Faithless #3: A Tainted Love Serial

by Nelson, K. B.

  When I arrive in the kitchen, I grab an empty cup and place it under running water, swirling it around to rinse the dust off before filling it up with cold, tap water. There’s nothing like it. Once you’ve acquired the taste of country water, it’s impossible to go back. That might just be me though. I could be weird. I savor every last drop as I lower the empty glass against the counter.

  And then I see it.

  A shadow passing the kitchen window.

  The power goes out.

  9

  Afraid screaming for Noah would startle the shadow that just passed by the window, I opt for a slow retreat out of the kitchen and dining room. Since my eyes aren’t yet adjusted to the darkness, I scramble in the dark, running into a dining room chair in the process. Once I’m away from the window of the dining room, I rush into the den to find Noah sleeping. That was quick.

  I tug at his arm and shake him, waking him up in the process. “Noah,” I whisper, but he’s groggy and shuts his eyes again. How does someone fall asleep so fast? I shake him again, this time grabbing his shoulders and using more force. “Noah, wake up,” I scold him. “I just saw someone outside.”

  Click. He’s in action mode. He throws the blanket off the side of the couch and perilously close to the fireplace. He jumps to his feet and grabs my arm. “Why is it so dark?” he asks while scraping sleep from his eyes.

  “I think they cut the power.”

  “Who?”

  I give him a stunned, tilted look. “Paul?”

  “Maybe,” he says and folds his fingers into mine as he takes my hand. “Did you see him?”

  “Just his shadow.” We’re still whispering, but my ears are focused on the silence around us. If a twig snaps outside, I’ll hear it. If a doorknob is turned, I’ll hear it. Footsteps on the original hardwood floors? I hear them. There’s someone in the house, but I can’t pinpoint where. I clutch Noah’s hand tighter and push my body up against him. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Get to the truck and figure out our next move?”

  “That’s not an option,” I say and look through the dining room doors. It’s more difficult to see in the complete darkness when the moon hangs on the opposite side of the house, but there’s at least a combined seven, eight inches of snow on the ground. “The roads are complete ice by now.”

  He nods his head towards the foyer and whispers, “I left my gun upstairs.”

  “Yeah, because you’re such a good shot,” I mumble.

  He stops in his tracks and turns to me with a disapproving frown.

  “Sorry.”

  In his tight grip, my hand becomes coated in nervous sweat. Moonlight shines through the top section of the front, illuminating the banister of the staircase and the first few steps.

  Once we reach the door—and the stairs—Noah gives the knob a turn. It’s still locked. Whoever—if anyone—is inside didn’t come through the front door, and I might just be paranoid. A lot of things can sound like footsteps when you’ve been on the receiving end of a psycho’s wrath.

  Noah takes the lead as we begin to ascend the steps, sticking as close to the wall as we can. Noah angles his head to get a better view of the darkness ahead of us, squinting to make out what little can be seen through the uneven lighting.

  Creak after creak, step after step, we forge our way into what we can’t see. With our sense of sight compromised, every other sense has to take the lead. A gun clicks mere inches from our faces. “Boo!” Paul whispers gravely.

  Reflexively, I stumble backward and the next thing I know, the world spins around me as I fumble down the stairs—screaming all the way until I hit the bottom.

  * * *

  I can feel the fire burning against my skin, leaving a damp layer of sweat against my forehead. My eyes bolt open and I throw myself into sitting position, clutching at my heart. The fire in the fireplace is beginning to wane and the den is darker than before, but not dark enough that I can’t stare my current predicament in the face.

  Paul sits in the loveseat with his legs crossed and a gun pointed squarely at me. He shakes his wrist and checks the time on his gold watch. “I was starting to think those stairs took care of my problem, but this is so much better.” He smiles. “So much more how I had it planned.”

