Shatter

by Lola Taylor

Oh God.

  A table sat alongside one wall, a curtained window above it. On the table sat knives, hammers, and other workman’s tools.

  She writhed against the ropes, fighting to sit up so she could stand and hop over to the table to get the knife. She didn’t even know whether she was coordinated enough to attempt sawing through her binds, but she had to at least try.

  She finally managed to sit up. Carefully, she tried to stand, but her ankles wobbled, and down she went. The drug must still be in her system, making her shaky. Or was that her terror?

  She fell backward this time and smashed into something heavy. Biting down a cry, she arched her neck to see what she had landed on.

  All the breath left her. Choked noises sputtered from her mouth as her lungs fought to take in enough oxygen to power a scream.

  Nathan stared back at her, eyes devoid of life, his throat slit from side to side.

  Whimpering, because that’s all the noise she could make, Amy scrambled away from the body as fast as she could. Her eyes remained glued to the man who’d haunted her nightmares for so long, the man whom she thought she would kill tonight.

  But, apparently, someone had beaten her to it.

  What the hell was he doing in Becca’s basement? What kind of violent activity had Becca become involved in?

  Amy wasn’t watching where she was going, because all she could do was stare at the body. Her back bumped into the table; tools crashed to the floor in a loud ruckus.

  A door opened, and light poured down the stairwell, spilling onto Amy.

  She squinted as a silhouetted figure stalked down the steps.

  “Well, well, I see you’re finally awake,” came Becca’s voice. Only it was wrong. It was deeper and harsher, almost like how a man would speak.

  “What did you give me?” Amy rasped.

  “Rohypnol,” Becca said casually, as if this was no big deal. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give you much. Just enough to take you under for a bit. You might feel a little shaky until it wears off.”

  Becca reached up and pulled on a chain. A tiny lightbulb clicked on. The light illuminated the contours of an oversized leather jacket around Becca. She stared at Amy, head cocked to the side, hair pulled back in a ponytail. A smile lit up her face, but it wasn’t friendly. It was the smile Nathan wore, and Ghost.

  The smile of a monster.

  Amy stared at her. “Becca…what’s going on?”

  “Becca?” she barked. She blinked. “Oh, that’s right. The girl.” She grinned. “Just call me ‘Watcher.’”

  “What?” Amy wrinkled her eyebrows. “What the hell has gotten into you? What’s happening?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Becca circled her. There was a swagger to her step, like how an overconfident man would walk. Becca always seemed smooth and elegant. Very girly. Now, she wore men’s work boots and jeans that were too large for her. “I saved you.” She stopped in front of Nathan’s body and kicked it, hard. “Now that this son of a bitch is dead, we can finally be together.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Becca approached her and knelt. Amy shuddered as Becca drew one long finger along Amy’s jawline. “I have a surprise for you.” Becca stood. She grabbed Amy and hoisted her up.

  Jeez, she was strong.

  Half-dragging Amy across the room, Becca opened the door with the flickering light.

  Amy’s heart stopped.

  At least one hundred candles filled the tiny room, all twinkling from shelves that went from floor to ceiling on two of the walls. Hundreds of pictures of Amy and Becca, mostly of Amy, plastered the wall that sat parallel to the door.

  It took Amy a moment to recover from her shock. “What is this?” Amy whispered, horrified.

  “My shrine. To you.”

  “To…me?”

  Becca turned her and caressed her cheek. “You’re perfect, Amy. You’re the only one who’s ever noticed me. You deserved to be worshiped, as I intend to do.”

  Amy stared at her. “Are you mad? What the hell are you—?”

  Becca’s face contorted in rage. Before Amy could finish the sentence, Becca’s hand flew out and smacked her across the face so hard she tumbled backward.

  Amy’s elbows cracked against the floor, making her eyes water. Stunned, she lay there, gathering her senses while Becca towered over her.

  “Look what you made me do!” screamed Becca. She pulled at her hair and began to pace. “Stop hitting her! You can’t hurt her!” Becca shook her head and muttered to herself. “Shut up! Just leave me alone!”

