“Where is your truck?” I say breathlessly.
"This way."
Now he's the one pulling me along and I let him because it's the only way to get out of here. Twigs snap against my arms and scratch my face but I don't even care. All I care about is getting out alive with Noah. And dead Mark? He can just stay there and rot. If he was even there at all. I know now that I can't trust my mind. I can't believe any of what I see.
Suddenly Noah stops.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Don't look. Turn away."
He pushes me behind him, forcing me away from whatever he saw. But I want to see. I saw Samuel, flayed open like a carcass of beef. Whatever Noah has seen can't be any more awful than that. I scan the darkness for the silver light but I don't see it anywhere. So I push Noah to the side.
"I want to see," I say.
But as I peer through the darkness, the moon breaks from behind the clouds. It casts a ghostly white glow on the world and onto the thing that Noah saw and didn't want me to see. A head sticking out of the swampy ground.
"Oh my God, Norma."
I dash forward but Noah has hold of my arm and is pulling me back.
"You can't help her," he says. "She's dead."
I know he's right but I have to be sure. I wrench my arm from his grasp and run to the head that was once my best friend. Her eyes are open, her tongue fat and lolling out of her mouth like a dog on a hot summer’s day. I start to dig.
"Leave her," Noah shouts.
"I can't," I yell back.
He doesn't understand. Norma is dead and it's all my fault. I brought her out here. Made her stay when she wanted to leave. She was the only one who understood me. Accepted me. She can't be gone, she just can't.
I scratch at the sand, feeling her broad shoulders cold and clammy. I know there is no way I'm going to be able to get her out.
"We have to get a shovel," I say, standing on weak legs.
"Don't be ridiculous. We're leaving. Obviously there is some psychopath out here. It's not safe Ana. Can't you see that?"
"No place is safe," I say.
Because I see it now, winding its way through the grass and across the sand. The light that only I can see. But it ignores Noah. Slides right past him and slithers towards Norma, circling her head for a few moments. I step back, unable to run.
"What is it?" Noah asks.
"Don't you see it?" I point.
"See what? A dead girl buried in the sand? Yeah, I fucking see it. Now let’s go."
But the light slides into Norma's mouth. Her fat lips grow thin and pink, then open and close a few times. Her tongue slips back into her mouth and her eyelids flutter.
"Ana," she garbles.
That's when I scream.
41.
I'm in Noah's truck and I can't remember how I got here. All I can see is Norma's swollen, bloated face and her mouth speaking to me. I don't know if Noah saw it too. If he heard what she said. If he did, he didn't say. But her words still hang in the air. Circling around in my brain like water going down a drain. Only the drain is blocked. The water won't leave. The words are there forever.
"Ana," she said. "You are a killer."
The same words Samuel said. Even in the drug haze of memories I remember him sitting on my bed. Telling Norma that I might kill them all. And he'd been right.
I don't want to believe that it's true but deep in my gut I have to know that it is. Everyone around me ends up dead. I'd be an idiot to blame all of that on a ghost. On the ghost of a twin that I killed. Maybe Julia was never the crazy one. Maybe I was.
The black world flashes outside the window. Noah is rigid beside me. I wonder if he knows. He must. He was there at Victoria College and he was here at the monastery. He's seen the death that surrounds me. Deep down he must know the truth. I want to ask him but I can't find the words so instead I curl up on the seat.
I watch his chiseled jaw clench and unclench and wonder where he is taking me. If he knows what's best, he'll drop me at the nearest psychiatric hospital. Or the police station. I deserve to be locked up for what I've done. Somehow everything has become clear. It's as though my whole life I've been looking through a dirty window and someone has just wiped it clean. The truth is that the only way for everyone around me to be safe is for me to be locked up. Permanently.
42.
"We have to go to the police," I say.
We've been driving for what seems like hours and I've been drifting in and out of sleep. The kind of sleep where you realize that the monster in your nightmares is you. I don't want to fall back into it so I decide to come clean. I can't live with the lie anymore.
"No," he says.
"No? Why not? There are dead people back there. People that I've probably killed. I can't do this anymore Noah. I need help."
He pulls the truck off onto the side of the road and shuts off the engine.
"Let's get one thing straight. You are not a killer."
His voice is stern. Rough. He looks like he wants to shake me. I put my hand on his knee gently.
"I must be. Don't you see? Death follows me wherever I go. How can that be a coincidence? I thought I knew why. Now I'm not sure of anything anymore. I think maybe I'm the one who does all these horrible things."
"Stop saying that," his voice cracks. "I love you. Do you think I could be in love with someone who kills people? Who does awful things? No. I know you."
"You might know me but I don't think you really see me. You just see what you want to see."
He takes my hand and holds it tight.
"I don't care what you are. I want to protect you."
"You can’t protect me from this. I can't live like this anymore. It's not fair on you or me or anyone. People deserve to be safe and I don't seem to have a handle on whatever is going on."
"Do you remember killing anyone?" he asks slowly.
"No," I shake my head. "But that doesn't mean I didn't do it."
"Of course it does. Do you think you'd forget something like that?"
