The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  Glass cracked under my shoe. I froze. The room brightened from the headlights shining through the sheer curtains, and in that moment of fleeting light, I glimpsed the destruction. The headlights from a second passing car lit my part of the room. In the mirror above the sofa, I glimpsed the figure of a man standing behind me.

  Click.

  I stared transfixed into the darkness, my feet spread, my shoulders tense. “Talk to me, Erik.”

  Silence.

  “Think about what Dana has done. Let’s end this. Help me help her.”

  Silence.

  I heard his breathing a split second before my cheek split open. Stinging pain. I jumped back warm blood spilling down my face. My stomach tightened.

  My body shook as I brandished my knife in downward thrusts, slicing the air. Glass snapped beneath our feet. I brought the blade downward again. It plunged deep. He cried out. I stepped back. His knife slashed diagonally across my front, popping the threads of my sweater. Blood trickled down my stomach.

  I rammed my knife down hard until the tip passed through thick flesh and stopped at bone.

  Glass crunched. The floor vibrated with the thump of his body. I fumbled behind me until I found a crutch. I cracked it across him. He groaned. Headlights. Erik laid belly down.

  My stomach roiled when he didn’t flinch. I reached down and pulled out the knife. I bent forward, resting my palms on my knees and tried breathing deeply despite my panting. The wave of nausea eased. My bad shoulder ached. I stood up slowly and pressed my forearm hard against my wet cheek. The slash burned.

  Swiping the back of my hand across my forehead, I stumbled my way to the staircase and paused, gripping the newel post. I’d just killed a man who had once been my friend. Flashes of the sad-faced, younger Eeyore filled my head. Wrenching sobs rose from the pit of my stomach—I fell to my knees and heaved up what little was in my stomach.

  Don’t you dare quit. Ben needs you. Your family and friends need you.

  With a shaking hand, I grabbed hold of the banister, wood slick with polish. I pulled myself upward. The hallway went either direction at the top of the stairs.

  A bright sphere of silvery white hovered at the end of the hallway to my right. I fell against the wall and watched it pulsate as the brightness swelled. My knife slipped from my hand. I slid down the wall to retrieve it, but Dana stepped into view.

  I brought my hand back to my side.

  The sphere’s glow highlighted the wet redness on the blade hanging from her hand, then formed into the figure of a man.

  Harwood spoke in gargling sounds. Dana argued. He rushed her. She ran. I saw a blood-coated knife gripped in each hand. Knives she’d used to stab people I loved. I tripped backward into Tony’s former room and held my breath.

  The ghost’s light brightened the hallway, giving her light to see me if I dared move from the shadows. My knife’s wide blade glinted on the floor across from the bedroom doorway.

  I pressed my palms hard against my eyes. Our séance had triggered a killing spree. I tipped my head back against the wall and stared blindly into the darkness. Tears of shame rolled down my cheeks. Dana breathed in puffs, feet from where I hid. Her nails clicked on the knife handle.

  My skin warmed to hot.

  I’m trapped. We’re all trapped until we die.

  I choked on my breath. Covered my mouth. Footsteps thudded on the stairs, then faded. I inched around the corner. Ben was standing outside Caleb’s room. Together, we watched the light of Jack Harwood disappear.

  “Ben!” I shouted in a hushed voice.

  He ran to me. “She’s hunting you, for crissake! Hide!”

  I fell against him. “I killed Erik!”

  He touched my waist. “You’re bleeding.”

  “He had a knife.”

  “Where?”

  “In the living room.”

  “No. Where are you bleeding?”

  “My chest and my cheek.”

  Ben tried the light switch. Nothing. “How deep?”

  I lifted his hand and laid it against my chest. He fingered the torn threads of my sweater.

  I laid my hand on top of his. “The cuts hurt. I need bandages, but the wounds won’t kill me.”

  “You know he’s dead?” Ben nudged me back into Tony’s room.

  “I think he is.”

  “I hope so. Promise you’ll stay in here. Under the bed, in the closet, but you do not leave.”

