White Pawn

by Stevie J. Cole

  The closer I get to Bow Bridge, the darker it grows and the sparser the crowds get. Ed has no idea who he’s decided to mess with tonight. Justin Wild: Author. Murderer. Lover.

  I stop just before the path turns and pick up a stone. A large stone, smooth and round, like I bet Ed’s skull is. I hold it close to my side, my palms growing slick with sweat as I approach the base of the bridge. The crickets silence as I step through the lawn. I’ve already killed one person, what does it matter if I kill another one? My ticket is already stamped: One-way to Hell. No refunds. No exchanges. Honestly, I’m just doing what any other guy would do in my situation if he weren’t worried about the repercussions. We’re all animals on the inside. All snarling teeth and rabid foam. I’ve just had my leash cut, that’s all. Madness, I’ve embraced the madness swirling within us all. I’m Lewis-motherfucking-Carrol and Marisa is my Alice and this Ed is the fucking White Rabbit that’s trying to lure her down a deep, dark hole.

  I can hear the water lapping at the concrete foundation of the beautiful bridge. And there, by the water’s edge, stands a lone shadow in the dark. The red-orange glow of a cigarette grows bright as he inhales. A slow stream of gray smoke swirls around his head. Rage burns its way through me. Anger. Fear. Jealousy. I feel like a primitive caveman on the hunt, ready to kill and drag my prized hide back to my cave. Maybe I’ll mount Ed’s head over my fireplace to serve as a reminder to Marisa that she belongs to me. After all, I’ve lost everything. My publishing deal, my followers, my ability to write a decent fucking sentence—hell, I’ve even lost my sanity, so it seems. But above all else I love her, goddamn it, and she loves me. He moves. A light blue haze glows from the phone now in his hand. He takes another drag of his cigarette and Marisa’s phone buzzes. I don’t even pull her phone from my pocket.

  “Ed?” I say, when I get right behind him.

  He turns. I barely see a shadow of his face before I whack the side of his head with the stone. There’s a nasty little crack and he falls to the ground like a lead weight. Thud. Just for good measure, I take the rock and pound it over his skull again, and this time—splitter-splat—a little blood splatters across my shirt. Great. Sighing, I toss the rock into the lake with a splash, then fish his wallet from his pants pocket, because, muggings happen all the time in Central Park. And then, I walk off, humming “Happy Together” on my way to get some more beer because that’s how we’re going to be. Happy together, fucking Marisa.

  You may can play a player, my dear, but I dare you to kill a killer.

  I get home and toss that fucker’s wallet on my counter and set the case of beer down, taking one out and popping the top. Two people. I’ve killed two people now, and I wonder, where will it stop? I finish my beer and then another and another, the cans lined up perfectly beside the couch. My vision blurs from the alcohol. I take my phone from my pocket and text Marisa. The Sherwood Forest horn blares from my back pocket and I roll my eyes. That’s right. Ed... I lie back, scrunching a throw pillow underneath my head, and I close my eyes to more dreams of blood and knives and screaming and... and the sweet lull of Marisa’s voice whispering in my ear: “All I want is the perfect story.”

  My eyes shoot open. “Marisa... ” Chill bumps scatter across my skin. My hair stands on end and a sick heat creeps over my body. I force my breath in, out, and squeeze my eyes shut, the image of it all coming together and playing out in my mind like some morbid silent movie reel. Only, I’m not Charlie Chaplin and Amy wasn’t Clara Bow. This isn’t fiction where the bad guy gets away. Or is it?

  In a panic, I sit up, knocking over the beer cans as I rush to my door and lock it. I lean against the wall, my brain reeling. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 9-1... but stop. What the hell am I going to do?

  Yes officer, my girlfriend, oh wait, my pregnant girlfriend somehow murdered this girl I used to hook up with, in my apartment, while I was—well, I don’t remember what I was doing, but, I digress, she murdered this girl—

  How did she get there?

  Well, I don’t know.

  You texted her.

  Well, but...

  And where is the body?

  Um, well, we kinda hacked it up, flushed it down the toilet bit by bit.