I reach out and touch his face. It's rough beneath my fingers. His flesh warm and real. I'm afraid of what will happen to him if he refuses to believe how dangerous I am.
"Look at what happened to Mark," I say. "Dead or alive, he was hurt because of me."
Noah looks away, out into the dark night. An owl hoots, its melancholy sound filling the sky.
"I don't care," he says.
Then suddenly he's kissing me. His lips warm and soft against mine. It's been so long that I can't help but kiss him back. To feel the touch of another person who wants me. Who loves me. It's more than a drug. I crawl into his lap, let his hands graze up under my shirt. He lets out a guttural moan as he cups a breast in his hand.
"I've missed you so much," he whispers, his mouth on my neck.
I can't form a reply. Just let out a shuddering sigh as I feel him grow hard beneath me. He unzips his jeans and I shove mine down. I need him inside me more than I've ever needed anything. All I can think about is that this might be the last time I make love to him.
He slips easily inside me, his need hard and strong. I clutch onto him as he fills me. Let out a little cry. I've missed him so much. If he'd never left then maybe none of this would have happened. But those thoughts leave my mind as pleasure takes over. The basic human need. A primeval urge.
I rock against him, faster and harder until the orgasm I'm straining for breaks over me in a wave. He buries his head against my chest as I gasp for air then puts his strong hands on my hips. Taking control over the pace. Taking control over everything. I let him. Hold him as he groans and comes. Feel him shudder as I did.
As I slide back into my seat, I feel deflated. The pleasure gone. Did Noah just have sex with me to shut me up? I can't help but feel slightly used. I did want him but I also want so much more. I want a normal life. I don't want to spend the rest of it on the run. A fugitive. A criminal.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Is the baby okay?"
&nbs
p; "She's fine," I say, even though I have no idea.
I wish more than anything that she was Noah's child. I don't want her to be Mark's. Don't need a reminder of all the death and destruction I've caused. Then it dawns on me. If I'm in prison, I won't be able to keep her. She'll be put in foster care, then adopted. Away from me maybe she'll grow up into a normal child. Have a normal life. She'll never know her mother was a murderer.
"Please Noah, I'm begging you. Let's go to the police."
Noah starts the truck and pulls back onto the dark highway.
"If I didn't do anything wrong, then it won't hurt to go will it? They can't lock me up if I'm innocent."
"You are innocent," he says. "You just don't look innocent."
By that I know he means I don't stand a chance in hell. The fact that I'm so easily implicated is proof enough. I have to give myself up. I just know that I'm going to have to get away from Noah to do so.
He pulls into the parking lot of the first motel he sees, lit only by a neon sign that splutters sporadically. I don't want to stay here but I realize this is my only chance. I'll wait until Noah is asleep. Then I'll take his truck and go to the police. I'll turn myself in. I have to. It's the only way to save him and the baby. It's the only way to make everything right.
43.
Noah doesn't leave me in the car. I guess he doesn't trust me after all. He drags me into the lobby and I stand in the corner by a fake potted plant while he pays for the room. The desk clerk is an old guy with one tooth. He points at me with a crooked finger.
"She a prostitute?" he says.
"Excuse me?" I snap.
"Just sayin, this ain't no red light district and we don't charge by the hour."
"I've paid for the room for the whole night and no she's not a hooker, she's my wife," Noah snarls.
He grabs the key from the counter and pulls me from the lobby.
"Well you ain't got no luggage," the old man calls out as the door slams behind us.
"I'm your wife now, am I?" I say.
"You might as well be," Noah says.
Only he doesn't say it with love. He says it like it's an obligation. Like I'm something he's shackled with. An old bag he can't get rid of. I want to tell him that I love him and it's because I love him that I'll leave him. That everything I plan to do, I'm doing for him. But I know it won’t help so I bite my tongue.
"That's really romantic Noah," I say.
He doesn't answer.
Our room is right at the end of the block. Noah unlocks the door and flips on the light. A couple of roaches scurry away under the bed. I balk at the door as the smell of stale smoke washes over us.
"I'm not staying here," I say. "There are bugs and it smells."
"When I found you, you were out in the middle of the wilderness in a tumbledown old place with no electric, no food and no water. So yes, you are staying here and that is final."
"And then what happens? What happens tomorrow?"
Noah goes into the room and flops down on the bed.
"God Ana, I don't know. I'm tired, okay? Can we just get some sleep?"
"Yes," I say. "I suppose."
I do feel tired. I can't remember the last time I actually slept properly in a real bed but I know I won't get much sleep tonight. I have to stay awake and wait until Noah is asleep, then I’ll leave. But I catch a glimpse of the shiny white bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. I may not know when I last slept but I know it's been forever since I had a shower. The lure of that is greater than my fear of the roaches and the room. I step inside and shut the door.
"I'm going to have a shower," I say.
"Whatever."
Noah already has his eyes closed, his feet propped lazily on the covers. If I'm lucky, he'll be asleep by the time I'm done in the bathroom. All I have to do is snag the key and scarper. It's a win all around.
I shut the bathroom door and pull back the shower curtain. Shit. The shower head dangles from a long piece of rubber hose, its head fractured and broken.
"No," I whisper desperately.