  “Ben, please. Other than Sam and you, I can’t find anybody. Where is Grant?”

  “Dead for all we know. Like you’ll be if you don’t hide.”

  He kissed me quickly and pulled the door closed. Minutes later, I stepped into the hallway and retrieved my knife. I stopped on the landing and listened. No screams. No groaning. No fights. Only wind; fluttering papers. I felt the space around me at the bottom of the stairs. Vacant. I flipped the light switch in the hallway leading to the den. Darkness.

  Inside the guestroom across the hall, I heard breathing. Whimpers. My heart sank. I squatted. My fingers touched a body. Lines of blood ran down the arm. I moved my hand and touched silky hair.

  “Ronnie?” I whispered.

  She stirred.

  “It’s Mallory.”

  Her hand reached my head, determined my face. “There’s glass stuck in my arm. Leave it.”

  “Sam said you were under the table.”

  “I slid off my chair. Your aunt tried to help me. Then she screamed.”

  Pain seized the back of my head. “Did Erik kill her?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Ronnie paused. “After she screamed, Sam or Rick fought Erik but lost. He yanked me out from under the table and dragged me in here. My head slammed against something hard, like a dresser.”

  “You’re in the downstairs guestroom,” I whispered. “How’s your hip? Any numbness in your legs?” I crawled to the nightstand and lifted the phone to my ear. Static.

  “I wish numbness. This pain is off the chart.”

  I sat beside her. “I killed him—Erik.”

  “That’s good, but get outside. Go to the neighbors and call the police.”

  “Their phones won’t work, either.”

  “You don’t know that. Go on! Try!”

  “Shh. Ronnie. I saw Jack Harwood upstairs.”

  “He’s dead. Our Jack really is dead,” she cried into my shoulder.

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “Erik knocked somebody out first thing. Probably Rick if not Sam.”

  “Sam is lying low in the dining room.”

  “Hurt?”

  “A bit.” I spared her the details. “Grant and my aunt are missing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ronnie whispered.

  “You rest. I’ll come back for you, hopefully with better news.” I pulled a pillow off the bed and placed it on the floor beneath her head.

  I lingered a few moments thinking about Caleb, maybe fatherless again, and Dana was determined to kill me before the night was over. He had Mom. Natalie. His cousins. My stomach soured when I pictured Rick dead. I had to muster enough courage to pass Erik’s fallen body on my way to the front door. As I was about to leave, a sphere of silvery light appeared in the doorway outside the guestroom.

  “Ronnie. Over there.”

  The light transformed into the figure of Jack Harwood. Curiosity covered his face while he watched us. Moments later, he slipped back into the hallway and I followed. In a distant part of the house, I heard arguing.

  “We need you, Jack!” I called out in a loud whisper. “We need light!”

  The fresh scent of soap permeated the air. I stopped directly in front of him. This was the last time I’d see him.

  “We miss you, Jack.”

  His light flickered.

  “Thank you for finding Ben. You helped us all, our son, Ronnie, and Grant. We love you.”

  The wind ceased. The living room lights illuminated.

  “We will find justice for you, Jack. Somehow we will.” />
  He nodded understanding. His glimmer blended into the brilliant light behind him. Still clutching the carving knife, I crossed the living room toward the front door. Erik’s body stopped me. He now laid flat on his back. A wooden-handled knife stuck upright out of his chest. His blank eyes stared upward. His mouth agape.

  I didn’t kill him.

  Sam laid on the dining room floor where I’d left him. Passed out, asleep, or dead. I yanked open the front door, stepped onto the porch, and jogged down the brick steps to the sidewalk. Total darkness up and down the street and beyond. I laid the bloodied carving knife under a pine tree, and then rang bells and pounded on doors all the way to the Petersons’ hedgerow. Impossible that no one was home. People were probably too terrified to open their doors. I turned back, staring at our house, a solid monstrous block beneath the full moon. Reluctantly, I returned.

