by Debbie Civil
Chapter 19
Everything is eerily silent, and I press my advantage. Uncle Eric is out of the equation. I stroll into the room and point the gun at my traitorous ex-boyfriend. He flinches, and Peter elbows him in the balls and takes his gun. Peter stands and shoots the man holding a gun against Denise’s head. The old woman leaps up and makes a beeline for my grandmother. That’s when the sirens blare. It seems that the police put a fear of God into the men because they all stampede toward the door. I run to Peter and wrap my arms around him. He gently kisses my forehead and holds me tight.
“Chelsea, let’s get out of here,” he urges. And that’s when everything gets to me and I black out.
When I open my eyes I find myself in a hospital room. The scent of flowers tickle my nose. I gape at the amount of potted plants, roses, cards, balloons, boxes and gift bags that have been shoved in this room. Tiller sits in a chair snoring. My older brother looks rumpled, as if he hasn’t changed his clothes in days. The door squeaks open and the detective that had taken my statement before quietly walks in. Seeing her causes a well of panic in me. She walks over and gently places a hand on my shoulder.
“Chelsea, you’re safe,” she says.
“What about Uncle Vincent?” I cry. The woman gives me a sympathetic look and ruffles my hair.
“Chelsea, I need to take your statement,” she gently says.
“Okay,” I say softly. The woman gently shakes Tiller awake and he stands, looks at us, kisses my forehead, and leaves. The woman sits in the chair that Tiller just vacated.
“Chelsea, you aren’t in any trouble,” the woman begins. And at first I wonder what kind of trouble I’ll be in. But then, I realized that I’ve killed people today.
“What happened?” she asks. I feel uneasy. Is the detective really telling the truth? I know that I should be selfless and insist that she lock me up for killing those men. But thinking of how they forced my grandmother watch as they killed Uncle Vincent convinces me otherwise. So do I lie to the woman? I have no idea.
“What do you want to know?” It’s best if I study her expression to see if being incarcerated is in my future.
“Chelsea, I want to know everything,” the woman gently urges.
“Starting from?”
“Just recap the entire day,” the detective urges and I do. I wince as I admit to killing my uncle. It had to stop. And the police weren’t their quick enough. He was going to kill Peter, I plead. The woman nods in understanding.
“You’re not being charged,” she assures me.
“But, I killed people!” I squeak.
“That was in self-defense. You had no other choice,” the woman tells me. Right now, I’m just too numb to process it all. I must be under a heavy dosage of medication.
“Why am I in here?” I suddenly ask.
“You have a concussion and you were in shock,” the woman tells me before standing.
“You saved a lot of people, Chelsea. You and Peter were really brave,” she says before leaving my room. The emptiness frightens me. But I’m not alone for long. My grandmother enters, being supported by Uncle Kenny. I wince at the bandage wrapped around his forehead. But the injury doesn’t seem to affect him.
“You hate me,” I say bluntly. Both of them stare at me, as if confused. “You hate me for killing Uncle Eric.”
“No,” Uncle Kenny begins. At first I think that he’s in denial about me killing his brother.
“He isn’t dead, Chelsea. Though, he’s in critical condition,” Grandmother explains.
“I’m sorry about Uncle Vincent,” I softly say.
“You and Peter saved our lives,” Grandmother says as she plops in the chair.
“I’m not going to jail?” my question causes Kenny to smile.
“No. It was self-defense,” he says. Sharp anger fills me when something occurs to me.
“Why didn’t you change your will?” Grandma straightens.
“He wanted everything because he gambled his fortune away. Besides, if I agreed, he would have killed all of us and hightailed it to Canada,” she explains. My anger slowly deflates after hearing that.
“Where’s Peter?” I ask.
“He’s at home. He was here but you were asleep,” she explains.
“Shock?” I ask.
“Pretty normal,” Uncle Kenny agrees.
“What’s going to happen?” I ask. He sighs.
“We don’t know. It all depends on your uncle. If he just pleads guilty we will all go on and try to live our lives as normal as possible. If he doesn’t plead guilty, there will be a trial.” I wince. A trial. That’s the worst thing that can possibly happen. Making us relive this nightmare.
“What about me? Where am I going to live?” Honestly, I don’t want to leave Peter. Not after this. But it would be nice to be surrounded by my family again. Grandmother looks as though she is considering something.
“You have to stay here. If there is a trial, you will need to testify. I’m sorry Chelsea,” the woman says as she sees my face.
“Uncle Kenny, what do you think Eric will do?” Calling him Uncle Eric at this point is nauseating. The man is a monster.
“He will probably make us go through a long trial. There is no way that the prosecution is offering him a deal. They don’t need to,” he says.
“Oh. Well, when can I get out of here?” Seeing Peter is at the top of my list. I crave his presence like I’ve never craved anything else. The door slowly opens and Peter walks in carrying a vase full of red roses. So he remembered. I stare at him and marvel at the fact that he’s alright. His bruises are healing and the cut on his lip isn’t visible. His dark eyes roam over me as if cataloging that everything is okay. Then, he places the roses on the ground beside my bed and walks over to me.
“Hi Chelsea,” Peter says.
