by Leslie Wolfe
A long minute later, the excruciating pain had subsided somewhat, and the hemorrhage had stopped. She dared to leave the support offered by the bathroom counter. She dragged herself slowly to the living room table, grunted when she leaned to reach down, and grabbed her phone. She redialed Gary’s number and left another message.
“Gary, go to Laura’s right now. He’s going after her…” Her voice trailed off, but she forced air into her lungs and continued, almost whispering. “He got me, Gary, and I didn’t even see his face.”
She ended the call, then dialed dispatch and instructed them to send all available units to Laura’s apartment. She asked them about their response time; they replied that it would be ten to fifteen minutes.
She took another long, raspy breath of air and made her decision. Laura lived three minutes away from her; three minutes she should be able to drive. She grabbed her keys and slowly, unsteadily walked out the door, wincing, groaning, and cursing at every step.
She didn’t even bother to close the door behind her. She knew that after the voicemail she’d left Gary, the place would be swarming with cops in no time.
53
Arguments
Laura managed to postpone the looming argument with Adrian, but it wasn’t avoidable. He was in a gloomy, sour mood when he’d come to pick her up from the hospital and stayed unusually silent while she checked herself out. He started the conversation in the car, but she’d pleaded with him to be patient and not argue, not before they got home.
That transpired half an hour earlier. Now they’d finally arrived at their apartment, and Boo was happy to see her. He weaved intricate patterns with his tail straight up in the air and waited for her to take her usual seat on the sofa, to jump in her lap, purring. She stroked his back gently and rubbed behind his ears, savoring the smooth silk of his fur and the warmth of his little body.
Adrian put a steaming cup of chamomile tea on the coffee table, and pulled himself a chair across from her. “Talk to me,” he said, in a tone that didn’t accept any argument. “Why didn’t I deserve to know that you’re pregnant with my child?”
She averted her eyes. She was still a little drowsy from the medication they’d given her in the hospital, and she just couldn’t find her words. The reason he was going to hear was a complex one, with the potential to end their relationship.
She arranged her left arm, still immobilized in a sling, and fidgeted until she found a position where it didn’t hurt.
“I’m listening,” he insisted, throwing her another dark glance.
She sighed. Like always, she had to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Maybe it was time to have that conversation, after all.
“Adrian, please try to understand. You’re too overbearing for me to handle. Most of the time, I don’t get a say in things, and I don’t think that’s the right environment to raise a child.”
He sprung off his chair and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.
“What are you saying, Laura?” he asked, sounding deceivingly calm.
“I’m saying that with you, either I comply with whatever you want me to do, or we argue until I’m too tired to fight, and I comply, just to end the argument. See my choices here, Adrian? It’s like that, all the time!”
“When did I ever want anything bad for you, Laura? I just care about you, that’s all. I’m worried like hell.”
“There’s no need to be,” she said, then sighed and averted her eyes again, knowing just how futile it was to try to convince Adrian of anything.
“No need? What are you talking about? There’s someone out there who wants to kill you; isn’t that enough reason to worry?”
She met his gaze and maintained eye contact firmly. “I’ve lived like this all my life, Adrian. My family was doomed; I survived because… I really don’t know why I survived. You have no idea how many times I wished I was dead too. Whatever will happen, will happen.”
“You’re going to sit here and do nothing, wait for that guy to kill you? That’s ridiculous, and you’re crazy. I need you to call that fed woman and tell her you’re going into protective custody.”
She remembered the man she’d seen at the car dealership, the one who followed her one night, and wondered if that was him, the man who killed her family, the man who tried to kill her. She wasn’t going to run away, regardless of how scared she was.
Sometimes, she was so scared she felt she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It was paralyzing. But every time she ended up doing the same thing. She went out there and took a stroll on the streets she loved, rain or shine. It was like provoking whoever lurked in the shadows; it was as if she invited him to finish what he’d started fifteen years ago.
She hated to admit it, but finding out that Garza didn’t kill her family didn’t come as a complete surprise to her. She’d always doubted that, without any rational reason or evidence, and without a clear memory of the real killer. She just didn’t believe it that much. That’s why fear had been a constant in her life, making her wonder every now and then when it would be her time to die. She lived on borrowed time, borrowed from a killer who didn’t lend.
She’d faced that fear so many times she felt strong, unyielding, and prepared. She wasn’t going to start running now. Que sera, sera, an old song used to say. “No, Adrian, I won’t call her, and I won’t go in protective custody. End of story.”
“Why?” He seemed literally puzzled.
“I can’t live like this. I can’t run away, and I can’t have you telling me how to run my life anymore, pregnant or not.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” he snapped, then kicked the chair over. It toppled, and Boo reacted, jumping promptly from her lap in favor of his hiding place behind the sofa. She almost hated Adrian, for taking Boo away from her, for scaring him.
“I don’t think you and I should be parents,” she said calmly. “I don’t think you’re ready to be a father. I’m not sure if I can be a mother. I think there are other people more qualified, more balanced, more willing.”
