Necessary Evil

by Killarney Traynor

Flames of humiliation competed with my icy fear. I gaped at this man, who’d understood me so completely – so well, that he knew just where my weak spot was.

  Before you go and make this declaration public, Maddie…

  Oh, God!

  I found enough spine to glare at him.

  “I hope I wasn’t too predictable, Joe,” I practically spat.

  He chuckled. “Actually, you were a much tougher nut to crack than I expected. I had to keep upping the stakes.”

  My mind was whirling with the implications. The last sentence made me gasp.

  “Lindsay!” I snapped. “You arranged that, didn’t you?”

  There was a long pause. Then he shook his head.

  “That,” he said, “was a… fortunate accident.”

  Flashes of memory swept over me. The panic in Ellen’s voice as she ran to get me. The pale form that was Lindsay on the ground, the terror on her parents’ faces when I told them what happened, the grim summation by the paramedics. Greg looking up at me, after examining the hole.

  There’s something wrong about all of this, Warwick. There’s something very wrong about this.

  Joe’s voice cut through my reverie.

  “That should have done the trick,” he said, and his voice grew taut with annoyance. “If anything could break you that should have done it. But just when I thought you were going to crack, a writer moved in and messed everything up. So I had to up the charm.”

  “You used me,” I hissed. It burst out of me, startling both of us; but once it was out, I pressed further. “You knew I was attracted to you, and you used me.”

  His laughter rolled out, deep and hearty, and it drove the point home with callous precision.

  “Attracted to me?” he laughed. “You practically salivated every time I walked into the room. You were so desperate and so easy to play, it wasn’t even fun. Yes, I used you, Maddie. But you played into my hands so easily, it was as though you were working with me the whole time.”

  And just when I was about to commit suicide by rushing him in pure anger, he went on.

  “Although you did have me worried for a while. Once I realized that your writer was Randall, I panicked. He has his drawbacks, but he is – was - clever, and I thought you might get distracted. I didn’t want him upsetting everything, so I arranged for our little play date.” He shook his head. “I was surprised at how long it took before you would admit that he was here. You’d grown more attached to Randall than I’d thought, but it didn’t take much to bring you back in line. All I had to do was threaten to walk, and you fell apart.”

  Joe paused, grinning at me. “The kiss was entirely for his benefit,” he said. “A massive ego like his needs the occasional kick.”

  I saw that his hands were caressing the pistol again. He was shaking his head too, looking for all the world like a man mulling over the fickle nature of fate.

  “If I’d known from the first that it was Gregory Randall who was staying here,” he said softly, almost tenderly, “I would have arranged for this accident a little sooner.”

  If I was chilled before, that made me feel as though I’d just stepped under an ice-cold waterfall.

  Keep him talking.

  With a great effort, I kept my voice steady, my fear and anger under control. “So what happens now?” I asked.

  He looked at me sharply. “I was going to move Allison before that dog of yours came back and scented me, and then I was going to oust Randall and discover the treasure. But you’re here and that… Changes things.”

  I took a step back.

  “It’ll never work,” I said desperately. “How are you going to explain away three bodies?”

  It was as if he hadn’t heard me.

  “When they find you,” he said, looking around as though for inspiration, “it’ll break your aunt. She’ll fold up. You’re her last link to the property. With you and Randall gone, she’ll be ripe for the picking. She won’t think twice about selling to me after you’re gone.”

  While I was still reeling from that stark declaration, I saw that he was looking behind me. I turned, but all I could see was the shovel, standing erect and ready.

  I looked back at Joe. He was fixated on the shovel, moving towards it while shoving the pistol back into his waistband.

  He was muttering, “A shot will be heard.”

  Joe was halfway to it when I realized what this meant. Panic and adrenaline surged through me. I ran to the opposite end of the pit, and threw myself at the wall, my hands scrambling for a hold. I couldn’t find a grip. The rocks had fallen out of the wall there, leaving nothing but smooth dirt with thin roots jutting out. I was trapped.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Joe had reached the shovel and pulled it out of the dirt with one fluid motion, his eyes fixed on me. And then he jumped.

