found. That man had deserved his fate.

  For reasons I couldn’t explain, I had the sense that Caroline was in front of me, touching the scar on my torso. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel her presence as surely as I could catch the scent of her perfume in her bedroom. We were caught in twilight, neither living nor dead.

  I am full of hidden horrors.

  I had never wanted to face that voice. It was better believing that a tiger had slashed me to pieces. That was a comfort compared to reality.

  I am full of hidden horrors.

  Dr. Haven had told me I needed to re-create smells and sounds and tactile sensations to bring my memory back. She was right. In that horrific basement, time unspooled. I was no longer an adult man, but a three-year-old boy, lying in a cold cellar. The ground was dark with blood. My blood.

  I floated outside of my body, watching myself at Teddy’s age. Feeling Caroline’s presence beside me was the only reason I was strong enough to do it.

  My mother was kneeling over me with a knife in her hand. She was reciting the same lines, over and over, as if casting a spell for an unbreakable curse. I am full of hidden horrors.

  I’d known the story of Medea long before I’d ever heard of Euripides at boarding school.

  I’d heard my mother’s voice taunting me all my life. I knew I must have been the worst kind of monster there was to make my mother want to murder me. All my life, I’d been haunted by that broken shard of a memory. As she stabbed me again and again and the blood drained from my body, I imagined I was being purified. If I died, it meant I deserved to die. I felt an odd sort of liberation in knowing that I’d been a sacrifice rather than a target. My mother hadn’t wanted to kill me because she thought I was a monster but because she knew my father was.

  My mother had tried to destroy me, just as Medea killed her own sons. Medea had done it to spite her unfaithful husband; perhaps that was what my mother had in mind, as well. Only I hadn’t died.

  In my memory, there was an oubliette guarded by steel traps; I wasn’t supposed to venture in that direction, ever. A black fog swirled in the air above it; brushing against it left me light-headed and sapped my energy. Backing away from it, my memory cleared, but it only picked up several years later when my mother had vanished and Ursula was suddenly my stepmother. But Ursula had been there, in the house, for a long time. She had been in the house that very night my mother tried to kill me.

  Caroline’s soul was still beside me, giving me the strength I’d always lacked. My mind returned to that oubliette and—for the first time in my life—I peered inside it.

  I saw my father running into the basement. My mother screamed at him, and he wrestled the knife away from her, then shoved it with all his might into her stomach. She screamed, collapsing beside me on the floor, covering me in her blood.

  For the first time in that darkness, I screamed.

  CHAPTER 49

  DEIRDRE

  “Maybe we should wait for the cops,” I said.

  “You should wait for them,” my father said decisively. “You almost died already today. I’ll do this.”

  “Like hell,” I said. “I’m going with you.”

  We trudged across the road again and down the driveway, the broken bone in my foot aching. The headlights of Theo’s car were still on, and I saw blood on the three steps up to the house and wood slats in front of the door. My father tried the front door, but it was locked.

  “We can get in at the back,” my father said.

  My phone rang, but I ignored it as I hurried around the side of the house. The porch door was still hanging open, its torn screen blowing in the breeze.

  The door to the house was still unlocked.

  We stepped inside a mudroom. To the right was the kitchen, where Teddy’s abandoned pint of ice cream was melting over the table. To the left was the living room, with a large fireplace. To the left was a step up to a hidden door that blended with the wood paneling. It must’ve led into the addition, presumably upstairs.

  “No blood trail,” I whispered.

  We crept to the foyer. Blood was streaked over that floor. The path ended at a closed hallway door. We stopped, listening for any sound. There was nothing.

  “That’s the cellar,” my father whispered.

  “We need a weapon,” I said.

  “We need to hurry.”

  My father pulled something out of his pocket and started to jimmy the lock open. I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife in the counter block. By the time I’d run back to the hall, my father had the door unlatched.

  “How come you never showed me how to do that?” I whispered.

  “Like you didn’t get yourself into enough trouble growing up.”

  He opened the door a crack.

  No voices, just an eerie creaking sound.

  He opened the door wider, and an earthy smell filled the air. Something metallic was beh
ind it. Blood, I realized.

  No one shot at us. It felt like a good sign.

  There was an odd rasp, then a soft moan.

  “Someone’s alive,” he said.

  We crept down the dimly lit stairs. A man was hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly on a chain.

