The Righteous and The Wicked

by April Emerson

  “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

  The voice is familiar. She knows that voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Aaron enters the restaurant alone. Emma’s lovely friend, Deborah, directed him here by drawing a map on a scrap of paper he found in the rental car. She was so sweet and helpful, and he’s thankful she was there waiting for him. Otherwise, he would have been forced to stay at the house, waiting for God knows how long.

  He’s anxious to see her. To hold her and beg her for forgiveness. He ambles inside the restaurant and finds some couples dancing to soft music and some seated. He searches for his wife’s fair features: her luminous skin, long shimmering hair . . . and her eyes. He can’t wait to see her angelic eyes.

  A commotion catches his attention. A tall man in a black suit is attacking another. The brawl is vicious, the disarray a surreal vision in this elegant location. Aaron walks toward the men, hoping to stop them—and then he sees her.

  Emma is distraught. Her hands are on either side of her face as she shrieks and screams. Her shocked and pained expression causes Aaron to rush to her. She attempts to grab one of the men with her tiny hands, but her effort to make peace is futile. An elbow flies and she stumbles, holding onto her head.

  Aaron’s lucky enough to pull his pained wife away before she is injured further. The feel of her frame in his arms soothes him. She feels like home. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

  He will never leave her side again.

  “Eric! Fucking stop it! Are you crazy?” Sean shouts in Eric’s ear, snapping him out of his bloodthirsty hysteria.

  The adrenaline coursing through Eric’s veins enables him to feel no pain, but he looks down at his battered and blood-covered hands, then at Ian’s smashed face, then at Emma. She’s buried in the chest of another man. A man who wears an expression of what appears to be deep-rooted concern and love. A man that Eric instinctively knows is Emma’s absent husband. They look like a couple who have held each other this way for years and years. They look like they belong together. Aaron slides his hand over Emma’s hair; he whispers to her and tries to comfort her. She looks safe in his arms.

  Loving her is not enough. The gift Eric has for Emma in his pocket is a dream. It was all a dream, and now he’s waking up. He surveys the once pleasant room. The scene before him is a chaotic catastrophe and his inability to control himself is the cause of it. Emma’s cheeks are tear-stained; her right eye is bruised and swollen shut. So much pain, all because of him.

  A flock of guests are tending to the beaten man on the floor, Jeff and Abby among them. They all look at Eric with disgust.

  He deserves it.

  A police siren screams in the distance. “You should get out of here,” Sean warns him.

  His heart is pounding, and the alcohol in his blood returns in a flood as the adrenaline fades. His stomach convulses with nausea. He’s sickened. He is evil and he will never be good. He will never be right for her. Everything he thought could be true is forgotten. A look of apology and sorrow is all he can give to Emma. Sean releases him from his grasp, and Eric runs.

  My Aaron.

  She has dreamed of this. She has longed for this moment. When he would return and take her pain, their pain away. She prayed for so long that he would come back and want to heal from their loss together. Emma’s prayer has been answered. She breathes in the scent of him, and she is lost in his protective touch. The touch that was absent from her life when she needed it most.

  Thunder booms and drags Emma from her memories back to reality.

  My Eric.

  Her eyes search for his, and she gasps in horror. He’s covered in blood. The Storm that she has witnessed in him so many times before is now dominating his whole being. It pulses through him and he shakes, confined in Sean’s thick arms. His eyes lock with hers. Her head swims, but she’s dying to go to him and take him away from this place. The prison of Aaron’s arms refuses to let her go. The look she saw in Eric’s eyes last night is nothing compared to what she sees now. Whatever fear he had then has been realized. Sean lets him go, and he begins to run.

  “Eric! Eric, no! Wait! Wait for me! Please, don’t go, don’t go!” She struggles to escape Aaron’s embrace and she’s successful, but he clutches her hand in his.

  “Baby, where are you going? Stay away from that psycho.”

  “No! Let me go, Aaron, I have to—”

  It’s not his hand or his words that stop her; it’s the feel of something hard pressing into her hand. The object that has bound her to Aaron in so many ways—his wedding ring. It digs into her hand as he grips her. The band of gold holds her to him. It pulls her back; it pulls her down, like an iron anchor dragging her to the bottom of the cold, black sea.

  In Aaron’s eyes, she sees the past. Their past. Every moment of their life together is reflected there, and she knows she can’t leave. She’s afraid for Eric and angry at her husband, but she won’t turn her back on Aaron the way he turned his back on her. She’s stronger now, she’s better, and she owes it to herself to get some answers from him. An explanation for why he abandoned her in their most sorrowful hour and what he’s doing here now.