  Amy went cold all over as she watched her friend compose herself and at last look at her.

  Becca’s shoulders heaved as she took deep breaths and let them out. “Is it so hard to believe we could be together?”

  Amy had no idea how to answer that, for fear Becca might hit her again. “I…it’s just…overwhelming.”

  Becca blinked and smiled, as if Amy had paid her a compliment. “I know. I still can’t believe you’re here, with me. Now we can be together the way I’ve always wanted.” She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a familiar bottle.

  It was Amy’s lotion, the one that went missing the night someone broke into her apartment.

  She remembered what Nathan had told her, about how he’d gotten into her apartment. “‘I know a little bird,’” Amy muttered. She looked up. “It was you, the first night,” Amy whispered as Becca popped open the lotion bottle lid. “And when Nathan cornered me and held a knife to my throat. You let him in. You betrayed me.”

  Becca rubbed her palms together and spread the lotion over her hands. “I just needed him to scare you enough so you’d turn to me for help. Which you did. Sort of.” She sighed. “You, of course, were so wrapped up with that fool Michael to even notice me.”

  Amy stilled. “You said Michael.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. Michael died. I’m with Scott now…” Her voice trailed off as she put the pieces together. “Did you…did you kill Michael?”

  Becca stared at her, an amused smile on her face.

  Amy’s lip trembled. “Why?” she croaked. “You knew how much I loved him!”

  “Oh, please, Amy. Save me the waterworks. He was cheating on you. You can’t tell me that’s love, not like what we have. He kept talking about moving away after the wedding. I couldn’t let him take you away from me.”

  “But you took everything away from me!” Amy screamed.

  “And now I’m giving it all back and more.” Becca leaned over her, hunger in her eyes as she stared at Amy’s breasts. Her hand massaged the lotion into Amy’s thigh. Amy squirmed, disgusted, but Becca pinned her bad shoulder to the floor to hold her still. “I’ve imagined doing this for so long…” Becca kissed a trail down Amy’s throat to her navel. Amy whimpered when Becca grabbed the top of her underwear with her teeth and pulled.

  Amy struggled to breathe. A million thoughts raced through her head, jumbling her thought process and preventing her from making a cohesive escape plan.

  Then she didn’t have to, because the door splintered open and in stormed Scott, along with about three cops.

  “Freeze!” shouted a stern-looking man with graying hair as the cops raised their guns. Scott’s eyes found Amy’s, lingering there. Fear raced through them.

  Becca growled and jerked Amy up, using her body as a shield. She pressed a knife to Amy’s throat. “You can’t have her. I’m not going to let you take her away!” Becca screamed.

  “Just calm down, Becca,” Scott said soothingly, holding his hands up as he took a step forward.

  The knife bit into Amy’s flesh, making her yelp. Hot blood drizzled down her throat. Scott immediately froze.

  “Not another step, asshole,” Becca said. “Or I’ll split open her throat in front of you.”

  Amy fought not to whimper. All she could see was red, red, red, coating Michael’s throat in her memories and coating her own. Stars fired around her eyes—she was on t
he verge of hyperventilating and passing out.

  Becca backed up, taking Amy with her. She stopped suddenly; her back must have hit the wall. Frantically, she looked around. The only exit was blocked.

  Becca kissed Amy’s clammy forehead. “Don’t worry. We’ll be together soon. I’m taking us to a place where no one can hurt us ever again, where we can finally be together. And no one else can have you.”

  Becca raised the knife.

  Amy drew in a breath, eyes frozen on the object that would deliver her death.

  Time seemed to stop. She barely heard the gun go off from the ringing in her ears. Barely felt the bullet whiz by as it implanted itself in Becca’s hand. Becca screamed and dropped the knife.

  Amy blinked and snapped out of it. She bit Becca’s other hand, the one that held her, as hard as she could. Another screech tore from Becca’s mouth as her grip loosened, and Amy kicked her hard in the gut before she scurried into Scott’s arms.

