by Willow Rose
If it is Ryan is in there, will I be able to pull the trigger? Will I be able to shoot my own husband? The father of my children?
I don’t want to think about it. I have to move on; I have to keep going. I was too late for Sandra. I was too late for Ted. I can’t miss this one too.
I walk as cautiously as possible, trying not to make a sound, then walk to the bathroom door that is left ajar and look in through the crack. I am breathing heavily now and barely able to hear anything over the sound of my beating heart. I can hear the water, though, and I can see Duke as he is plunged into it. Then a pair of hands grab his wrists, and a knife is placed on the skin.
That’s when I make my decision. I can’t wait anymore. I push the door open forcefully and hold the gun out in front of me. But the man is gone, and I can’t see him. Duke is still in the water, and before I can react, a gloved hand reaches out from behind the door and grabs the gun. My hand is pulled forcefully sideways and slammed against the door until I drop the gun. Then, he lunges at me, grabbing me by the tops of my arms. I am wrestled to the floor. My head hits the tiles and is pressed down, the weight of this person heavily on top of me, a knee in my back. He grabs my hair and pulls my head backward, then smashes it into the tiles one, two, three times, so hard I can see nothing but flickering stars. I taste blood in my mouth right before I black out.
When I wake up, he is gone. I’m not where I am supposed to be either. I’m sitting in my minivan, slumped over the steering wheel. My head is pounding, and I can barely lift it. I sit back, trying to remember what happened. I then open my eyes and touch my face. I look at myself in the rearview mirror and see my bloody face. The blood has been smeared all across the steering wheel as well. It looks like it has come from my nose. It is swollen and painful. I have a cracked lip as well, and my head feels heavy but other than that, I seem fine. I suddenly remember what happened and turn to look at the house across the street. There are police officers there and ambulances. The black truck is gone.
Duke!
I see him as he is being rolled out on a stretcher and into the ambulance. My heart drops at the sight.
I messed it all up. Instead of saving him, I messed it up.
I stare at the two-story house, wondering if I should go over there and tell them I was there, that I saw someone in there. But then my phone makes a sound in my purse, and I pick it up.
I WOULDN’T DO THAT IF I WERE YOU
A frown grows between my eyes as I read the text. The sender is not a number I know. I write back: WHO IS THIS?
THEY’LL FIND YOUR BLOOD IN THERE AND YOUR FINGERPRINTS ON THE DOOR.
I read the text over and over again, wondering if this is the killer…if this is the guy who knocked me down. It has to be, right? How else would he know these details?
WHO ARE YOU?
He doesn’t answer me, and I can’t seem to make up my mind. Should I go over there and tell the police what I saw, what I know? Will they believe me? Or will it look like I am the guilty one? Is this person right? I grab the phone, then call the number, but he doesn’t answer. My hands are shaking in frustration and confusion as I try again. No answer. No voicemail. Nothing.
I text him again.
IS IT YOU, RYAN? IS IT? ANSWER ME! I AM GONNA TELL THEM EVERYTHING!
I sit still, my heart beating fast, waiting for him to answer. An officer has had his eye on me for a little while, and now he starts to move toward me. I’m freaking out. I’m terrified he’s gonna ask me questions, so I start up the engine, then wait.
Another sound comes from my phone. It’s him again.
IF YOU TALK TO THE POLICE, I’LL COME FOR YOU AND THE KIDS!
I look at the words, my hands shaking. The officer is close now, and I can tell he wants to talk to me. I don’t even think about it. I push the accelerator down and roar past him, praying it’s too dark for him to see my plates.
Chapter 33
I sneak back into the condo. My mom is sleeping on the couch, snoring lightly. I am relieved to find that everything seems calm. I hurry to the bathroom, then wash off all the blood, my heart still racing in my chest. On my way back, I circled the neighborhood a few times, just to make sure no one followed me. I have seen it in movies and thought it was a good idea.