  She watches Eric disappear through the door and, though it hurts her to let him suffer the night alone, she must. She will go to him tomorrow, but tonight she has to make peace with Aaron, so her heart can truly be free. Once she breaks the chains of her past she’ll be able to give her whole self to the man she now loves.

  Eric bursts through the door of the restaurant, out into the rain-soaked parking lot. Drunken, he stumbles, his fists sticky with blood, his ears ringing from the shouts and adrenaline. He slumps over and places his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He hears his name being called over and over again. “Eric, wait, wait, Eric. Stop!”

  He doesn’t heed the call but pushes forward through the rain toward the black Jeep.

  The person who is running after him is not Emma.

  It’s Danielle.

  “Eric! Wait!” Her heels click against the asphalt as she chases him. She wants to stop him from leaving and breaking Emma’s heart, but he gets in his car, and then he’s gone. All she can see through the rain are red taillights and a soaking-wet, small, crumpled white box in the now empty parking space. She stoops down to pick up the box and opens it. A small gold key and a note are inside.

  You have the key to my heart, now here is the key to my home. A home that I hope will not only be mine, but ours. I love you more than words can say, amorcita.

  Any ice Danielle had in her heart for Eric has melted. A tear escapes her eye, and she cradles the small white box in her hands.

  Eric swerves along the winding road, lucky to make it back to his trailer. He avoids his own reflection in the rearview mirror. He can’t stand to look at himself. The temptation to drive off a cliff is tempting. He pulls into his driveway and finds Deborah’s white car parked there.

  He slumps his shoulders in defeat, lets out a labored sigh, and gets out of the car. Deborah stands in the rain before him.

  He says nothing.

  She says nothing.

  He unlocks his front door and Deborah smiles as she follows him inside.

  Eric floats above himself and looks down at the scene before him. The drunken fog around him is thick, and he’s lost in it. He watches himself open the fridge and take out an ice-cold beer. He watches himself hold it to his sore and swollen cheek. He watches as he rinses the thick and sticky blood from his hands. The water runs crimson, then soft pink, then clear. The blood washes away but the searing pain in his heart does not.

  Eric watches, from his floating place, as Deborah sits down on his bed. He leans against the counter and floats, disconnected and numb. Deborah sits on his bed, but he sees Emma. He looks for Emma in her eyes. He’s unraveling like a discarded spool of thread, spinning out of control. He looks at the blond woman on his bed, the architect of this outcome, ready and waiting for him. He is splitting in two.

&n
bsp; Two choices. Two paths.

  He peers down both of the roads he could take. One is dark, and one is light. He lets himself imagine the possibilities that each of these journeys would provide . . .

  Deborah could make this feeling go away. He could have power over her, over something. He could let his demon rip her clothes from her body. He could make that smirk on her face melt into a look of ecstasy. He could taste her mouth and then make her taste him. He imagines the feel of her mouth around his cock. He could hold her head there until he finished, until she swallowed what he gave her. That release would just be the first. He could let his lust dominate him. He would bend her and fuck her a million different ways, slamming his body into hers until this sick, sinking feeling went away . . .

  Or he could leave. He could run through the muddy path to Emma’s door and wait for her. He could grab her, hold her and kiss her wounds. He could try to take her pain away. He could make love to her. To the woman he loves. The one who sees the good in him. Their love would outshine any past she has with Aaron. Her husband would leave when he saw the life Emma has now—with him.

  Or he could stop fighting this fucking endless battle. He could just surrender and never look back. He could stop trying to be something he’s not and let the abyss envelop him. He could let himself feel Deborah’s wet heat all around him. Her cries of passion would be a siren song luring him farther away from the life he tried—and failed—to lead. Just touching, just feeling, just owning her body—when she is spent and he has used her for what she is—he could hunt for more, and never stop hunting.

  He could never hunt again. Never hurt anyone again. He could fight against the sick need and the violent impulses. He could take Emma away from her decrepit and empty home and give her something new. Something not yet touched by the evil of this world. And in that new place, that new home, he could continue to hold onto the strength she gives him. He could try to keep his head above water with her by his side. With her hand in his . . .

  Eric floats, and watches as he travels down these divergent paths. One is easy. One is hard. One he deserves. One he does not.