  “Theo?” I said, and he groaned.

  My father found the light switch and turned it on. Theo was soaked in blood from his face down to his bare feet. If he was alive, it was only barely.

  “We have to get him down,” I said, but my father was frozen in place. He pointed at the floor, and I realized Ben was lying there, eyes wide, mouth open, and missing most of his throat.

  CHAPTER 50

  DEIRDRE

  The first state trooper who walked into that basement scuttled out like a cartoon character, legs pinwheeling on the stairs.

  “What d’you want to bet he puts in for early retirement?” my father commented.

  We’d managed to get Theo down from the ceiling, but his arms were still looped in chains. Even on the ground, they were stuck in position, as if he were a doll broken by an angry child. By the time paramedics made it there, he was murmuring like a fever victim. I tried to pick out words and failed.

  Finally, some cops arrived on the scene and ordered us out as they set up floodlights around the perimeter of the house. We stood as near the action as we could, watching the parade of uniforms march in and out with the grim tenacity of ants.

  “Pity,” my father murmured.

  “Because we don’t get to settle our score with Ben?”

  He nodded.

  “I know what you mean,” I admitted. “But I’m grateful Teddy’s safe, and hopeful Theo will survive.”

  My father stared at me for a moment before nodding. “I am too.”

  Our impulses were dark and raw. That didn’t mean we had to follow them.

  The cops stationed out front wouldn’t let us back in, even though we’d already been inside the house and had contaminated the crime scene. “Believe me—you don’t want to see it anyways,” a grizzled cop with a florid face told us. “It’s like Ivan the Terrible’s torture chamber down there.”

  They brought Theo out first on a stretcher. His arms were still dangling above his head, and his mouth was open in what looked like a scream, but he was alive. The next gurney rolled out with a big bag of Ben-sized remains. They left it in front of an ambulance with open doors, but disappeared without loading it. Dead was dead, after all. It wasn’t like Ben was on a schedule anymore.

  My phone buzzed again. It was Juliet. I answered this time.

  “Deirdre, what is going on?” she demanded. “I was told Teddy was missing, but now he’s safe? And Ben Northcutt tried to kill you? And Ursula tried to throw herself in the East River?” Her voice was brittle and agitated. Every sentence came out like a question, as if she had doubts about reality.

  “Yeah, it’s been a day,” I said, too emotionally exhausted to react. “Is Ursula okay?”

  “Who cares? They’re putting her in a mental hospital.” Juliet gulped audibly. “What about my brother? Gloria said he’s been shot and might be dead?”

  “Theo’s in bad shape. He was shot and tortured and . . . it’s bad.”

  “Is he going to live?” Juliet’s voice was very small.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Your father’s men showed up ready to attack, but when they realized we’d rescued Teddy, they took him and fled. They left Theo behind. On your father’s orders, Harris said.”

  There was a choked sound on the other end. I wondered if she was crying.

  “Juliet, Theo’s going to need your help if he’s going to survive this,” I said. “Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “From what Theo told me, your father has been gaslighting you your entire lives,” I said. “Have you ever thought about what would happen if you stood together against him?”

  CHAPTER 51

  THEO

  They moved me from one hospital to another; I might not have noticed except for the color of the walls. “You’re certain Teddy is safe?” I demanded each time I woke. “Also, no opiates. I’m an addict.”

  “Your son? Yes, he’s fine. He’s with your family.”

  That set off alarm sirens in my head. “Not my father!”

  “Your sister, I think? Dark hair, tattoos . . .”

  “My sister-in-law,” I said, relaxing. “That’s good.”

  I drifted off again. The next thing I knew, a small voice was calling, “Daddy?” Instead of jumping, Teddy bobbled up to the hospital bed like a curious little duckling. “Does it hurt?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Really?”

  “Maybe a bit,” I amended. “But now that you’re here, everything is better.”

  “Kiss,” Teddy said, lifting his arms in an unspoken demand to be picked up. Juliet appeared and lifted him, allowing him to kiss my cheek. He considered my arm, a mix of old scars and new damage. “Looks bad,” he said finally, kissing it too.

  “We can only stay for a little while,” Deirdre said from the doorway. “Doctor’s orders.”

  For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Deirdre came up to Juliet and whispered something; my sister nodded. “Give your father a hug, Teddy. We’re going down the hall to see where they keep the cookies around here.”