  Becca, eyes filled with rage, roared and started after her.

  Pop! Pop!

  Two bullet holes spewed blood from Becca’s chest. Stunned, Becca glanced down at her chest. Two rivers of blood stained her clothes. She reached up to touch it and stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor.

  Her body trembled as she lay there; a pool of blood grew wider under her.

  Amy cried from Scott’s arms, shaking so badly she could hardly stand. When she took a step forward, toward Becca, Scott said, “Wait.”

  Amy kept going anyway. Scott followed close behind.

  Becca gasped and sputtered as Amy knelt about a foot away from her, just on the edge of the blood pool.

  Becca stared up at her with wide, frightened eyes. The color was already draining from her skin. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I just wanted you to love me.” She reached a bloodstained hand, the one that had been shot, for Amy. Before it could touch Amy’s face, her hand fell limp, and Becca’s last breath left her.

  BECCA’S FUNERAL WAS quiet but beautiful.

  Several of her coworkers came; even her bosses showed up. No one could understand why she died, who could possibly want to kill her. All they knew was that she’d been murdered in her own home.

  Amy sat during the ceremony, lips sealed tight. It didn’t matter she’d sworn an oath of silence to the feds. She wouldn’t be the one to tell Becca’s coworkers, bosses, and friends otherwise.

  That the woman they knew might not have even been the real Becca.

  She understood it now, why some people were content to live in a fantasy world. As sad and pathetic as it sounded, sometimes a lie was more attractive than the truth.

  Earlier that week, Amy had received an invitation to chat from Becca’s psychologist.

  The woman seemed nervous but sympathetic as both Amy and Scott sat down across from her in her office. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “At the request of your doctor, Amy, I felt it necessary to inform you of what I know from my sessions with Becca.”

  “Isn’t this a breach of confidentiality?” she asked.

  Dr. Lamb shook her head. “I’ve told the police everything you are about to hear. I thought it might be best you hear it from me, in case you had any questions. What I have to say can be a bit…shocking.” She cleared her throat and clasped her hands on top of her desk. A moment of silence passed as she searched for words. “Becca was…an unusual client of mine. She suffered from dissociative identity disorder or, as it’s more commonly known, multiple personality disorder.”

  Amy blinked. “Becca had split personalities?”

  “Several, in fact. As I worked with her throughout our sessions, I met a total of four distinct personalities. There may have been more. I’ll never know.

  “One personality was a child. This is common with this disorder, since many victims first develop split personalities when they are children, usually in response to some severe trauma. This could be repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse. Since there is a record of Becca’s mother having physically abused her due to her own unstable mental state, it’s safe to assume this personality formed when Becca was between the ages of six and twelve.”

  “Jesus,” Amy breathed, horrified.

  Dr. Lamb’s kind blue eyes softened. “One personality was adult Becca, which I believe is who she was most of the time. We call this the ‘host’ personality. It’s the truest form of that person’s character, and the personality that tends to show most of the time. That is, until a more dominant personality emerges.” A shudder rolled through her. The doctor tried to hide it, but Amy’s eyes narrowed. “‘Adult Becca’ was the personality you most likely dealt with while the two of you hung out,” the doctor went on quickly as she leaned back and crossed her legs. She fiddled with the placement of her hands on top of the desk. “That is, until recently.”

  “What happened recently?” Scott interjected.

  She sighed deeply, taking off her glasses and massaging the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Normally, the personalities switch due to a trigger. This can be an event that reminds the victim of a traumatic event, or even something as simple as a sound, picture, or smell. The alternate persona takes over for a while, dealing with the situation at hand before letting the host resume control. The host usually has no memory of the hours they spent while donning the alternate persona. We call these ‘blackouts.’ There will be a lapse of not only memory, but time.”

  Amy winced. That had to be scary. She couldn’t imagine the terror Becca felt. Surely, she’d noticed the time lapses and had questioned her sanity.