The blood comes off, but my nose is still big and swollen, and my lip is double its normal size. I don’t know how I am going to explain this to my mother when I wake her up and tell her to go home, but then I realize it’s past midnight, and it’s too late for her to walk home anyway. I decide to let her sleep and put a blanket on top of her, then walk to the front door and check the locks are properly locked a second and a third time. I go to the kitchen and find the ibuprofen and take two to get rid of the excruciating pain in my head. I then go to the kids’ room and check on them both. The condo is only two bedrooms, so they have to share, which they are not all too happy about, especially not Isabella. Her crutches are leaning on her bed, ready for when she needs them. Soon, she won’t need them as much anymore, I hope, as she is making great progress—at least physically. Mentally, I fear it’s an entirely different story.
I sigh and go back to my own room, where I turn out the lights and go to sleep. I get at least two or maybe three hours before I wake up bathed in sweat. I am certain I heard a sound and jump out of bed, heart knocking against my ribcage. I don’t have my gun anymore since Ryan took it when he attacked me in Duke’s bathroom. I have no way of protecting us if he is coming for us now.
I stand next to the bed, listening, but the noise is gone now. I calm myself by trying to breathe properly. I sit on the bed, my legs shaking, and then I bend my head and hide my face between my hands while I cry.
I call Frank the next day, and he comes over on his lunch break. When I open the door, he gasps.
“What on Earth happened to your face?”
“I’ll tell you everything. Come in.”
He is still staring at me like he isn’t even quite sure it is me. My face does look awful. My nose is so swollen, it fills half my face, and it makes my eyes look narrow, not to mention my lip. On top of it all, I am in deep pain. My head is pounding despite the pills I have taken, and the light from outside bothers me, so I keep the curtains closed.
“How did the kids react when seeing you like this?” he asks.
“I had my mom take care of them and drive Damian to school and take Isabella to her physical therapy. My mom has begged me to take her for days because she wants to be there for her and see how well she is doing. I didn’t tell her what happened. I don’t want her to be sad or worried about me. I told her I had too much to drink and that I couldn’t get out of bed, speaking through the door, so she wouldn’t see me. I’ll have to deal with the kids later since they will see this at some point. I just couldn’t deal with it all this morning. I needed time to figure out what to tell them.”
“Can I get you some water? Or coffee?” he asks.
I nod. Frank is always so nice to me. “Coffee would be great, thanks.”
He pours me a cup and one for himself, and we sit down. I swallow another pill to subdue the pain, then sip my coffee.
Frank sighs. I can tell he is upset. Seeing me like this makes him concerned; of course, it does.
“I take it Ryan did this to you?” he asks. His nostrils are flaring lightly, and I can tell he is getting himself worked up.
I nod and look into my cup. “I mean, I didn’t see his face. It all happened too fast, but I am pretty sure it was him. He knocked my face into the tiles when I tried to stop him from killing another guy from his unit.”
Frank almost choked on his coffee. “There was another one?”
I nod. “This time, I actually saw it happen. I saw him drag the guy up the stairs and prepare him in the tub. I even saw the knife being placed on his wrist. There’s no doubt anymore. He’s killing his way through the unit, getting rid of these people for some reason.”
“I take it you told everything to the police?” Frank as
ks.
I try to avoid his eyes.
“You didn’t talk to the police?” he asks. “Why the heck not?”
“I was knocked out, and I woke up in my car, blood smeared everywhere. The police will find my blood and fingerprints all over the place. I didn’t wear gloves, but he did. I can still feel them from when he touched me. And then…well, there was this.”
I pick up my phone and show him the texts.
“He threatened the kids. I couldn’t risk it, Frank; you have to understand. I simply couldn’t.”
“Hey. Hey, take it easy,” Frank says and grabs my hand in his. “No one is blaming you for anything, okay? You want to protect your kids, of course, you do. It’s just that…well, if you don’t speak up soon, then he’ll get away with this. And since he knows that you know what he is up to, he might come after you anyway. He knows that you have identified him. I say you need to get the police all over him right now.”