  “Cookies?” Teddy’s interest was piqued. “I get one for Daddy!”

  When they left, Deirdre came closer. “How are you really feeling?”

  “Half-dead.” My throat crackled as if someone had scrubbed it down with sandpaper. “You saved me.”

  “You saved yourself,” Deirdre replied archly. “Turned out you didn’t need help.”

  “Yes, I did. A lot of help, actually.” I took a breath. “I thought I was going to die, in that basement. I know this sounds dreadful, but I wasn’t sorry about that.”

  “You have to stick around. Teddy needs his dad.”

  “Does he? I can’t decide how I feel about that. It’s as if I’ll damage him by being there, yet I’ll also harm him if I’m not. I’ve caused him enough damage already, don’t you think?”

  “You’re not the cause, Theo,” Deirdre said. “I wish you could’ve been honest, but I’d say the same thing about myself. Caro and I both tried to ignore our past. We pretended it never happened. But it was like a wall that divided us. We never dealt with it, so we never got beyond it.”

  “My father always says what’s past is past. I thought I could keep everything buried. I wanted to keep it buried. I never wanted anyone to know the truth about me, least of all Caroline. She would think me a monster.”

  Deirdre gave me her reluctant, lopsided smile. “The wonderful, terrible thing about Caro was that she could love a monster, even knowing he was a monster.”

  “You think we would have reconciled?”

  “Maybe you would’ve found your way back to each other.” Her face turned serious. “If you’d told me a week ago I’d be spending time with my father, I never would’ve believed you. I’ve never really trusted that people can change. I think maybe he has, or at least he’s trying to. Reagan said something that blew up my brain. She asked me what it would take for me to forgive him, and I said I would if he died.” Deirdre paused, as if contemplating it anew. “And Reagan said, ‘You believe he deserves the death penalty?’ And something clicked in my brain. I mean, I believe in rehabilitating people—at least theoretically. I still haven’t forgiven my father. But I also want to keep talking with him.”

  “I’ll never forgive my father,” I said.

  “I wasn’t suggesting you give a sociopath another chance to destroy you,” Deirdre said. “But maybe you should talk—really talk—with your sister. I wish Caro and I still had the chance.”

  “Cookie for Daddy,” Teddy said, running back into the room with a sealed packet in his hands.

  “Sorry,” Juliet said to Deirdre. “I know you wanted privacy, but we bumped into
a vending machine, and a certain someone’s a bit too good at spotting cookies.”

  “That’s okay. We got to talk.” Deirdre patted Teddy’s head. “We need to get you back home. Daddy and Aunt Juliet need to talk.”

  It was disturbing, watching Juliet have a normal conversation with another human. In my mind, she was forever the antagonist, swiping at Caroline, clawing at me, locking horns with our father. I’d seen her kindness to animals, but I’d always believed that was where her sympathies ended.

  “It’s almost like you and Deirdre are conspiring together,” I said, after they left.

  “She’s a tough character. I like that in a woman,” Juliet said. “How are you feeling, now that you’ve cheated death again?”

  “Like I’ve been dragged through hell. Why do we never talk honestly to each other about anything?”

  “It’s never fun to poke at raw wounds,” Juliet said. “That’s why we avoid it. But your weird voice mail made me think back to my trip to Paris. I’ve been talking about it with Deirdre. The timing was terrible—I had exams coming up—but Father insisted that I go. It was unusually generous of him. I should’ve guessed he’d have an ulterior motive.”

  “There always is, with our father,” I said. “Now I want you to tell me what you remember about our mother.”

  “Father made it clear I was never supposed to talk about her. Not ever.” Juliet’s red mouth tightened. “I was seven when she vanished. I couldn’t understand what had happened—I went to bed one night and everything was normal. When I woke up the next morning, our mother was gone and you were badly injured. Father wouldn’t take you to the hospital, but there were a pair of doctors buzzing around, and Ursula was barking at them in German. I didn’t understand a word. Father told me that our mother had tried to kill you before she ran away. He told me I couldn’t tell anyone, or our mother would go to jail forever, that they might even execute her.” Her eyes were damp. “Even then, I knew he was lying. And he made me lie to you. He said it would be better if you thought a wild animal attacked you. He made up a story about you being torn up by a tiger at the zoo. I know it sounds horrible, but I went along with it. He always reminded me what would happen to our mother if I didn’t.”