  So, you helped?

  Well, I mean...

  Why didn’t you call earlier?

  Uh...

  And why is Ed’s wallet on your counter?

  Fuck! I push off the door and grab another beer. I pace and drink. Drink and pace, and loyal Cobain follows behind me, panting and wagging his tail because he has no idea how fucked we are.

  Marisa. Oh, Marisa... I mean, shit, she killed a girl and framed me for it. She’s batshit, but I have to hand it to her, she’s a fucking genius. I couldn’t have plotted a better story. I couldn’t have. That’s a twist that King would be proud of. Obsessed. She’s obsessed with me, mad about me, so much so she killed someone, and, at that thought I have to take a second to adjust my swelling cock. I mean, how can you not find beauty in this shit? She made me believe I killed Amy and all because... she’s jealous and fucking insane and crazy about me. She is. My dick grows harder by the second. As sick as it is, it’s just as hot. Marisa doesn’t love me, it’s more than that. She’d never leave me. She can’t leave me. My eyes drift to Ed’s wallet on my counter, to the tiny specks of blood on my shirt, and shit, I can’t leave her. What happens when two people obsessed with the idea of love find each other and dance a forbidden dance? They become obsessed with the idea of each other.

  Now, I’m laughing like a maniac, bracing my arms against the kitchen counter and sucking in deep breaths. “Shit,” I say, standing up and swiping Ed’s wallet from the counter. And then, I cackle. I mean, sure Romeo and Juliet—that’s a great love story, but fucking Harley Quinn and the Joker, that’s the kind of love story that’s epic on every level. And, you want to know why? Because love is fleeting, it’s an emotion. Something you’ll shed a tear or two over. Obsession, it’s something you’ll shed blood for. Obsession trumps love any-fucking-day.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Marisa

  “Dream Team”- Niykee Heaton

  The cashier checks out the last of the groceries—Justin’s beer. She doesn’t tell me the total, she’s too busy texting on her phone. I want to yell at her, but I don’t. I look at the total on the register, stick my card into the chip reader, and when it beeps I pull it out, snatching the receipt from the printer myself.

  The bell to the shop jingles when I walk out into the cool evening. I can’t stop thinking about how he wants to name the baby Gage. About how perfect we truly are for one another. It makes me happy that all his lies weren’t lies. He does love King and Patterson... An old man whirls past me on a bicycle with a tiny stuffed bear in the basket. He’s singing “Hey, Hey, We’re the Monkeys”, and I’m glad I’m not crazy like that. Crazy in love, but not crazy.

  I adjust the grocery bags in my arm and head toward the apartment, the singing from the crazy man drifting hauntingly through the still night air. I can’t help but play out mine and Justin’s life. After some time passes, after he has time to let go of Amy, we’ll write a book together. It will be a bestseller with an amazing ending. We’ll grow old, raising little Gage with summers in the Hamptons. We’ll do interviews on Ellen and she’ll laugh and clap at our little love story. Everyone will. And all those girls who know what it feels like to have him inside of them, well, they’ll cry because they don’t know what it’s like to have his child inside of them. They don’t know what it’s like to vacation in the Hamptons with him, or write a book with him, or live their life with him. NO, because that’s what I’m meant for. I am his grand finale. I played the game right. I played the player. And the rumor mill stops here. It stops here...

  I punch in the key code. The lock pops and I walk into the lobby and straight to the elevator. This is how it will be from here on out. Me bringing up groceries, cooking dinner. The door slides open and I walk the few steps to his apartment doo
r, unlock it, and step inside. I can smell garlic and basil and a hint of lemon. The lights are off and music is playing, the ambient glow of candles dancing along the walls.

  “Hey babe,” I sing as I place the groceries on the counter.

  “Hey, hun. I made dinner.”

  “Aw, babe.” I unload the cold items and stick them in the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping the top on my way through to his dining room. “You are so getting laid to—” but I lose that word when I round the doorway. Justin’s sat at the head of the table with a wicked smile dancing on his face and one hand covering something on the table.

  “Forget your phone?” he asks, eyeing my phone that’s set on the edge of the tabletop.

