I step from the shadows at the same moment Clarice's blue eyes open wide and her hand comes up with a bottle of mace. I have no idea where she got it from but suddenly there's another knife in her hand, a pocketknife that's eerily similar to the one I'm holding. Mrs. Braxton the trophy wife lets out a strangled growl as she plunges the blade into Lloyd's calf a half second before he fires at the dirt beside her head.
Clarice screams, but the bullet hasn't hit her, smashing into the ground six or less inches from the side of her face. She puts her hands over her ears and kicks out with her white heels, hitting Lloyd in the crotch a breath before I come up behind him and wrap my arm around his throat. In another heartbeat, Audra Holiday is on her feet and swinging a punch at his face that connects with a sickening crunch.
The gun goes off again, in a completely random direction as Lloyd flails in my arms. In the back of my mind, my thoughts remain cool and collected. I realize that the sound of the weapon will draw people – if not cops in this particular neighborhood – towards us. This could turn a whole hell of a lot worse than a simple arrest if a gang gets involved. Maybe a group of men interested in Audra or Clarice? This has to end quickly, more quickly than I'd want given the freedom to choose. If I had my way, Lloyd would be strapped to a chair in a basement where I'd inflict any and all forms of torture my warped mind could come up with.
Touching my hands to Lloyd's pallid flesh however, has woken something strange inside of me. I'm panting and the air feels hard to breath. And it's not just the stench of old garbage and cooking grease, the danger, the gunfire, it's the very idea that I'm facing the monster who made my monsters. The mother of my pain. Even getting molested by my father, beaten by his rough hands, none of that was enough to break me. Just the loss, and the pain, and the love.
“Luke!” Audra's screaming at me, but I'm not listening. My mind is being twisted and warped by emotions. Somehow I feel the phone in my pocket ringing even though it's not making any sound. I hear Robbie's voice in my thoughts. Luke, I like you. I've always liked you.
Blood explodes across my shoes as the next gunshot hits Clarice in her upper thigh. Hot warmth oozes from the wound as she writhes and I struggle to maintain control of Lloyd. Time has slowed down so much for me that I see everything happening as if it's cloaked in fog. The knife in my left hand swings in close to Lloyd, burying itself to the hilt in his gut. Red spills down my hand like a waterfall, drowning me in the crying and screaming voices that fill my head.
Maybe I really am crazy? I wonder a second before Audra turns away from Lloyd, Clarice's knife in her hand, and swings it at something I can't see. Lloyd fires again and again and again and again. Until the clip in his semi-automatic is empty and Clarice's body is shaken, writhing and reacting to each blast that breaks through her tanned skin. This is my fault. My fault.
I rip the knife from Lloyd's flesh and plunge it in a second time. His screams don't even reach my ears. I'm in another time and place, and my mind is spinning away from the situation that's now so far out of my control that I can't process it anymore.
“Lucas!”
I can't hear Audra because all I can hear is Aliyah. And Isadora. And all of the other women in my life I've tried to save and failed and abused without even knowing that I was doing it. In trying to unchain the taboo from around the throats of others, all I've done is cinched my own noose.
“Lucas!”
Everything snaps into clear focus as Lloyd slides from my arms and hits the dirt next to Clarice's body. She's dead. Mrs. Braxton is dead. I only feel two things – relief and regret – as I turn and find the mess I've gotten myself in. In trying so hard to be Lucas, fighting against the Luke I really wish I could be; I've become a useless mess of in-between.
A mess of people hover just outside the reach of Audra's knife, watching silently as an everyday occurrence of violence takes place directly in front of them. Like vultures, they hover outside the realm of blood and gore, but close enough that they could slip in and take advantage of the situation at any moment.
“We have to go,” I whisper to Audra, knowing that Clarice's expensive purse, rings, and necklace will keep these people locked in place. If anyone chases after us, well, I'll let the demon have them. I grab the redhead around her arm and jerk her back towards the hole in the fence. As I pass by I glance down at Lloyd and Clarice's bodies. Both are still. While Mrs. Braxton lies on her back, blue eyes open and facing the sky with a blank emptiness that both chills and terrifies me, Lloyd lies facedown.
