by Nikki Chase
“I don’t even know your husband,” I say weakly from the floor.
“Of course you don’t,” she says condescendingly, like she can’t believe how stupid I am. “He moved away long before you came here. With a woman just like you. She took my husband from me, but I’ll never let that happen to any other woman in Ashbourne.” Christine shoots me a sharp glare and pauses to let the weight of her threat sink in.
I watch her, dumbfounded. My eyes blink frequently because of the bright light behind her. Maybe I do look like an idiot, but I honestly don’t know what to say. S
he’s punishing me for her husband having left her for another woman, a woman I don’t even know? Is she serious?
“When Bertha told me her daughter used to work at a strip club with you, I knew exactly what I had to do. I feel bad for Nancy, but maybe what happened was for the best. She used to be such a good girl. I never would’ve imagined she’d end up being a stripper,” she says, spitting out the last word like it’s caked with dirt.
“I’ve changed. I have a new life now,” I say.
I don’t actually have any moral qualms about being a stripper. I wouldn’t have worked at the Pussy Club for so long if I did. I just want to try appealing to her sense of compassion. Maybe if I act like I’m remorseful, she’ll let me go.
“Women like you don’t change,” Christine says. “You act like you’re just a good little schoolteacher, but I know it’s all a lie. You’re putting on a mask. I can see right through you. You think I don’t see you, seducing multiple men in town? That neighbor of yours, the date you were on when I called you. You think men are toys. You don’t care about them, or their families.”
“They’re single.” I know this is a stupid response, yet I can’t help but point out this fact. I honestly don’t see how I’m a threat to all womankind when I’m not even friends with any married men—except for Tony, but he doesn’t count here.
“Sure, it starts with the single men. Sooner or later, you’ll catch some married men in your web as well. Luckily for Ashbourne, I’m here to stop you.”
Who does Christine think I am? Some kind of a polyamorous seductress on a quest to build my own harem of men? I can’t understand how she could believe her own fantasy. She seemed so normal before tonight!
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I tried to tell you to leave, but you just wouldn’t budge.” The way Christine looks at me as she says that, you’d think she was doing me a favor with the break-in, the threatening letter, and the poison for Max. How nice of her to try to resolve this without hurting me, how noble.
“Maybe I would’ve, after you poisoned my dog,” I say.
“Maybe. But you have that guy staying with you now,” she says, scrunching her nose like she finds it absolutely offensive that two consenting adults are sleeping together under one roof.
“When I saw you come here, I knew that was the right time. I was going to wait until tomorrow, when you were supposed to let the repairman in, but this was better. Sometimes things just turn out better than you could ever plan,” she says with a cheerful smile on her face.
She crouches down, looks threateningly at me with her crazy eyes, and strokes my cheek with her cold fingers. “I’m going to destroy your pretty mask, so everyone can see the real you, the way I can see the real you. This is the only way to protect the town from you. I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.”
Christine stands up abruptly and strolls toward the kitchen. She stands in front of the shiny magnetic strip on the tiled backsplash, choosing a knife as she hums the cheerful tune of Mack the Knife.
A chill runs down my spine. She’s going to cut me?
I stretch my limbs as much as I can, trying to grab onto something, anything that can help me get up and run away. But I just end up kicking one of the wicker chairs in the living room, making it fall on the floor with a loud crash.
Christine calmly turns around and smiles when she sees what I’ve done. Obviously, I don’t pose any threat to her.
I keep trying, but I’m only strong enough to topple pieces of furniture onto their sides.
I should’ve listened to Jacob. He was right; it wasn’t safe for me to be on my own. It should’ve been obvious that some deranged person wants to hurt me, and yet I was doing whatever I wanted, oblivious to the dangers facing me.
I wish Jacob were here, and not just because he could rescue me from this crazy woman. I desperately need comfort right now. Somehow, unexpectedly, he has become the most comforting thing I can think of.
Chapter 36
Jacob
I'm about to fucking lose my mind.
I know I can just walk away and that's probably best for both of us, but I know that's not a good idea either.
If I go home right now, I’d just end up lying in the dark, wishing I’d gone inside Bertha's house. I’d drive myself crazy, thinking about why she's angry at me, wondering how I should've done things differently, trying to come up with ideas to make it up to her.
I’ve been running all over town looking for Jessica, trying to make sure she's safe. Now that I’ve finally found her, I can't just leave without seeing her. That would be crazy.
I walk down the concrete pathway leading to Bertha's front door. After I changed her locks, Bertha told me to place one set under her welcome doormat.
I crouch down to lift it up and see nothing but concrete. Of course. If Jessica used the spare key to get in, then she’d have it with her inside.
If I can't get in on my own, maybe I should ask Jessica to let me in. Sure, it sounds ridiculous to suggest that she’d let me in when the reason why she's here in the first place is to avoid me. But there’s no harm in trying.
I press the raised round button by the door and hear the speaker inside play some electronic tune.
The door doesn't open, but I hear voices inside. Female voices.
That's strange. If Jessica needed to talk to anybody, the person she'd approach would probably be Tony. I'm not aware of her having any close female friends. At least that's what her phone records indicate.