  “Sometimes, however,” Dr. Lamb said, “one of the personalities is so strong that it suppresses the others, including the host. This one is usually accompanied by rage. It represents all the bottled resentment, anger, and despair the victim has felt. It generally emerges later in life, after these feelings have had time to fester. It also forms from the victim’s intense desire to become stronger than the trauma haunting her, an indestructible force. Becca had one such personality.” The blood drained from Dr. Lamb’s skin. “He called himself ‘the Watcher.’”

  “Wait a minute,” Scott said. “You said ‘he’?”

  Dr. Lamb nodded. “Just because the host personality, and the human being itself, is female does not mean all the personalities will share the same gender. The Watcher was volatile and male. Becca would even come in wearing men’s clothing from time to time.”

  Just like she was the night she drugged and tried to kill me, Amy thought.

  “That explains the men’s clothing at her place,” Scott said grimly.

  “Unlike Becca, the Watcher liked women,” Dr. Lamb said. “And unlike Becca and the Watcher, the third personality—Scarlett, she called herself—liked both men and women. She was a promiscuous and seductive woman, a femme fatale, if you will.”

  “Oh my God.” Amy gripped the armrests of her chair for support.

  “What?” Scott gazed at her with worry in his eyes. He placed a hand at the small of her back.

  “The police… They said Nathan hadn’t been sleeping with his parole officer and paying for her house, like Becca had said. It was Becca who had been sleeping with her. Becca’s mother had several investments, the majority of which she transferred to Becca’s and Zach’s names when she hospitalized herself. She wanted to make sure her children were taken care of, financially.” Finding out Becca’s mother was alive and not dead was also a shocker. Amy shook her head. “Scarlett must have used some of the money to pay for the parole officer’s house.”

  “Scarlett was also the personality who lured Nathan out, most likely,” said Dr. Lamb. “They have several recordings of their phone conversations together. Scarlett has a habit of chewing gum while she’s talking because she thinks it makes her sound sexier.”

  “Becca hated chewing gum,” Amy blubbered. “Said it made her jaw ache.”

  “Thus, another habit particular to the personality wearing the body,” said Dr. Lamb. “Scarlett might have been
the most recent personality, brought on by Becca’s intense desire to protect the object of her obsession”—she pointed to Amy—“you.”

  “So this is all my fault.” Amy’s shoulders slumped.

  “No, honey,” said Dr. Lamb kindly. “It’s no one’s fault but the disease.”

  Amy couldn’t remember much of what was said after that. She couldn’t help but keep thinking about what Dr. Lamb had said. Those words haunted her for days.

  How could she miss the signs? Becca’s mood swings, her headaches… What Amy had dismissed as a weird personality quirk, or stress, had been so much more. She should have pressed harder to help, to get Becca to open up to her. Nathan had never tried to pursue her after Michael’s death, so far as she knew. It had been Becca who’d drawn him out, convinced she was protecting Amy somehow.

  So, in a way, didn’t that make Amy responsible for not one but two deaths?

  “It’s no one’s fault but the disease,” she mumbled, staring ahead.

  Scott nudged her.

  She blinked, and the funeral home came back into view. She’d been staring at the casket, replaying Dr. Lamb’s conversation in her head. Guilt gnawed at her.

  Scott leaned in. “What’s up?” he whispered.

  Amy shook her head. “Not now.”

  The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. Amy barely felt present, as though she was there but not actively participating. It was the same sense of disconnect that had overcome her when she’d sat through Michael’s funeral, the sense that this horrible thing wasn’t real somehow. As if thinking that would make it any better, would take away her pain and guilt.

  Amy didn’t linger once the pallbearers began to haul the casket out the side door to the hearse. She touched Scott’s arm as they stood. “Can we go?”

  “You don’t want to watch the burial?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t watch them lay her friend in the ground and pretend as if it wasn’t her fault. It was.

  Oh, God, Becca, I’m so sorry.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Scott frowned and ushered her outside.

  Amy cast one last look at the casket before it slipped out of view.

  Becca’s little brother, Zach, stood in the front row, watching the casket go without a single tear shed. His face wasn’t quite stoic. It was…almost peaceful.