Their blood mixes on the dirty ground as we step around and past them, through the fence, and disappear into the growing crowd around the strip club.
I pause by Audra's car and makes sure she climbs in before I start to turn away. I don't speak. What is there to say?
“Lucas?”
I pause.
“Yes?”
Audra clears her throat and rubs her hands down her face.
“Are we going to prison for this?”
I take a deep breath, but I don't know how to answer her. Maybe? I don't know?
“Lloyd will be blamed for Clarice's death and nobody will give a shit who killed him. Perhaps they'll give Clarice the credit? She did have a knife after all? Anyway, there are plenty of people around here who might've been involved. We'll be okay.” I pause. “I mean, I think we'll be okay.”
Audra nods and tries to smile at me when I glance over my shoulder. Her expression looks as hollow as I feel.
“That didn't exactly go as planned, did it?” she asks me as I shake my head and listen to the far off cry of sirens. I wonder who called them or if they're even on their way here? “I'm sorry. I should've warned you.”
“It doesn't matter,” I tell her, even though it does. “It's over now.”
“I called him and told him you were my fiancée, that you needed closure. He obviously bought that shit, came here to, I don't know, finish you off or something. I just assumed … ”
“That I had things under control, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Call me next week, Audra Holiday,” I say as I move away and head back to my car with a migraine building behind my eyes. What a disaster. What a fucking nightmare. Clarice's death negates any excitement I might've had at killing Lloyd.
I pause next to my car and spread my hands, my eyes barely registering the wash of red over my fingers.
I hated Clarice. I thought I wanted her dead. I didn't.
This is the first and only time, as far as I'm aware, that my actions have directly or indirectly caused the death of someone I hadn't planned on killing. No, Clarice was not a good person. Some might even say that she deserved her fate, that killing her sister had sealed her demise. I don't know how to feel about any of it.
I draw my phone out of my pocket and stare at the missed calls. Several from Robbie. Too many.
I sigh and throw the phone onto the passenger seat of my car. Blood splatters the door, but I can't find it in myself to care.
I fall behind the wheel and slam the door before speeding off and disappearing before the cops can show up. I barely even register the drive home. What I do register, however, is Robbie Carrell sitting on the steps of my porch.
When she sees my headlights swing into the driveway, she stands up, her pale blue dress swishing gently in the night's breeze.
“Hey Luke,” she says softly, her voice as kind and gentle as it's always been. A collage of memories sweeps through me. Robbie tending flowers, leaning over the fence to talk with me, smiling sweetly at me. When she sees the blood covering my hands and splattering my shoes, her face pales. I move quickly past her and into the house, hoping that the security cameras won't catch the color in the dark. “Luke, what happened?” she gasps, running after me and squeezing into the door before I manage to slam it shut.
I don't answer Robbie, stripping off my clothes and dropping them to the floor in the living room. I'll burn them later. Right now, I need a shower. That's it. I don't
want to talk, don't want to think about Robbie or Aliyah. It's not so much that I'm upset, but that I'm lost. I don't know who I am. I don't like that.
“Are you okay?”
“It's not my blood,” I growl at her, letting her see me naked and bloody and shaking. Robbie doesn't hesitate to come up to me, to peer into my eyes and ask a million questions I don't feel like fucking answering. “I killed another man today,” I say, testing her resolve. She puts her hands against my chest and waits there, her chocolate hair wrapped into a beautiful braided bun atop her head. “And I fucked up. I let him kill one of my clients.”
“Clients?” Robbie asks, and I can't help but laugh. She knew – at least somewhat – about my penchant for murder, but did she know she was fucking a whore? Yeah, that's right. I know what I really am. The darkness? The taboo? Maybe I'm just a fucking slut who likes to get paid for his fun?