I sigh and lean back, grabbing my forehead, closing my eyes briefly because it hurts so badly. I realize Frank is right. I’m in trouble either way. It’s only a matter of when.
“The police will probably come for me soon anyway,” I say and fiddle with my cup.
“How so?”
“First of all, I’m pretty sure they saw me drive away from there and probably also got my license plate. Second, I was the one who called nine-one-one. Before I went into the house, I called and told them someone was about to be murdered, then gave them the address, and hung up. I just couldn’t wait for them to arrive; I was scared they’d be too late. I had my gun. I thought I’d be able to defend myself. But he must have heard me on the stairs or maybe when I was by the door. Boy, he moved fast.”
“Plus, you wanted to be sure it was Ryan, am I right?” Frank asks. “A highly skilled soldier with PTSD who can kill you with his bare hands. Didn’t you think about that at all? You completely disregarded your own safety to play a silly Miss Marple or whatever their names are.”
“If I am anyone, it’s Hercule Poirot,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Annoying and stubborn.”
Frank laughs, but he isn’t happy. He’s mad at me for not taking better care of myself. I can’t blame him. I would be mad at me too.
Chapter 34
Frank doesn’t go back to work. He stays with me, and we order a pizza for lunch, then eat together. I also order a smoothie since I can’t really chew much with my lip, so I stay mostly on a liquid diet. After finishing up, Frank makes a couple of phone calls while I clean the kitchen from this morning. I feel overwhelmed as I put the bowls in the dishwasher. I am not just in physical pain. I feel broken inside and can’t wrap myself around the fact that my husband isn’t the man I once knew. Not only has he changed drastically, but he’s become a murderer like the ones you read about in novels or watch on TV. It’s hard for me to believe that a man could change this much. Especially Ryan. But you hear the stories, right? How some women refused to see their spouses for what they really were, even some who were married to serial killers. Or stories about those who live in an abusive relationship who continuously makes excuses for them, even when they isolate them from the world and hurt them. I don’t want to end up like one of those numbers in the statistics who were killed by their husbands because they refused to see the signs. I really don’t.
Still, it is hard for me to believe it.
Look at Isabella. He shot her! Look at your face. Isn’t that proof enough? How much more do you need?
I shake my head as Frank returns from the balcony, holding his phone in his hand. He closes the sliding doors behind him, shutting out the soothing sound of the waves. It’s getting hotter out now, and the AC can barely keep up inside. I haven’t been out there all day since the bright sunlight hurts my head.
“Okay, so I spoke to the ME’s office on the mainland,” he says, looking at me pensively. “I have a colleague who works there. He told me something interesting. He said they never received Duke Marchant’s body.”
I want to grimace, but my face is in too much pain, so I sit on a dining chair instead and look up at him. The place was furnished when I rented it. I don’t care much for the flowers on the back of the chairs, but who am I to complain, right? I’m just glad to have a place to stay—a place that hopefully remains safe for the kids and me.
“What does that mean?”
“That he didn’t die,” Frank says and sits down across from me. “I then called the hospital, and a nurse told me they have him in the ICU. His wrists were cut, and he lost a lot of blood.”
I stare at him, barely blinking. “So…what you’re saying is…he’s alive? He didn’t die? I was so certain…I guess I just assumed he did because the paramedics didn’t look like they were rushing, but I could have misinterpreted that. Ha. So that means…he can talk to the police, right? He can help them get to Ryan?”
Frank places the phone on the dining table, then gives me a look. His shoulders sag a little. “Hardly. At least not yet. He is not responsive. He hasn’t woken up yet, and they are not sure he will.”
“Oh.”
Frank grabs my hand in his and looks down at it. “But it does mean you saved his life. If you hadn’t called the cops or even disturbed Ryan when he tried to kill him, he probably wouldn’t be alive.”
“Dang it,” I say and bite my lip.
“I know you were hoping that this guy, Duke, could talk to the police about Ryan for you, but I am afraid it won’t be the case. You’re not off the hook, Laurie. I still think you should go to them and tell them that you were there.”