“Hi Peter,” I reply. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips and I have to quell the urge to wrap my limbs around him and kiss him deeply. After he pulls away he looks at everyone in the room. Uncle Kenny actually smiles at him. Grandmother rises, walks over to Peter, and gives him a hug. I frown at this exchange. So the woman is actually being affectionate? What a surprise.
“You will be released today,” Grandmother says before standing. “Your parents are in the cafeteria. They have been sitting with you ever since they got here,” Uncle Kenny adds. I feel slightly guilty that my folks didn’t even cross my mind. But part of me is angry at them. Had they allowed me to move with them, I wouldn’t have had to kill. Grandma and Uncle Kenny leave us alone and Peter lets out a long sigh.
“You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re all right,” he says.
“Peter, I’m so sorry,” I reply. He frowns.
“For?”
“For you being dragged into this. If you hadn’t been heading to Connecticut with me, none of this would have happened,” I cry. He presses a kiss to my forehead before sitting down.
“Chelsea, believe me when I tell you that if I could turn back time, I would have killed your uncle before he had the chance to hurt anyone,” he admits. “I can't do that, but let me assure you the one thing that I would never change is being with you. I love you Chelsea more than you will ever understand.”
“I love you too,” I say, emotions filling me. He had survived and now we could be together.
“I’m just relieved that you are alive,” Peter whispers before kissing my hair.
“The trial,” I mutter.
“If Eric wants to embarrass himself by allowing a trial to take place, then, so be it. But trust me when I say that I will be the first one to testify,” Peter says as he begins to caress my cheek with his fingertips.
“How did your parents take all of this?” I ask.
“They are just glad we are alive. They don’t blame you,” Peter assures. Our conversation halts because the doctor comes in. It takes an hour for me to be released. Mom is the one who signs the paper work. She looks tired and overwhelmed. Dad is quiet, as
usual, and gives me an awkward pat as we walk out of the back entrance. Reporters are camping out in front of this facility. They want their first look at me. That just makes me mad. I can’t believe that people will try to make a buck off of what I consider is the worst day of my life.
We slide into the limo. Otis isn’t driving; a man with light brown hair and a wide smile has taken his place. He introduces himself as Brad. And although he is much more pleasant than Otis ever was, I prefer Otis. I snuggle up against Peter and we are on our way.
“How did you two meet?” Mom asks. She is beside me and is making every effort to draw me into conversation.
“The mugging,” Peter says and Tiller frowns. I sigh and recap an event that happened so long ago. He looks pretty pissed off that no one has told him about Albert, the mugger thug. I guess I forgot to tell Tiller about that. I shrug.
“Since I wasn’t hurt, I didn’t think that it was important,” I admit.
“Chelsea, is there anything else that I need to know?” Tiller asks.
“No. That’s it.”
“What happened to Adam?” Disapproval rings in my father’s voice. He’s disgusted that his daughter is so fickle about guys. I can read that thought in his eyes.
“Oh.” Our fight, his jailing, and him trying to kill Adam has taken a back seat to all of this. “He’s in jail,” I say just to see the shocked look on my father’s face. Yeah, how do you like them apples?
“So, you two got together under Adam’s nose?” Tiller asks. I sigh.
“Adam cheated on me with Ivy. Then, we broke up. I…”
“Why did you make out with him?” My father’s roar surprises us all. Mom looks as though she is going to crumple. She expected his anger. Peter’s face grows dark but he knows that this is my fight.
“Because it was a mistake,” I snap. “A lapse in judgment. I…”
“Chelsea, you have a pattern. You use and abuse guys. You’re just like your Grandmother,” he snaps. He isn’t talking about Grandma Betty, that’s for sure. I wince and look at Peter. His eyes are filled with anger.
“Adam isn’t…”
“Shut up, Peter. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. This is between Chelsea and me,” he roars. I gape. Dad has never been this angry before. Peter looks like he’s about to say something but Tiller shakes his head.
“Dad, stop. You don’t know the whole story,” I cry.
“Oh, I don’t? All I know is that you use then discard people. That’s all you do,” he rages. “You used Derrick, then James, then Adam, now Peter. Chelsea, if you would have stopped being a slut for two seconds, maybe you would have fit in. After you stole that poor girl’s boyfriend, I had to defend you against Mike. I lost my best friend because of you. And now Eric… He might die and that’s all because of you. From what I understand, you used him and when the going got tough, you shot him.” His words cause something to shatter within me. Suddenly, the limo is too cramped. I’m trying to breathe, but nothing comes out. His words force doubt, guilt, and horror to cover me. What if I had distracted Eric? What if I had begged him to stop? What if I had shot the guard and taken Peter out of there. After all, I only came in to save Peter. Let’s face it, had the love of my life hadn’t been there, I probably would have driven off in the limo. That makes me a terrible person. I am a terrible person. Dad’s right. I’ve done nothing but use and abuse other guys. I’m the epitome of evil. I hate myself. I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m pathetic. Look at me.
“Chelsea,” Peter calls gently. But his words don’t matter. Nothing will bring me back from this. I’m just full of grief, torment, and shame that nothing will ever bring me back. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live anymore. Peter will never be with his equal as long as I’m in the way. My decision is made before I can stop myself. Let’s just face it, the world is better without me. I’m sliding past Peter who is gripping my arm. I punch him in the balls so that he’ll release me. It works. I don’t bother looking back before I fling myself from the moving limo.