“I fuck people for money, Robbie.” I snatch her chin in my bloody hand and lean close, letting her see me, all of me, demons and devils included. If this doesn't drive her away, well, I don't know what will. I take no pleasure in the surprise and hurt that register in her face. “That's right. I fuck them for money, give their demons something dark to latch onto. I'm bad news, Robbie. I tried to warn you before and you didn't listen.”
She swallows and her face shifts like a kaleidoscope, colors of emotion passing over her beautiful features like a storm.
“I invited Audra Holiday and Clarice Braxton out tonight to kill a man. I didn't know who and I didn't care. I was going to find a man out there and play judge, jury, and executioner.”
Robbie starts to speak, but I shush her by moving forward and pinning her against the wall with the weight of my darkness.
“And then he showed up. Him.” I laugh and the sound echoes painfully. I feel my hand fall away and my body slump back until I'm stumbling and hitting the wall opposite Robbie. My fingers leave bloody spots against the harvest orange paint, like leaves in a fall windstorm. “The man that killed Aliyah. Audra found him somehow, lured him out with my name. He's dead and I don't feel a thing.” I spread my hands and stare at the rapidly drying bloodstains. “He killed his own sister for the crime of loving me, and I don't even give a fuck that he's dead.”
“Luke,” Robbie begins, but I cut her off.
“Don't fucking call me that!” I scream, hitting my fist into the wall. “Don't ever fucking call me that again. Didn't you hear what I just said, Robbie? I'm a man so twisted by fate that he can never be untangled. I'm a whore. I'm a murderer. Stop pretending you give a shit and just go.”
I don't expect to be slapped. Maybe if this was Audra, but not Robbie.
She has tears brimming in her eyes, but she doesn't make any move to leave.
“Luke,” she says, emphasizing the use of my nickname. “I … I can't say I'm exactly thrilled with your choice of career or that I condone murder, but … and I can't help this … Luke, I still like you.” Robbie sighs and steps back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I like you. I wish I didn't, but I do. I see something in you, maybe the same thing Aliyah saw, maybe not.”
“Robbie,” I begin, but she doesn't let me finish.
“You might be filled with darkness, but that's okay. You might be a decade older than me, but that's okay, too, because I think … and maybe this is selfish or conceited of me … Luke, I think I can help heal you. I want to be the one that heals you.” She leans towards me, so close I can feel her breath on my forehead. “Luke, I choose you. I want to choose you.”
For a brief instant, I consider letting go, forgetting about the taboo, about my clients, my pain, and trying with Robbie, really trying. But I can't. And she's too young, and I'm too old, and I am a fucking shattered glass mirror ready to cut her into pieces.
“Get out,” I tell Robbie, staying slumped against the wall. I don't even raise my head to look her in the eyes. That, that is how much of a coward I truly am. “Because no matter what you say or do, no matter how hard I try, I will never ever,” I look up at the ceiling, “like you.”
Robbie stays frozen for a moment, waiting, I think, for me to take back my words. On the surface, they mean nothing. Like? What does that even mean? What is like compared to all of the other emotions of the world? It's not love. Not as powerful as hate. It's just … nothing. But on the inside, Robbie and I both know what it means. A chance, an opportunity, the seed of that rose bush she so desperately wants to grow, but that I refuse to plant.
“Get out. Go home. Let your father love you and raise you and go find a man who doesn't need to be fixed. Get that stupid fantasy out of your head and move the fuck on.”
Robbie doesn't respond, stepping back and turning away. Her white flats squeak against the wood floor as she approaches the front door. When her hand closes on the knob, she pauses again, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to act like a real man.
I remain a coward.
“Get the fuck out!” I scream, standing up straight and grabbing a book from the shelf. I toss it at the wall next to her, seething with rage, completely torn apart, not Luke, not Lucas, just a ghost of a shadow of a man. “Get the fuck out. I never want to see your face again. If I do … ” I take a deep breath and let my mouth form the worst lie I've ever told. “If I do, I will fucking kill you. Out. Out. Go.”