Maybe I’m wrong and she has a girl friend after all, or maybe she's just watching TV.
Whatever it is she's doing, it obviously doesn't involve opening the door for me.
Maybe I should leave her alone after all, give her some time to cool down. The police said they were going to come see the backyard in the morning, which means she's coming home in a few hours. I can wait a few hours.
I turn around to leave. Just as I’m about to reach the sidewalk, I hear a soft crash inside.
I ring the doorbell again, but there's still no response.
I round the house to get to the backdoor. Bertha doesn’t keep any spare key in the backyard as far as I know, but Jessica could've left it open. I turn the doorknob and push.
It doesn't budge. I should've known. It's just not my night.
There's nothing else I can do, unless I want to break something to get in, and I feel like that would be overkill. I don't care about Bertha hating my guts, but I know it would only make Jessica angrier. I don’t want her to report me for trespassing when the cops arrive in a few hours.
Just as I pass a window on the side of the house, I hear another crash.
Okay, once could've been an accident, but twice is suspicious.
Sure, Jessica's in a sour mood, but she wouldn't destroy things that belong to other people.
Maybe something's wrong after all. Maybe she's not doing well. She could be sick, or she could be held prisoner in there by someone.
“Jessica!” I yell by the window.
I'm not leaving until I see her and make sure she's fine, at the very least. Maybe that’ll make her angrier, but who cares? What's she going to do, give me two silent treatments instead of one?
“Jessica!”
I know I’m being way too loud. There's no sound in the neighborhood other than the occasional calls of nocturnal animals. I have a feeling th
e neighbors aren’t going to be as forgiving to me as they are to the owls and the coyotes.
On the bright side, if I’m bothering the neighbors, I’m probably bothering Jessica too. After all her hard work trying to be nice to everybody, she wouldn't want it to be undone by me.
“Jessica! I know you're in there, and I’m not leaving until you see me!”
When she still doesn't reply, I know for sure something's not right.
I may have changed the door locks, but the windows are still old. I know the lock on one window in particular is broken. I told Bertha about it when I changed her locks, but I'm pretty sure she hasn't had a chance to fix it.
I find the window and, sure enough, it slides open easily. I climb inside and find myself in a bedroom.
From here, I can vaguely hear some talking. It's definitely not coming from a TV. It's a woman's voice, but not Jessica's. Who is this woman?
I open the bedroom door quietly and follow the voice. It gets louder and louder until I can finally make out what she's saying.
“Now that he's gone, we can get on with the program,” she says cheerfully. “We're going to peel off that mask of yours so everyone can see the real you.”
What’s going on? Is this some kind of a makeover thing? I know girls do weird shit during PMS or after breakups, but is it really an appropriate reaction to your dog being poisoned? I wonder if Jessica thinks we have broken up, because she’d be wrong. She's still mine and always will be.
“No. Please don’t.” Jessica’s voice. She sounds weird, though, like she’s not fully awake, like she’s drunk.
This is starting to seem more and more like a post-breakup scene. It’s beginning to piss me off. As I get closer to the women, lurking in the shadows, I wonder what Jessica’s thinking.
If she’s that broken up about it, then why would she decide to leave me? And if she’s not leaving me, then what is she doing drinking and having a makeover instead of coming home?
Who is this woman anyway? Jessica has never mentioned having a close girl friend.
Maybe there are still parts of Jessica’s life that she’s hiding from me. After all my effort in earning her trust and getting her to open up to me, maybe she still doesn’t take me seriously.
“Where should we start? I wonder…” The woman crouches in front of Jessica, who’s lying down on the floor. Only Jessica’s hips and legs are visible from where I stand, but she seems unharmed.
The unknown woman has long, blonde hair so light in color that it’s almost white. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a black shirt. From her voice and her skin, I’d guess she’s in her forties.
Again, I wonder if I should wait until the morning, when Jessica comes home to see the cops. If she’s intoxicated, it’s probably not a good idea to talk right now anyway.
“Please don’t,” Jessica repeats. She starts to sob. “Please, Christine. I’ll do anything. I’ll move. I’ll go away like you want me to. I won’t tell anyone.”
Okay, that doesn’t sound like girl talk anymore. It’s fucking weird. Jessica’s begging and crying, but her voice sounds like she’s barely awake.
Fuck. I should’ve fucking known.
She’s being drugged. That’s the only possible explanation.
“It’s a little too late for that,” the woman called Christine says. She pulls out a kitchen knife and drags it over Jessica’s cheek. The light from the kitchen glints off the blade.
Christine must be the “guy” who’s been terrorizing Jessica. I’d been so focused on Steve and Caine—even Tony, for fuck’s sake—that I’d overlooked other possible suspects.
I should’ve brought my fucking gun. It’s too late now to go back home and get it. I don’t have any weapon on me, not even a knife.
I calculate the probability of me getting a knife from the kitchen without being heard by Christine, but it’s too risky. The kitchen opens to the living room, where the women are.
Ah, fuck it. I’ll just wing it.
Christine is just a civilian woman. I went through the toughest military training that exists and joined the country’s most elite special ops force.