  “Uh, yeah... I uh, I guess I did.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Tried to text you to tell you I was out of beer.” I hold up the opened beer and hand it to him. “God, you are perfect.” He takes a quick sip. “Ah,” he sighs. “Ed texted you.”

  My heart stops, pounds, halts, beats. “Yeah... ”

  “Yep.” Another sip of his beer and then he smirks. “You know,” he says, “maybe I should have been the one begging you not to make me hate you, huh?”

  “Justin... ” An unsettled feeling creeps through my veins like ice-water.

  “It’s okay. We all make mistakes, right, Marisa?” He laughs and that laugh seems to boom around the small room. “I’m impressed. Ed the Great... You aim high, I’ll give you that.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter what it wasn’t, Marisa. It only matters that it isn’t.” He picks up whatever it is he’s been covering with his hand and tosses it to me. I catch the worn leather wallet in my hand and turn it over. And there is poor Ed, smiling in his ID picture. Justin lifts his beer to his lips and I notice a small sprinkling of blood on his shirt. “You can’t leave me,” he says, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of danger. “I won’t let you. I am crazy after all.”

  My heart wants to explode. It’s racing and I’m smiling. “What did you do, Justin?” I ask with a little too much enthusiam.

  “I fucking killed him.”

  My heart skips in an excited little dance of pitter-patter. “You killed Ed?”

  He lifts his beer in the air like he’s toasting, then takes a long gulp. “You’re fucking mine, Marisa. For-fucking-ever.”

  “You’re crazy,” I whisper, inching closer to him.

  “I am and so are you. We’re both crazy.” He pushes the chair back and it crashes against the wall before it topples to the floor. “Say it, Marisa. Tell me you killed her.”

  His hand lashes out like a viper striking prey. He grabs my hair, fisting it so hard I can feel each strand pulling from its root. “I... ” I swallow. “I love you.”

  “You killed her.” He backs me against the wall. “Fucking stabbed her to death.” My lungs falter and fear rushes over me because those blue eyes of his are twinkling with insanity. He’s reached the edge and fallen. “Tell me, Marisa,” he hisses my name as he slams my head against the wall. He inches his face closer until his lips are centimeters from mine. “Confess to it,” his warm lips brush mine. I stare at him and the slightest hint of a sadistic smile touches the corner of his eyes.

  “We both did it,” I manage.

  “No.”

  “I did it for you.”

  And his lips slam over mine, his fingers tangling in my hair. “God, that’s so fucking hot.” His tongue brushes mine, his hands grab at my dress and he breaks the straps, palming my breast. “Tell me you did it again.”

  “I killed her.”

  His tongue traces up my throat as he works his jeans down his thighs, fisting his cock the second its free. “Why?” he breathes against my flesh.

  “Because I love you.”

  “Fuck,” he groans before his teeth sink into my skin, his hands roughly sliding under my shirt. “You’re a sick bitch.” He jerks my head back and grabs my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down. “My sick bitch.”

  My breath catches in my lungs when he bangs my head against the wall again. He roughly kisses along my jaw, nipping as he goes. His other hand snakes over my chest and he takes my chin, gripping it in his hand. He forces me to look at him. His eyes drift from my mouth to my eyes and his teeth sink into his lower lip on a deep groan. “I mean it, Marisa.” He hikes me dress up and wipes a finger over me before he slams inside of me. “Forever. You are never leaving me.” He laughs. “You’re my little monster.” His teeth skim my earlobe. “Baby.”

  Epilogue

  Marisa

  “Happy Together”- Spin

  The hustle and bustle of authors fighting with their banners, tearing down boxes, dropping books fills the air. Gage wiggles in my lap, slapping at my hand before he reaches his pudgy little arm across the table and grabs a silver Sharpie, immediately bringing it to his mouth. “Gage, you can’t have that,” I say sweetly as I reach down into the diaper bag and bring out his Panda bear. He squeals when he sees it and snatches it from my hand.