Robbie tears the front door open and lets it slam into the wall. As she stumbles down the steps of the porch, I feel the first hint of wetness on my face. Confused, I touch a fingertip to my cheek and come away with the salty remnants of a tear.
I don't know how long I slept. It might've been a day or three days or a week. The only thing I'm aware of is that when I wake up, there are police pounding on my door.
“What?” I snarl as I rip open the door and scowl my best scowl at the uniformed officers crowding my front porch. In a daze, I stumbled out of the shower that fateful day and took care of all the evidence. All of it. If they're here for that incident, they won't find a thing. Not a fucking thing.
“Mr. Carter.” It's Barry Craig again. “We have another search warrant for your place.” I stare at him, unbelieving until he produces another piece of official paperwork and some crime scene techs squeeze in past me with more police officers in tow.
“How? What?” I snatch the paper from his hand and look up into his stoic face. He doesn't seem as ornery as he was last time. I even received a package from the police department with the 'evidence' they previously collected from my place. So why do I see Robbie's name on this paper?
“Roberta Carrell was kidnapped from her bedroom this morning by a man in a white coat and gloves with duct tape wrapped around his face. Only his eyes were visible, according to the little sister. Unfortunately, you're our prime suspect.” Barry Craig gives me a once over, taking in my disheveled appearance, my wrinkled robe, the dark circles under my eyes. I refuse to give anything away, not a grimace, not a frown, not a blink. Nothing. I stand there staring for a moment, and then I step back and allow him in. “Is it true you had a relationship with Miss Carrell?” Barry asks as his crew starts to strip my place down to the studs.
“No.”
The word barely escapes my lips, floating in the dusky sunshine that leaks in the front door. From the set of the sun, I can only guess the time, but it isn't morning anymore, that's for sure. Which means Robbie's been missing all day. Missing. No, not missing – kidnapped. Spirited away.
Stolen.
She's been stolen.
My heart thumps painfully as I struggle to maintain control of myself.
“Mr. Carter?” Barry Craig is speaking to me again, but I'm having a hard time listening to him. Instead, I pull my cell out of the pocket of my robe. I have a dozen or so missed calls from Audra Holiday and several voice mails and text messages. According to the calendar on my phone, it's been almost seventy-two hours since the incident at The Wild Tuna.
I pull up the texts, hoping that Audra's intuitiveness has kept her from revealing anything important.
I skip to the next message.
Best man is not listed in the announcement. I only see the bridesmaid's name. Help me with this.
I continue through the cryptic messages, putting together a pretty clear picture in my head.
Lloyd Owens is not dead.
I don't argue with myself or wonder how, after I stabbed him several times in the gut, he didn't die. I don't worry about the police or the investigation or wonder if I'm making the right decision. Instead, I hand the phone over to Barry Craig.
“You'll be wanting this, I assume?” The man nods his chin at a crime scene tech who produces a plastic bag for my cell phone. I suppose if they actually get the chance to run it in a lab, they might find trace evidence of Lloyd's blood. I suppose I don't give a shit. At this point, I know what I have to do. It's the first time in a long time I've had any inkling.
Rescue Robbie.
In my mind and heart, Robbie and Aliyah's stories collide, and I know that this time, I can't lose the girl. Whether we have a destiny together or not, I can't let her suffer for me or because of me. I'm struck with a sudden surge of guilt for Clarice's death, but I push it back. All of it. There'll be time later to repent for my many, many sins.
“If you don't mind, I have another dress rehearsal for my wedding. Am I to be detained here?”
Barry Craig gives me a funny look and then shakes his head.
“Not yet.” He actually sounds skeptical as to my guilt on this particular occasion. Perhaps he's a better cop than I gave him credit for. “You don't need to be present for us to do our search.”
“Wonderful. Then I'll be stepping out briefly. If you have any questions, please call my lawyer. I grab my wallet and dig through it until I find my lawyer's card. I hand that to Barry Craig and return to my room to change clothes. I find a pair of clean jeans and a black T-shirt that the crime scene techs allow me to take, switching it out for the robe.
Taboo Unchained Page 26