  Sam held a bloodied finger to his lips. He pointed behind him. My brother lay on the floor near the dining room windows. Blood pooled beneath his head, soaking into the carpet. His matted hair glistened. I lurched forward, ready to run to Rick, but Sam shook his fist at the kitchen doorway, and I stopped.

  Ben was talking to someone. Dana responded. She raged on about how she had lowered herself to be our friend. We never gave anything in return. We flaunted our confidence, our loves, and happiness in the face of her many tragedies when she always deserved better than the life she had.

  I stepped softly around the table and crouched down beside my brother, pressed my fingers to his neck, skin cool to the touch. A weak pulse. I swallowed so hard it hurt. As I caressed his brow, tears sluiced down my cheeks.

  Inch by inch, Sam scooted his way to the wall across from me, red-faced from the effort. I stood up slowly. With my hand steadied on the back of a chair, I leaned sideways to peek into the kitchen.

  Dana had her back to me. Wet clumps bloodied her yellow hair. Her knuckles paled, clenching the butcher knife hanging at her side. Ben faced her from a good ten feet away, the breakfast bar between them.

  A line of blood trailed from his eyebrow, staining his collar crimson. The tiniest glance over her shoulder, and she’d know someone lingered behind her. Readying my own knife and bracing my palm flat against the wall, I eased myself beside the doorway.

  Ben’s voice was firm. “I think you enjoy killing.”

  She said nothing.

  “You are so heartless and disconnected you don’t consider people deserve to live.”

  She stood more erect. “Verminous little mice nibbling on the bits of kindness I showed them.” She took a step forward. “They threatened me.”

  My body tensed.

  “Threatened,” he laughed. “Nobody threatened you. You started creating your tragedies when you flipped your sister off the balcony.”

  Again, she said nothing.

  “Where is your mother, Dana?”

  I thought he might rush her when her chin dropped to her chest.

  “I don’t know. She’s been gone for years. Life gets lonely without love, Ben. Only you can understand how I feel. But now we are free to be together.”

  “I never loved you—I never made love to you—I never will love you. You don’t need me. You need a locked cell.”

  Her knife started shaking. Her hand slipped downward toward the blade. Blood dripped onto the floor.

  “Mallory never hurt you.”

  “She stole you!”

  “Lance Garner?”

  “His death hurt her more than yours did. That was the idea.”

  Ben heard that. I swallowed hard.

  He cocked his head. “You meant the poison for him?”

  She hesitated long enough for me to think she might turn and see me. I raised my knife.

  Then she spoke. “I painted his cup with it.” Her cackling sent shivers through me. “I wanted her to suffer before her cold, dead face stared back at me.”

  Ben took the risk. He glanced at me. I closed my eyes, hoping he’d look away.

  Dana spat out her words. “Then that bitch Ronnie Moore convinced her to go to Canada. I knew they’d find you. I had to stop them, Ben. For us.”

  “Dana. People are dead.”

  “Erik is dead. Good for us. And now you know the truth about Mallory. She’s hurting for Lance because she loved him. Not you. Let her go, Ben.”

  He winced. I wanted him to look at me. He looked down at the counter.

  “You couldn’t have had any gripe against Harwood.” He kept his eyes downward.

  “He planned on telling you and Mallory how I wanted to get her away from you.”

  “He knew?”

  Dana bobbed her head. “He knew I was waiting for the right time to get her out of town long enough for us to go away. I didn’t have to wait long, or I would have killed her besides Jack. But her grandmother died. How perfect.”

  Ben’s mouth formed the word “perfect.” His face reddened. “Did Jack know you planned on killing Mallory?”

  “He guessed, then he had to die.”

  “Who killed him? You or Erik?”

  “I did. For us.” She cackled again. “That was good. Right? But we don’t need to pretend anymore. Erik is dead and Mallory will go to prison. We can be together.”

  “I’ll jump at the opportunity.”

  Someone stepped behind me. Aunt Judith. She sported a blue lump beside a gash on her forehead. Blood-smeared tear lines streaked her cheeks. Her ripped sleeve exposed a sliced arm. Her hands were damp with sticky blood. I wrapped my arm around her waist. Judith rested her hand on my shoulder.