I’m a little rusty now, but I’m still a tough motherfucker compared to most guys, much less some housewife who wears all black to commit a crime, just like every single bad guy in every action movie ever.
I step lightly, crouching a little as I approach the women.
My plan is to get as close as I can to Christine without being detected and incapacitate her. It sounds simple when I put it like that, but it’s far from easy.
For starters, most of the lights are off, except for the ones in the kitchen. This means that they’ll cast my shadow in front of me. If Christine sees my shadow on the floor, that would be the end of stealth mode, and the start of open confrontation.
Even though I’m stronger and more skilled in close combat, Christine has a weapon and I don’t. I need to move fast before she stabs me—or worse, Jessica.
Christine is also crouching really close to Jessica. Way too fucking close. If I make the slightest mistake, Christine could quickly grab Jessica and use her as a human shield, make me do whatever she wants. At that point, it’s game over. My superior strength and skills don’t matter if that were to happen.
I’m about three feet behind Christine now. Pretty close, but not close enough. I hunch a little lower.
“You have such pretty skin. Too bad it’s just a mask, although it’s a really good one. It’s almost a waste,” Christine says, still using the blade to stroke Jessica’s face. “What kind of face cream do you use?”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Jessica says.
Those three little words sound so hot. I love how badass she can be, how she doesn’t take any shit from anybody. Jessica must’ve noticed me approaching, but she’s not giving away any clues, as far as I can tell.
Christine laughs, her head thrown back and her shoulders shaking. In her mind, she’s the one in control and Jessica’s insult means nothing.
But Christine is fucking wrong. When she throws her head back to laugh, she stops paying any attention to the floor. She would’ve noticed my shadow if she did.
I take one big step and crouch down, low on the floor. In one smooth, sweeping move, I grab Christine’s arms.
Christine cries out in surprise, then tries to swing her knife-wielding hand. With her arms held down, she can’t make a big arc. I manage to incapacitate her in seconds, but not before she manages to swing her knife at me.
I pry the knife from Christine’s fingers and throw it across floor of the living room. She screams at the top of her lungs as the knife lands with a dull thud on the wooden floor.
I push Christine down on the floor, holding both her wrists behind her. She puts up one hell of a fight, screaming and pulling and kicking. In her new position, though, she can’t hurt anybody.
“She’s using you! I’m just trying to save you!” Christine glowers over her shoulder at me.
“What the fuck is she talking about?” I frown as I give Jessica a quizzical look.
Jessica says nothing. Instead, tears start to flow freely from her eyes, streaming down toward the floor, wetting her brown hair and making it look darker.
“Are you okay, baby? Did she hurt you?” My heart hammers in my chest. I could keep my cool when I was in the midst of the action, but now, seeing Jessica crying her eyes out gets me all worked up.
Still saying nothing, Jessica shakes her head. She’s not hurt. I let out a relieved sigh.
Holding Christine’s wrists with one hand, I use my free hand to fish my phone out of my pocket. I place it on the floor in front of Jessica. As gently as I can, I ask, “Can you call the cops for me, baby?”
Jessica nods. She raises her hands weakly to pick up the phone and dial. Her movements are slow and her speech is slurred as she calls the police, but she’s lucid enough to make it clear this is an emergency. The cops are coming.
“You’re going to pay for this,” I sa
y as I give Christine a shove. I’m not one to hurt women, but this particular woman deserves at least that.
“Jacob.” Jessica’s weak hands drop my phone down on the floor loudly. She raises her eyebrows and starts to cry again.
“What’s wrong, baby?” My chest tightens and my blood runs cold. It’s like there are sharp, frozen shards of ice in my rib cage. Has Jessica just realized how badly she’s hurt? Did she just hear some bad news from the cops?
“You’re hurt,” she says, her gaze on my abs.
I look down to where Jessica’s looking. Sure enough, there’s a patch of red on the front of my white shirt. The blood continues to spread wider and wider, making the red patch larger.
Christine has managed to stab me after all. I guess the adrenaline has been helping me block out the pain.
Chapter 37
Jessica
By the time the police arrives, Jacob has tied Christine’s hands behind her back with his belt.
When they knock on the door, he gets up and opens it with both his hands raised so they know he’s not a threat.
The long cut on Jacob’s abdomen has stained his white shirt red. Even though I still can’t fully open my eyes and my vision is blurry, I can see it hurts for Jacob to raise his hands, as the stance forces him to stretch his torso.
He’d feel more comfortable if he kept his hands down, maybe press one hand against the wound. The steady pressure would help slow down the bleeding.
I can’t blame anyone for looking at Jacob and deciding he’s a threat, though. Especially not under these circumstances.
The cops got a phone call from a woman who was obviously not fully conscious. When they get there, they see one big, intimidating man, and two women, both of whom are incapacitated. If they assume Jacob is the guy responsible, it would be a pretty reasonable conclusion, everything considered.
Still, I can’t help but feel bad for Jacob. It’s not fair that, even though he’s my hero, he’s the one being treated like the criminal. They pat him down and, realizing he has a wound, get a paramedic to take a look at him.