I shake my head, feeling distressed.
“No.”
“Why not, Laurie?” Frank asks, getting impatient with me. I can hear his breathing, quick and shallow.
“Because he will come for the kids,” I say. “And me. It’ll put us all in danger. I can’t do that. I’m not doing it. End of story.”
When he leaves, I sit back alone behind heavily locked doors and wonder what to do next. A big part of me is happy that Duke is still alive; of course, I am thrilled. I feel like I have finally had a win over Ryan. But the rest of me is in deep pain. Not just because of my face and the possible concussion I am suffering from, but because I know that Frank is right. For the relatives of the people Ryan has killed to get closure, I have to help them. If we’re to stop Ryan from killing more people, I have to be the one to step up and speak up.
The door buzzes, and I press the intercom. It’s my mom.
“I’m bringing the kids back,” she says. “They can walk up on their own, right? I need to get home. Your dad hasn’t seen me since yesterday, and I have to get him to his doctor’s appointment at four.”
“Of course, Mom. Thank you so much for all your help.”
“No problem, sweetie. The kids were both wonderful.”
I hear her giving them kisses when I buzz the door open and let them in. I wait by the door, feeling anxious because I have to tell them what happened. When I hear the elevator ding, I open the door to greet them. They both stare at me like I am a ghost.
“What happened to you?” Isabella asks, humping along on her crutches. She seems almost angry at me.
I stare at her. I have been going over this in my mind all day, what to say, how to tell them that their dad did this to me, but when I look into their faces, I can’t get myself to do it. So, I come up with a lie.
“I fell down the stairs, clumsy, huh?”
Damian looks up at me, mouth gaping. “Were you running? Because Grandma always tells me not to run on the stairs.”
“Yes, sweetie, I was,” I say. “I was in a hurry, and so I fell.”
I bend down so Damian can touch my lip. He smiles as he runs a finger across it. He touches some of the dried-up blood that I haven’t been able to wash off, then says:
“Cool.”
Damian takes off to play with his toys, satisfied with my little story, while Isabella still looks at me like she doesn’t buy a word of it. I close the door beh
ind me and lock both locks, then shake it several times to make sure it is actually locked. I turn around and find myself face-to-face with my daughter. She lifts her eyebrows.
“Fell on the stairs, huh? If you want me to buy that, you’ll have to at least say you were drunk.”
With those words, she turns around and leans on her crutches into the bedroom and closes the door. I feel heavy-hearted. I don’t like having to lie to them, but I guess I did it because I felt it was necessary. Right now, I just can’t deal with more broken hearts. I know more are bound to come once their dad is put in jail, but right now, I hope to have just bought us a little time.
Chapter 35
I sit in my car for a few minutes, finding strength. The gray two-story house in front of me looks like it is accusing me of something. I’m scared of what I’m about to do, but I feel this is the only way. It is Saturday, and I have left Damian with his grandparents. My parents wanted to take them both to the beach, but Isabella didn’t want to go since it is hard to walk on crutches in the sand, and she has a lot of homework to catch up on. She is determined to pass her grade even if it means she has to do work every day, also on weekends, in order to do so. So, I have allowed her to stay at the condo alone for a few hours while I do this.
Meanwhile, I have been speculating like crazy over the past few days about what to do. I know I can’t just do nothing and pretend like I don’t know what my husband has been doing. I can’t go to the police since he has threatened to come after the kids and me if I do. So, I don’t dare to do that. But there is something else I can do, and now I am sitting in my minivan, parked on a street on base. Technically, I still live in my house further down the street, which I passed on my way here. That way, I still get to keep my ID card and still have access to the base. It was no problem getting past the guards at the gate. I drove up there and passed the card out the window. Active duty military cards are called CAC cards and have microchips in them. Mine is civilian and has a barcode on the back. A guard at the gate uses a handheld scanner to check it before I drive onto the base. Being here again doesn’t make me feel very good. Passing my old house made me feel sick, to be honest.