  He was in the hole with me.

  He’d already killed Greg.

  Rage wrestled with fear. There was a rock in my hand and I threw it. I’m no athlete, but this shot went straight to its mark and his head whipped around with the impact.

  He hesitated. I launched myself at him.

  Joe caught me by the shoulder and shoved me aside like a rag doll. I landed on my hands and knees, but I didn’t have time to recover before his shovel caught me in the ribcage.

  Some instinct kicked in, and I rolled with the blow. The shovel missed my head by inches, hitting the wall behind me with a heavy thud, and he brought it around for another go. I rolled again, and this one glanced off my shoulder.

  Joe was over me almost before I stopped moving, swinging the shovel. I had just enough presence of mind to kick upwards.

  My feet made contact, and he grunted, staggering backwards as the blade whooshed by my face. I rolled onto my feet and fled across the uneven ground towards the other wall. This one wasn’t as tall - if I could just jump high enough to catch the top…

  I heard Joe’s breathing, practically felt him on my back, but I ran. I had to reach the wall, had to… Then my foot plunged through a gap in the bedding. I fell with another shout.

  The impact knocked the breath out of me. I forced myself to roll onto my back.

  Joe loomed over me, his shovel raised to strike.

  When they find me tomorrow, they’ll think I ran into one of those trespassers.

  The shovel never landed. Something, someone, jumped down from the wall, landing just inches away from my attacker. There was a flash of movement, then a ringing thud.

  Joe roared, staggered back, and I saw Gregory, holding the flashlight he’d just cracked Joe across the head with.

  On the face of it, it was not an even match. Gregory was muscular but slim built, a scholar who, having already met that shovel, was supposed to be dead. Joe Tremonti was taller and wider, a man who liked to work out and spar. More than that, he had two weapons and he wasn’t afraid to kill.

  But Joe never stood a chance.

  Even as he attempted to change direction, to bring the shovel down on Gregory instead of me, Greg ducked under his swing and drove his knee straight into Joe’s gut. Joe grunted, then cried out when his arm was caught in a hold that seemed about to break his elbow. Greg pressed harder, and the shovel clattered to the ground. Gregory let go of the arm hold.

  I saw Joe’s hand move and I screamed, “Gregory, the gun!”

  But he had only released Joe’s arm in order to set up a haymaker. I heard the crack as fist met jaw.

  Joe went up and back, and fell like a crumbling brick wall. He landed on his side, his head bouncing off the ground. The handle of his pistol glinted in the moonlight.

  Greg reached down, wobbling a little as he picked the gun up. Joe made a feeble movement as though to grab Greg, and his punishment was swift: two rapid-fire kicks in his gut.

  “Sit and stay, Tremonti, or I’ll be the one using the shovel,” Greg muttered through gritted teeth.

  Stunned, Joe subsided.

  Gregory stepped backwards, then aimed and fired three shots - but at a mou
nd of soft earth and not Joe, as I’d immediately thought.

  Gregory turned. “International distress signal,” he muttered weakly.

  He staggered over towards me.

  The light shifted, and moonlight poured through the trees, flooding the pit in eerie silver light. I could see the pistol, held limply in his hand, and there was a dark stain growing on his shirt.

  My heart clutched painfully.

  “Are you all right, Madeleine?” he asked. His voice was hoarse. He swayed, but did not fall. “Did he hurt you?”

  I was frozen, watching the surreal sight, still in disbelief. Gregory was here – but he was dead. Or I thought he was… But he’d come back for me, just as he’d promised he would. I gaped up at him.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked again. His glasses were gone and he squinted, peering through the dark at me.

  I found my voice.

  “No,” I whispered. “I’m all right.”