  Noah sits beside me with his back rested against the wall. He has one knee drawn to his stomach with the other kicked out coolly. He doesn’t look a bit concerned. My throat sinks into my gut before I speak. “Paul…” I caution him and prepare to reason with him.

  “Why am I doing this?” he asks in a mocking tone and reading my mind. He taps the scar etched across his face. “It’s payback. Fair and square. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit.” He chuckles to himself, finding amusement in his own words. He flicks his wrist and shakes the gun at Noah. “I learned that from the Bible.”

  Noah is being too quiet, too calm. I wonder if he has anything up his sleeve or if he’s surrendered to the idea that he’s going to die tonight. After all, it’s what he said he wanted—to die. But I can’t help but feel as if that’s changed in the time since we’ve been holed up in this house. I’ve seen it in his eyes and his words from yesterday hold little-to-no weight.

  They shouldn’t anyway, not after everything we’ve been through. We’re too close to peace and happiness, too close to absolution. Too close to feeling alive again to give up now.

  If he’s not willing to get us out of this mess, I’ll handle it myself. And to be fair, this is my battle. Paul is my problem, not Noah’s problem. “Were you always like this?” I ask Paul.

  “Like what?” He raises a brow.

  “A monster,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Were you always like this?”

  He sighs heavily and thumps the back of his head against the chair. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, then you’re just as stupid as I thought.”

  “Figured what out?”

  He doesn’t answer, just grins smugly.

  “Did you ever love me?” I scoff.

  His pupils shift to the corner of his eyes, like he’s mulling it over in his head. The fact that it’s not an easy answer is both comforting and terrifying. Noah, for the first time, seems to be paying attention with his eyes fixated on Paul’s lips, waiting intently for an answer. “Probably,” Paul says, but doesn’t sound sure. “It’s complicated.”

  Noah nods his head, taking all the information in, but continues to revel in his own silence.

  “Whatever you’re going to do,” I say, “I need to know if I ever meant anything to you.”

  “You want to know every lie I ever told you?”

  I nod, but I’m not telling the complete truth. It’s not like I need closure—I had that the moment I pushed him through the window in Florida.

  “Number one, I was never a lawyer.”

  What?

  “Number two, you were never the only woman.”

  No shit, you were married.

  “I was never married. The woman labeled in my phone is just another hoe looking to see the world.”

  Now, I’m getting pissed.

  “Number three, let’s just assume that everything was a lie.” He purses his lips. “But to be honest, I think I did love you at some point. Back when you were my new toy, and maybe even a few years after that. But eventually, you just became another piece of property in my portfolio.”

  Noah laughs, and it’s not appropriate. I throw him a glare and he knocks his head against the wall behind him.

  “You were a perk that I was able to afford because of my parent’s money. When they died in a terrible accident, I inherited their great wealth. We’re talking tens of millions.”

  The way he places emphasis on the word ‘terrible’ forces me to think that he killed them. As much as I can’t stand my birth parents, I could never sink that low, but psychos don’t follow the rules of empathy, I suppose.

  “I can have anything in this world I want and I wanted you. I told
you, you’re my property. And then you ruined my face and left this nasty scar. With all the wealth in the world, I won’t be able to afford another one of you. So, yeah…” he nods his head, “you have to pay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I lie, but try to put on my best performance. I’ll grovel if I have to—the only problem is that I’m fresh out of tears. I’m not sure I’m capable of crying anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

  He scrunches his nose and his eyes turn to the side, toward the dining room. “Stand up,” he commands, waving the gun.

  We both do as he says and I’m hoping that Noah has formulated a plan by now. Yesterday, I needed him to come back from the edge of vigilantism to save his soul. Right now, I need that badass preacher who was ready to put a bullet in Ben’s skull.

  Paul paces backward and into the dining room. We follow him as he continues his backward pacing into the hallway. “What’s that smell?” He scrunches his nose again and confusion passes over his lips. “Why do I smell kerosene?”