I run the water and pull the lever but nothing happens. The shower head is broken and if I want to get clean I'll have to fill the tub. But I don't take baths. Not anymore. Not since Julia tried to kill me in one. But newly formed thoughts splash through my head. If Julia was never real and I was always a killer, then she never really tried to drown me. I must have been trying to kill myself. But I remember fighting against arms that held me under, arms that weren't my own and were as real as Noah's. I don't know what to do. I run my fingers through the warm water. It feels so good.
"To hell with it," I say.
I fill the tub to the top, I don't even care. Steam rises from the hot water, filling the tiny room and coating the mirror. I'm glad. I caught a glimpse of myself earlier and I didn't like what I saw. My wild eyes and tangled hair a far cry from the pretty girl with the pregnant glow. It makes me wonder if I haven't lost the baby. If maybe there never was a baby at all. I can't remember how far along I am. When my due date is. All that seems like a lifetime ago.
I strip off my clothes and let them fall onto the floor, then slip into the water. It feels like heaven. Soothes tight muscles that I didn't even know I had. The tiny, complementary bar of soap smells like cheap cleaning products but I rub it over my skin anyway. I have to wash away the smell of death. My hands linger on my belly which is as flat as it ever was. Shouldn't I be showing something by now? A tiny bulge? A little swell? Anything to prove that a life is growing inside me but there is nothing.
I let my head sink below the surface of the water. The sounds of the world disappear. The drip of the tap. The hum of the ancient air conditioning. It all becomes muffled and far away.
I remember drowning. Walking into the lake and not expecting anyone to save me but Noah did. I could do it again. Stay in the tub under the water and let it fill my lungs but I don't want to die anymore. I want to face what I've done and make things right. It's the only way out now.
I open my eyes under the water and stare at the shimmering ceiling. There is a bloom of mold up in the corner and the white paint is peeling off in places. I watch as the reflection of the water makes pretty rainbows on the ugly ceiling. Then everything goes dark and suddenly I'm not in the tub anymore.
44.
I'm back at the monastery, only I’m a child who is bleeding and scared. There are police and paramedics. They wrap me in a scratchy gray blanket and lift me up to lay me on a stretcher. They ask me questions I can't answer.
"What happened?"
"Honey, what's your name?"
"Do you know where you are?"
I look at them all, a blur of flower faces bobbing about in front of me. Their mouths opening and closing while their questions spill out. I hurt and I'm bleeding. I curl up in a ball and pull the blanket over my head. I can't stop shaking.
"What the hell happened out here?" someone says.
"Sick fucks," someone else answers.
I put my hands over my ears. I don't want to hear what they have to say.
A hand snakes under the blanket and reaches for mine. For some reason I don't pull away but let the hand take mine and hold on tight. It's bigger than mine, warm and comforting. I pull it into me like a teddy bear.
"Everything is going to be all right," the hand person says.
His voice is soft and kind. I like it. I lift up the blanket and peak out. The hand holder is a boy who is a lot older than I am. He's trying to grow a scraggly beard on his fresh face. He sees me looking at him and I scuttle back underneath like a turtle going back in its shell.
"I saw you," he whispers.
Sirens blare all around us and I can't help letting out a little shriek.
He leans in closer. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
I nod but realize that he can't see so I squeeze his hand tighter instead.
"Aright," he says.
I feel him sit lightly next to me on the stretcher, his hand still holding mine.
"Once upon a time there were two little princesses. They lived in a castle in the woods and they were all alone but they were never afraid. You see they had all kinds of animals that befriended them. A goat and a pig and a whole bunch of birds. They even had a turtle, like you."
I smile under my blanket, thinking that having a pet turtle would be pretty cool.
"They picked berries in the forest and slept on beds of dried leaves. They bathed in the stream and played hide and seek in the caves but on a particularly sunny day one of the sisters disappeared. You see she had seen a peacock, a spectacular bird with a huge tail of blue and purple. She had never seen anything so beautiful in all her life and she couldn't help but think how pretty the feathers would look in her hair. But she didn't want her sister to look as beautiful as she was. She wanted the feathers all to herself. So she ran off after the big bird and didn't say where she was going."
"That's dumb," I whisper.
"That's right. It was dumb because you see she wasn't able to catch the bird. It was too fast for her and eventually she lost sight of it all together. And then she fell into a swamp."
He pauses for a moment while someone quietly asks him something.
"Yes," he replies. "In a minute."
"Finish the story," I say.
"Well, her sister woke up and she was all alone. She called and looked everywhere but she couldn't find her sister anywhere. Not down by the lake or in the caves. She ran to the woods, calling for her over and over again. Then she started to cry. She realized she was all alone."
"This story is sad," I whisper.
"Yes. It is. Because you see her sister never came back. She died in the swamp and because she was all alone, the other sister decided she would pretend her sister was still there. She dressed in her clothes and she spoke in her voice. She would set out two places at the table and eat the food on one side. Then she would go to the other and eat the rest. She became the sister who eventually died in the swamp."
"That's a dumb story," I say. "I think it would be a better story if she found her sister and saved her."
The Half-Truth (Drowning Book 2) Page 10