  There was a long pause. Then he sighed, and smiled at me.

  “Excellent,” he said.

  Through the suddenly still air, I could hear the voices of people running towards us. Thanks to the gunfire, help was already on the way. Gregory heard it, too, lifting his head painfully towards the sound.

  “Excellent,” he repeated.

  Then he collapsed again. Only this time, I was there to catch him.

  Life can change in the blink of an eye.

  I know this to be true, because it happened to me twice: once when I watched my uncle die on the trails, and once again, when I held the man I loved in my arms and willed him back to life.

  Letter:

  Written by Alexander Chase, found inside the McInnis Trunk

  To whomever may find this,

  If you are reading this, then you’ve found it necessary to remove this trunk in my absence. If I am not here, then it is very likely that I have fallen in battle. If so, I hope I died honorably, but I regret that my passing may have caused my mother and another pain.

  No doubt this secrecy has caused you to doubt my motives. After all, an honest man has no need to hide what he has earned. But the contents of this trunk are not mine – they are merely in my custody.

  While working in Charleston, I became attached to a lady and I am engaged. It has been kept a secret because, in these troubled times, the lady worries that her father, a southern gentleman, would not take kindly to a northern son-in-law. She has considerable wealth and worries that the coming conflict will ruin her father, whom she loves above all else. She begged me, therefore, to leave her behind, to take a stock of her goods and preserve them for her family until after the war. They say it won’t last long, but much damage can be done, and so I agreed, although it nearly killed me to leave her side. When I arrived here, I was disturbed by the vehement war fervor. Fearing that others would seize these goods in false patriotism, I have hidden them here, on the land I have contracted to buy from my neighbor.

  I intend to join the army, to serve honorably until the war’s end. Then, God willing, I shall return this to its rightful owner and claim her as my own. But I beg you, my reader, that should I not return, fulfill my charge and restore this in my stead. It belongs, in whole, to Miss McInnis, and her father, Jasper McInnis, of Charleston. Please assure Miss McInnis that to the last, I remained her faithful and devoted servant,

  Alexander Chase

  Chapter 32:

  I spent that night in the waiting room. The hospital staff weren’t too pleased about it and kept trying to convince me to go home and rest, but I flat out refused. My injuries had been mild and easily tended to. Gregory’s were a different story: I’d heard the EMT’s talking about head trauma and blood loss, and I told the staff, in no uncertain terms, that I was not leaving until Gregory woke up and that was that.

  “Are you family?” they asked.

  “No. I’m his partner.”

  They eventually accepted the situation, and left me to make myself as comfortable as I could on the teal and pink seats.

  Aunt Susanna came around midnight, carrying a backpack and a thermos of milky tea. She gave me a hug, then the thermos, and sat in the chair next to mine.

  “I brought you a change of clothes, and his laptop and notebook,” she said, patting the backpack. “How is he?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. They won’t tell me. I’m not family.”

  As she sighed and looked at her hands, I asked, “How’s Darlene?”

  Darlene Winters was in our house when everything went down. When she was told about the discovery of her daughter’s body, she’d collapsed. Even ten years of speculation had not been enough to prepare her for the reality of Allison’s murder.

  Aunt Susanna had stayed behind to take care of her while I accompanied Gregory to the hospital. As glad as I was to have her with me, I was surprised that my aunt had left Darlene alone.

  “She’s asleep,” Aunt Susanna said. “I should get back to her. I don’t want her to wake alone.”

  I nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

  She looked at me sharply, but I refused to meet her eyes. My tears were starting, and sympathy from my aunt would be sure to cause a deluge. I didn’t want to make another scene in front of the hospital staff that night.

  I could feel that she was about to ask me another question, a question my composure might not survive answering. Before she could speak, I said, “Poor Darlene. After all this time, all that waiting, and she lost it all anyway.” A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard as Aunt Susanna stared at me.

  I whispered, “Sometimes, it hardly seems worth it.”