  “You burned down my church!” Noah yells and the tension in his throat is apparent. I’m elated that he’s finally decided to speak up and show emotion, but a little annoyed that he’s just now decided to get pissed—over his church and not the fact that a man has been waving a gun in our faces for the past few minutes.

  Paul shakes his head defiantly. “I didn’t burn down no church.” The look in his eyes promise he’s speaking the truth, but he’s a conman so he’s not to be trusted.

  A bullet goes through Paul’s head and his lifeless body thuds against the hardwood floors. I think I scream, but I can’t be entirely sure.

  10

  A gun peaks through the darkness, followed by a familiar face—Ben. In one hand, he holds the gun. In the other, he carries a blue gas can full of Kerosene. The scent of the fumes chokes me.

  “Did you really think I was going to let you go?” he asks and creeps toward us, shaking the gun toward the den. “Get in there.”

  “You…” Noah says and grips my hand tighter.

  “Me.” Ben smiles and nods his head. “I burned your church to the ground, but let’s be honest with each other—the church was nothing more than four walls and a roof with you running it.”

  I can tell Noah wants to say something. His lips move but falter with each breath. We’re backed into the den when Ben circles us. He tilts the gas can and begins to douse the floor in a straight line. He’s distracted, but his gun is still aimed our way. I begin to plan an escape in my mind, but wait for the ideal moment.

  “Let me spin you a tell of truth, Noah.” He tilts the gas can back into an upright position and sets it down on the floor, a little too close to the crackling logs of the fireplace. “One night, I was out with your brother slash lover slash whatever the hell he was to you, and I was driving.” He bites his lip and grins wildly. He leans against a bookcase along the wall parallel to the French doors we came in. “I hit a parked car and that is the beginning and the end of any so-called accident.” His eyes go wide and he laughs, amusing only himself. “I never had a sister.”

  Noah’s hand unlaces from mine, but not before a tight, tense squeeze.

  “The truth is that someone stole ten thousand dollars’ worth of drugs from me, and I couldn’t repay that.” His nose twitches and he snorts loudly. “So I framed Luke, and then I took care of the problem for my boss. One brick. Two stones.” He claps his hands together, momentarily pointing the gun elsewhere.

  This is my chance. I twist on my feet and prepare to flee.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Ben yells from behind me, and I can hear the clicking of a gun. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Fuck you!” I scream as I turn back to him. “I should have let him kill you when he had the chance.” Thinking back on every decision I had ever made, letting him go is potentially the one I regret the most, but that’s only because hindsight. It’s powerful and revealing. Letting him go yesterday saved Noah’s soul, but today it could mean death for the both of us. These are the choices I talked about when I said I didn’t want to make them anymore.

  A smugness creeps across Ben’s face and he nods in agreement. “That probably would have been a good idea.”

  “It’s not too late for that,” Noah barks at him, causing Ben to move closer to us. Close enough to press the barrel of the gun into Noah’s chest.

  “It’s far too late. You had your chance yesterday and you blew it.”

  Noah doesn’t flinch against the gun. It’s almost like he steps into it, pushing the gun deeper against the chest. He’s challenging Ben. “Go ahead, do it.”

  “How about we not?” I cut into the conversation, still unsure of Noah’s motivations. If he wants to die, that’s on him, but I’m not going to sit around and watch it happen. “We’ve all done bad things,” I suggest. “We can work something out.” That’s a lie. I’m going to put a bullet through Ben’s brain as soon as I get a chance. His biggest sin? Making me believe that Luke had turned into someone who could get away with murder and live with it.

  “That’s the problem,” Ben says with a light laugh. “Your boy here, Noah.” He stares into Noah’s eyes and talks to him straight on. Nothing stands between them but a thick slice of tension and betrayal. “That’s what’s wrong with preachers. As fucked up as you think you are, you have nothing on people like me.” He bites his lip and shifts his weight, giving me an eye every now and then to make sure I stand in place. “You let me go yesterday because you still believed that there had to be good in me. That people deep down are good. They’re not. I’m not.” He tilts his head and pauses, reveling in his own words. “When you see Luke, tell him I send my regards, and thanks for being my patsy. Tell him I said thanks for saving my life.”