“It’s my kid too, Laura!” he yelled.
“Yes, and I know you’d drive both of us crazy, Adrian. You can’t compromise, and you can’t take risks. Both are mandatory if you want to raise a family. It’s not your fault; you simply can’t, that’s all.”
“I won’t let you do this, you hear me? I won’t!”
He leapt over the fallen chair and almost ran to the door. Then he left, and before he slammed the door behind him, Laura heard him curse her name.
She breathed deeply, ashamed at how relieved she felt with him gone. She didn’t want to argue anymore, and maybe they were doomed; they didn’t have a future together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been happy. There was always something making Adrian miserable, something he could object to, something that she didn’t do right, something he’d criticize her for. All that, while she had her own monsters to battle, her fears, the sadness she still felt when she thought about her parents and siblings, the terrible sense of loss. The painful void that sometimes took all the space of her heart.
The doorbell chimed and she lifted her chin, unaware of the tears running down her cheeks. That was quick. Adrian was quick to anger and slow to heal. Maybe he wasn’t coming back to make up; maybe he was coming back for his stuff.
“Come in, it’s open,” she shouted, unwilling to get up and open the door.
Carol Welsh entered and closed the door behind her.
“Laura?” she called.
“In here,” she replied.
Her face lit up when she saw Carol. She wiped her tears with a quick gesture and started getting up. Carol stopped her with a hand gesture.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “I’m having a hell of a day.”
Carol stopped in front of Laura, after shooting the fallen chair a quick glance, followed by a raised eyebrow. She looked imposing, in a dress pantsuit and slimming jacket. She always looked imposing and perfectly groomed, elegant, no matter w
hat she wore.
“You should lock your door, especially when people are trying to kill you, don’t you agree?”
Laura stared at the floor for a second, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her. She always disappointed the people who loved her.
When she looked back up, she gasped. Carol was holding a gun aimed at her chest. Her eyes were cold, merciless. The eyes of a stranger, a killer.
“What… Why?” Laura managed to articulate, fighting the choking claw of fear that didn’t let her breathe.
“Because my dear husband is too much of a coward to tie up his loose ends, that’s why,” Carol replied, holding the gun with a steady hand.
“No… This isn’t happening… You’re the only family I’ve ever known, you and Uncle Brad,” Laura whimpered, while tears sprung from her eyes. “You’re telling me… Oh, my God!”
She pressed her right hand against her chest, trying to steady herself, to be able to think clearly.
“It wasn’t his fault; it was your father’s. Brad just did what he had to do, that’s all.”
Laura looked into Carol’s eyes, with an unspoken question.
“They were young when they started the company, and for a few years they didn’t make much money,” Carol explained, sounding annoyed. “Allen wanted Brad to cut costs from manufacturing, because he had to offer deep discounts to get deals signed up. Brad did exactly that, and things went well for a while. Then a house caught fire, from one of the lamps. They settled, no one was hurt, but your father was adamant. He wanted a full investigation into what caused the fire and a massive recall of all the fixtures that had low-grade insulation. There was no talking him out of it. He would have ruined all of us, and Brad only did exactly what he’d told him to do.”
Laura’s vision blurred, partly because of the constant stream of tears, and partly because the nightmare she was living was too much to handle. Her stomach started hurting badly and she pressed her hand on it, trying to settle it.
“Brad did what he had to do, just like I’m doing now.”
She heard Carol’s words and turned pale, fighting her nausea and losing.
“I’m going to be sick,” she whispered, and started to get up.
“I’m going to be sick,” Carol mocked her, and the mockery hurt almost as badly as the story she’d just heard. “You were always such a wimp. Sit down,” she ordered.
Laura forced herself to breathe deeply, to curb the queasiness.
“Why… why did he let me live?” she managed to ask? “Why not kill me too?”
“He thought he did. You know him; always preoccupied, not paying attention to anything. He made a mistake.”
Laura’s eyes opened wide, in shock.
“You two discussed—”
“No, but I could tell by his reactions, the following day.”
The room started spinning again, dragging Laura into a vortex of pain. She loved them dearly; they were her family, the two people she knew as parents, despite the faint memories she cherished about her real mother and father. She tried to comprehend that all those years she’d loved her father’s killer. She’d held his hand, fell asleep in his arms, and cherished his touch.
A new wave of nausea surprised her, and she desperately gasped for air. She dry-heaved in place, there on the sofa, then managed to steady herself, to control the raging scream of unspeakable pain she felt bubbling up inside her.
“Why raise me?” Laura finally asked, when she could articulate between suffocating sobs. “Why not send me to hell, to die in some foster home? Why pretend you loved me, when you must have hated me so much?”
“You, my dear, were Brad’s perfect alibi,” Carol replied, and cocked her gun. “Now you’re a liability.”
Laura closed her eyes, accepting her fate just like she always thought she would. Somehow, the thought of dying seemed like a relief, promising to end the immense pain she felt ripping through her soul. Soon, she’d be with her real family. Yet somewhere, in a remote corner of her mind, she sensed the new life blooming inside her and remembered she had something to live for. Someone to love, someone to hold and cherish and protect. Someone worth fighting for. She was going to be a mother.