  In the silence that followed, I struggled with myself. I thought it odd that Aunt Susanna had not yet asked me about Joe. She seemed to simply accept the situation, almost as much as I had.

  The time alone in the waiting room made one thing clear to me: my affection for Joe Tremonti had been as much of a smoke screen as the Beaumont letter. I never really loved him. He was the unobtainable lover - safe to obsess about because there was no risk of a real relationship. As long as I told myself that I was infatuated with him, I could keep all others at bay and preserve my heart from further trampling.

  Like a lot of my other theories, this one didn’t quite play out.

  When I did look at Aunt Susanna, she was studying her wedding ring, her face thoughtful. It was then that I realized she’d come without her cane.

  “When your uncle died, I didn’t think I would survive,” Aunt Susanna said softly. “It was so… wrenching. I didn’t know I could be so lonely. If it wasn’t for you and your determination to see us through, I don’t think I would have survived it.”

  I was shaking my head, but she stopped me with a look.

  “No,” she said. “I mean it. You and Darlene saved me. I would have given up. But once the initial storm had passed, when I finally let go of the anger – anger that he left me, anger at those who’d left the holes, angry at myself for letting him ride so recklessly - I felt like I’d been cheated. Robbed. But once I let that go, I was able to finally see clearly. I hadn’t been cheated. I was the luckiest woman in the world. I had loved and been loved in return. I had a lifetime with the best man I’d ever known. And while I would have loved to have more time with him…” She paused and steadied herself, then smiled at me through tear-filled eyes. “I have what most other people would give anything for. I have memories. And I know that I’ll see him again, eventually.”

  She reached out and squeezed my hand. “All things considered, I came out ahead. Way ahead. Darlene has, too. Once she gets through this, she’ll be able to treasure what she had with Allison. Her death will leave a hole. Every death does. But it’s such a small price to pay for a lifetime.”

  She smiled, a motherly smile I knew so well and had missed so much.

  “It’s a funny thing,” she continued, “but that old saying is right: it’s better to have loved and lost than never to love at all. When I was your age, I didn’t believe it, bu
t I know better now. It’s worth the risk. If you believe nothing else that I have taught you, Maddie, always believe this: love is worth the risk.”

  ***

  After she left, I barely slept at all. The seats in the waiting room are comfortable enough for waiting a few hours with an outdated magazine, but they are not constructed for a stubborn woman to get a comfortable night’s sleep in.

  By the time morning rolled around, I was a sleep-deprived mess. I checked at the front desk and was told that Gregory was doing fine, and that the doctors were with him. Visiting hours didn’t start until ten a.m., but the desk nurse, whose name tag proclaimed her as “Rosemary”, told me that she thought it would be all right if I went up earlier.

  “I’ll take you up myself,” she offered. “I want to meet him anyway. We’re all fans of his work – it must have been exciting, having him at your place.” She leaned forward. “I’m told that all of his work is based on true-to-life experiences,” she whispered. “That he conducts extensive… research, if you catch my drift.”

  There was a sly expression on her face, as though we were girlfriends exchanging a juicy piece of gossip. It confused me, but I was too tired and too strung out to worry about it. I shrugged.

  “Yes,” I sighed. “That’s entirely true.”

  Her face lit up, and she slapped the counter triumphantly.

  “I knew it,” she said. “You can’t write like that unless you’ve been there, right? Now, it’s none of my business, but someone told me that you were working with him on the new book. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” I answered, and was startled by the wide-eyed look of shocked delight that spread across her face. “Um, is there some place I can get a cup of coffee?”

  She directed me to the cafeteria. I stopped at the bathroom to try to tidy up as best I could, then got a cup of coffee and a granola bar before returning to the waiting room.

  I drained the coffee and nibbled at the bar distractedly. Behind the desk, the nurses were chatting. Rosemary gestured to me, causing the two women to giggle confidentially.