  Noah musters a guttural grunt before throwing his head forward and slamming it against Ben’s head.

  Bang! The gun goes off as Ben is thrown to the floor.

  Nobody seems to be hurt.

  Noah throws himself on top of Ben and pulls back his arm, landing a hard punch against Ben’s nose. And then another. Ben grunts and pushes Noah off him and reaches for the gun above his head.

  Noah rolls back onto his side and seems to weigh his options. But as Ben scoops the gun into his hands, Noah makes his move and charges toward me, grabbing me and pulling me out of the den.

  Bang!

  A bullet flies through the wall, shaving the edge of Noah’s arm. “Fuck,” he screams.

  “I would say you’re going to pay for that,” Ben calls from the den, “but that would be redundant since I already planned to kill the both of you.”

  “Are you okay?” I whisper to Noah and grab his shoulder.

  He nods his head and grabs my hand again, pulling me toward the front door. He jiggles at the doorknob, but it won’t budge. On the other side of the door, chains can be heard. He pulls me around the steps and we creep along the wall of the living room and pass into the kitchen.

  “Marco,” Ben taunts us. “Polo,” he calls out, his voice closer than it was before. “Marco.”

  Noah peers around the corner of the refrigerator, glaring at the back patio doors. Since it’s constructed of mostly glass, we’re able to see that it’s not chained shut like the front door.

  “C’mon,” Ben yells. “This game isn’t fun if I’m the only one playing it… Marco.”

  Careful to not make any noise, we tiptoe toward the patio door. There’s a quiet creak of the wooden floors and we freeze in place. While we’re still, I realize I can hear Noah’s thumping heart—it’s that silent in the house. We begin to move again and my breath dances in front of me. It’s freezing inside the house, and it’s going to be much worse outside.

  Noah licks his lips as he tries to open the door as quietly as possible, holding the door by the frame as he carefully swings it open. I pass him and exit first as my bare feet land in the snow deep enough to cover my calves.

  Noah pulls the door shut and it clicks. We both throw ourselves against the paneling of the house
and hear another “Marco… Polo,” from within the house.

  “What’s the plan?” I whisper.

  Noah pats the pockets of his jeans and lets out a frustrated groan. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “The keys to the truck are upstairs.” He cranes his head to look into the house, his eyes scanning for Ben. “I’m going to go get them.”

  “You can’t leave me out here,” I begin to panic. “You can’t go in there by yourself.”

  “I’ll be quick.” He places a hand against my cheek. “I promise.”

  “Hurry up then.” I huddle my arms around my body and take a long breath. “I’m going to freeze to death out here.”

  “Go get in the truck.” His body begins to shake from a deathly combination of shot nerves and freezing temperatures. “I’ll be right down.”

  I give him a quick nod and watch as he disappears into the house. There’s a feeling in my gut that he’s not coming back out, but I can’t think about that right now. I need to think about survival. After I watch Noah slink through the hallway and begin to ascend the stairs, I turn and begin to march toward the front of the house.

  From inside, there’s commotion. The sound of a struggle and I peer through the kitchen window. Ben turns to face me, knocking dishes off the kitchen table in the process. The struggle wasn’t between Noah and Ben—it was between a cluttered, dark kitchen and Ben. And now he’s found me.

  He wastes no time before he races toward the window, breaking through it and tackling me into the snow. “Noah!” I scream as my body is pushed into a cold, white blanket. “Noah.”

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” He grunts as he punches me in the head with the butt of the gun. My vision goes blurry in an instant and I arrive on the brink of unconsciousness before the world zooms back to me. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he warns gravely and picks me up by the shirt.