  Dana turned partway toward us, her once-beautiful face twisted into ugliness. Her knife hand turned outward.

  Sam yelled.

  Ben sprang around the counter.

  I stepped forward to lunge.

  Aunt Judith slid between us. Dana’s knife sliced across her abdomen. Judith fell sideways.

  Sam groaned.

  I chopped down on Dana’s wrist. The knife flew across the room. She grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my head backward. I uppercut her jaw openhanded and hard. Her hand released my hair. She grunted and fell back against Ben. His arms enveloped her from behind and he pulled her away from me.

  I dropped to my knees and cradled my aunt in my arms. The cold wetness on the back of her blouse was soaked from an earlier wound. The front of her was wet with warm blood. I raised her blouse an inch. Copious amounts of blood streamed from the severed flesh. I gently laid her on the floor to find dishtowels.

  “Stay with me,” I told her.

  Her lips formed a weak smile.

  I ran for towels to soak up the blood. I found and folded a small tablecloth to lay beneath her head and pressed the towels against her wounds.

  “Rick!” Ben shouted as he struggled with Dana.

  “He’s down,” groaned Sam.

  I ran to the mudroom closet and found rope to bind Dana’s hands. As Ben secured Dana in a chair, I returned to Aunt Judith. Sam had scooted closer to her.

  “Ronnie is hurt but she’ll be fine,” I told him.

  Aunt Judith brought her hand to my face and fingered my cheek. “You saw him. You saw your friend. I heard you ask Jack to bring back the lights.” She smiled. “My gifted girl.”

  Tears streamed down my face. “I love you, Aunt Judith. I really do.”

  “I accepted the task knowing the risk. Never thought this might happen. Don’t cry. She confessed. That’s better than we expected.” She paused to catch her breath.

  I smoothed her hair off her face.

  “You and Ben are good together,” she said. “Take care of Caleb.” Her voice was weak, breathless. “Give him a good life. Brothers . . . sisters.”

  “We will; we promise. When we have a daughter, we will name her Judith. I promise.”

  Her eyes went blank. She was gone.

  The side door pushed open. Jack Grant burst into the kitchen carrying Tony’s hockey stick.

  “Erik’s damn van is blocking the driveway. I ran p
ast Franklin Avenue to get service.”

  “Jack!” I cried.

  He saw Aunt Judith. His eyes met mine. He pressed his company phone against his ear. I pointed into the dining room and Jack went straight to Rick.

  Ben joined me beside Aunt Judith’s body. He helped me stand and held me close at his side and looked into the dining room behind us.

  “Rick is barely alive,” I said.

  Sirens blared in the distance.

  I stared at Dana until my stare made her look away. “I want the truth out of you.”

  “What truth?” she snapped.

  “Does Chad know Ben is alive?”

  “He came up with the idea to take you to Tennessee, not me. He called you his perfect prize.”

  I laid my head against Ben’s shoulder. He stroked the back of my head but said nothing.

  Sirens shut off outside the house. I heard men’s voices. I swallowed hard.

  Dana paused as if considering how the truth would impact the years of prison ahead. “He raped Amy Hannigan, you know.”

  My jaw dropped.

  Dana bowed her head. “I went out with Erik to piss off Harwood. Everybody got drunk. Stoned. Amy was screaming. Erik was too wasted to break down the door. Chad hurt her bad.”

  “You held that against him instead of going to the police?” asked Ben.

  “I helped both of us.”

  “You got Mallory away from me by blackmailing Chad,” Ben guffawed.

  “A matter of convenience. A good thing Amy was too ashamed to tell. He’s told me for years how much he’s hated the package he ended up with—her and that kid.”

  My body flushed hot. “You and Chad talk?”

  “Yes, we talk. All the time.” Shaking her head at me, she grinned, “I’ve even been to Tennessee several times. We’ve have had our share of fun. What a disappointment you turned out to be.”