  “Shit,” Justin mumbles. Our banner nearly topples over on top of him before he snaps the stand in place. “Cheap piece of shit.” Justin glances at me, then at Gage and smiles, making a silly face.

  “Dadadadadada,” Gage babbles and holds the bear out to Justin. Justin grins and takes him from me, holding him up in the air and kissing his belly.

  “You like it when Daddy kisses your belly, don’t you?” Justin laughs. “You do.”

  Smiling, I lean over to grab another stack of books. I skim over the title as I place them on the table: The Rumor Mill #1 New York Times Bestseller by Justin and Marisa Wild.

  “Five minutes until the doors are open,” the organizer calls out.

  It’s been nearly two years since Tori drowned in that bathtub, nearly two years since #HavingAGreatTimeWithAmy disappeared, most likely taken by the sex trade and sold off in Mexico—at least that’s what the papers said. And poor Ed, two years since his beautiful music was carelessly ripped from the world by a hobo just looking for a quick fix.

  Two years of love and dreams being fulfilled. Justin and I are happy and in love. Some couples have inside jokes, but we are literally prisoners to our love. Bound and bought by terrible things. By Terrible Horrible Very Bad Things. We have secrets no one else will ever know. A bond so deep no one could hope to sever it. We’re utterly and infinitely mad for one another. I killed for him and he killed for me, and if that’s not the definition of a love story, I don’t know what is.

  The doors to the ballroom open with a clatter, and a rush of people flood through. A line quickly forms at our table and although women may eye him, they don’t touch him. They don’t kiss him. Because he’s not a player anymore. He’s no longer in the game. Everyone ews and ahs at Gage. All the women want to hold him. They all tell us what a beautiful baby we have, and I know what they’re thinking: that Justin fucks me, that’s how Gage got here... they’re thinking about how envious they are that I have him and they don’t. They see how beautiful it is when we have sex...

  “You two are such a lovely couple,” the woman standing at the edge of the table says as she hands a copy of our book to me to sign.

  “Thank you.” I sign the book before passing it to Justin. “That’s so sweet of you.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. And, can I just say, it’s refreshing to see two people so in love.” She smiles as she takes the now autographed book from Justin and holds it to her chest. “This is by far my favorite book. It’s so twisted and demented, but those two belong together, they really do. It was the perfect ending.”

  “Thanks,” Justin says. And it was the perfect ending, I made sure of that, didn’t I, Justin?

  “I have no idea how the two of you ever came up with it,” she says, “but however you did it, just keep the words coming.”

  When she walks off, Justin glances at me and smirks. “We’ve got a wild imagination, huh, babe?” He sweeps a piece of my hair behind my ear before he kisses m
e.

  “Aw,” a few people in line swoon. Hell, I swoon.

  “Two people obsessed with the idea of love,” he says, his bright blue eyes staring into mine, “it’s like a fucking fire, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.” I smile at Justin.

  Justin laughs, and god, I love that throaty laugh of his. Gage reaches for me. “Wanna take him?”

  “Of course,” I smile as I take Gage into my lap, kissing the top of his soft head, the sweet scent of baby shampoo lifting with each tender kiss.

  A business card lands on the table in front of me and I glance up. There’s a guy in a bright red bro tank standing there, smiling. “‘Sup? I’m a new model. Tommy Thomas. Just trying to get my name out there to all the pretty ladies.” He winks with a laugh. “I’d love to be on your cover, sweetheart.” He walks off and Justin clears his throat.

  “Want to be on the cover, or part of the story? Dickfuck... ” Justin glances at me, his eyes flickering wildly. “I mean, I think a story about a model who meets his untimely demise at the hands of a sick author would be a bestseller, don’t you?”

  I shift Gage in my lap and laugh before I lean over to kiss Justin. “You know I find it hot when you threaten bloodshed in my honor, babe.”

  They say love is a form of insanity, and I’d have to agree. We aren’t merely two people obsessed with the idea of love, no, we are obsessed with the idea of a romanticized form of insanity, willing to press the limits to find a happily ever after, no matter how screwed up it may be.

  I love you, Justin. We’re static electricity. And you’re just lucky I didn’t kill you.