She opened her eyes just as she heard the gunshot, but didn’t feel anything. She saw Carol collapse on the floor, and that FBI agent who’d lied to her, barely standing, with her gun drawn.
“Are you all right?” the agent asked in a weak voice.
Laura couldn’t bring herself to answer. Instead, she felt a new wave of tears flush over her, the grip of unspeakable pain choke her, and she gave in, sobbing hard.
Michowsky rushed through the door, with his gun drawn.
“Tess?” he called.
“We’re all clear,” she replied. “Not in great shape, but clear. I think we should call Dr. Jacobs.”
“I’ll get you an ambulance,” Gary replied. He holstered his weapon and crouched down to check Carol’s vitals. “She’s gone. Let’s take care of you now.”
“No, not yet. Got something I have to do first.” She turned toward Laura, and touched her shoulder. “It’s hard to believe right now, but you’ll be all right.”
Laura looked at her and grabbed her sleeve.
“I have to tell you something,” she articulated amid shuddering breaths and sobs. “He…”
“I know,” Tess replied, and walked away, followed by Gary.
54
Encounter
It was almost completely dark when Bradley Welsh pulled into the driveway in front of his home and cut the engine. He grabbed his briefcase and got out of his car, then locked it with the remote. The Audi chirped and flashed once, but its headlights stayed on for a few more seconds. He strode toward the main entrance, while checking the time on his phone, unaware of his surroundings.
“You know, it took me a while,” Tess said, and watched how Brad startled and froze in his tracks. She moved closer, appearing from behind a large shrub, holding her gun aimed at him. “Now I know where I’ve seen these before,” she added, and threw the silicone wound mold at his feet.
He took a step back, almost jumping, as if he’d seen a snake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, seemingly unperturbed.
“Your lamp, Mr. Welsh. You couldn’t go a single day without contemplating a memento of what you did to all those women, could you? You wanted to come home every day, and look at the fatal wounds you gave them, replicated in hundreds of shadows on your walls. In plain sight, where everyone could see them, but no one would know.”
He stood tall and stiff, without saying a word.
“You took your souvenirs from the crime scenes. You poured silicone in each of their fatal wounds and cast a mold. When you had enough of them in your collection, you built the lamp. Quite original, and the lamp design isn’t bad at all. Until now, we couldn’t figure out why those wounds had distension marks. We speculated, but we couldn’t imagine this. We couldn’t imagine you, Mr. Welsh.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated, then took a few steps toward her.
“Stay where you are,” she said, and he stopped in place. “To think you were so close to Laura, all her life, looking at her, touching her, just makes me sick. You kept her close, to make sure she didn’t remember anything, and if she did, that you could easily kill her. That poor girl, to be raised by such monsters.” She curled her upper lip in disgust. “But you didn’t expect to see me alive, did you?”
He shook his head and shrugged, and Tess reflected how perfectly composed and calm he seemed, how natural and genuine, denying any involvement or knowledge. Under normal circumstances, she might have believed him, if it weren’t for that tug in her gut.
“We’ve got DNA, you wiseass,” she said, letting a long, pained sigh escape her scorched lips. “You’re over. Finished.”
Not even the reference to DNA fazed him; he continued to stand calmly, waiting.
“Okay, let’s get thi
s over and done with,” she said. “Hit the deck, face down, hands behind your head.”
He didn’t move, staring at her with fiercely cold eyes.
“Or what?” he eventually whispered. “I nailed you good; there’s not much you can do to me anymore. You’re drawing your last breath, only you don’t know it yet. I may take a mold out of you yet.” He smiled as he finished talking, then licked his lips. He was enjoying the situation. Seeing her in pain, seeing her agonize.
“I can still kill you,” Tess replied dryly. “Instead, I’ll let him arrest you.”
Brad flinched when he felt Michowsky’s gun against his back.
“I promised my boss,” Tess continued, watching how Michowsky propped Welsh against the hood of his car and forced his hands behind his back, “no, I swore to him no more killing; just catching.”
He continued to stare at her with chilling eyes.
“One thing I don’t understand,” Tess said, her voice sounding weaker. “Why weren’t the Watsons at the company party that night?”
He scoffed, and the corner of his lip twitched a little, while his nostrils flared. “Why… People like you never question when people like me do them favors. They consider they somehow deserve it, and even feel grateful, in their immense simplicity. I offered to handle the company party on my own, so he could spend more time with his kids. The idiot accepted with gratitude.” He scoffed again. “Easy.”
She took a few steps closer, until she could shove the barrel of her gun into the side of his neck. “Where’s Monica, you sick son of a bitch?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied calmly, with a hint of a wicked smile in his eyes. “But I’m sorry,” he continued, looking Tess straight in the eye, with that chilling gaze that awakened nightmares in her mind. “I’m sorry I didn’t take my time with you. I’m sorry I didn’t allow myself to enjoy you.”