  Deborah’s lips move but he doesn’t hear a word she says. She begins to disrobe. She unbuttons her shirt, her body damp from the rain. Her skin glistens with moisture and her rain-soaked, golden hair falls across her face.

  Eric moves. He comes away from the floating place and walks toward the willing woman who sits, half-naked, on his bed. Her face anticipates the devious indulgence. The desire to experience sin is written all over her face and body. Eric takes slow steps toward her. The beautiful blonde, the snake with the apple. His temptation. A woman like all of his other victims, ready to be taken, ready to see the black mark on his soul. He licks his lips as he approaches her, and takes her bare shoulders in his hands. He guides her off the bed so she’s standing before him, her shirt unbuttoned, her pants undone. He looks at her breasts, then at her eyes. She smiles.

  But Eric does not smile back. “Get . . . the fuck . . . out . . . of my life.” The words come out of him, laced with the disgust he feels for her.

  Deborah’s jaw drops. Her expression turns into a scowl. She jerks away from his hate-filled hands and pulls her shirt closed. She gathers her things in a livid haste, enraged at the rejection she has just endured. She grabs the doorknob, but stops. Before she opens the door, she turns and looks at the gorgeous man she knows she’ll never get to have. If he wouldn’t turn to her now, in this most lonely hour of his life, than he never will.

  “Let me tell you something, Eric.” His name floats in the air like a loathsome and dirty word. “She’ll never give you what you need. Little Miss Prim and Proper? Someone like her will never be enough for someone like you. You’ll get sick of her. She will get sickened by you. I know what kind of man you are. You’ll wake up one day and look at her, and you will feel empty. She can’t fill you. She’ll wake up one day and look at you, and wonder why she wasted her time. It can never work. The smartest thing you can do is to get the hell out of here. Happily ever after is bullshit, and you fucking know it.” She throws open the door and then she’s gone.

  Eric sits down on the edge of his bed and rakes his long fingers through his damp and disheveled hair. He closes his eyes and he’s floating again. He doesn’t want to believe Deborah’s right.

  A third path presents itself to him. This path hurts. This path is hard. But this is the path he must walk. This path will lead him where he needs to be. It’s the path that will save not only Emma, but himself. The righteous path.

  He grabs his coat, and walks through the woods toward her house. The last few stubborn raindrops fall and the light from the porch casts the driveway in a yellow glow. A green car is parked next to Emma’s, and Eric knows who it must belong to. The better man. Emma’s savior. He can see two silhouettes in the window. Aaron is inside with her, and Eric’s on the outside looking in.

  Dejected, he returns to his trailer. He opens a drawer, takes out a pen and paper, and forces his nearly broken hand to write.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  To have faith is one of the biggest challenges life can present. To believe without seeing, to trust without knowing. To continue to hold on to those beliefs and to that trust, when everything else is telling you not to—when the world is collapsing around you, and you’re faced with things you don’t understand—to have faith in those moments is brave.

  Emma stands amid the chaos that was once her friend’s engagement party. “What are you doing here, Aaron?”

  Aaron holds a napkin filled with ice to her bruised eye. “Your friend called me. She told me where you were, and that you weren’t doing well. I haven’t been doing well either, and I’ve missed you so much. Emma, I realize that I deserve any wrath you have in your heart for me, but please know that I’m here because I love you . . . and I’m sorry. I was depressed. I was grieving. I know that’s not an excuse, but I’m better now. I’m ready to try again. I’m sorry, baby. Please forgive me.”

  Emma doesn’t believe Abby or Danni would have called Aaron. She grabs his wrist and lowers his hand from her eye. “You’re sorry? Aaron, you destroyed me. How can you expect me to ever forgive you for that?”

  “I don’t expect this to be easy, but we need to work through things. I want to fix this. I’m ready now. I miss you so much.” He leans in to kiss her forehead.

  She moves to avoid his lips. Her head throbs with pain. “Just take me home.”

  He holds Emma’s body to his as he shields her from the rain. As they ascend the porch steps of her house, the wind chime clatters in the wind. The song that rings out is almost urgent, like it’s trying to warn her.

  She takes off her shoes and sits down at the kitchen table. Remembering his wife’s favorite drink, Aaron brews coffee and joins her.

  Emma takes a deep breath. “I have something I need to tell you. This may be shocking. It may be hard for you to hear—”

  “Baby, I know now that nothing can keep me from you. Nothing could ever make me love you any less—”

  Emma shakes her head at his pledge. “Stop. Just listen to me, please. Aaron, I met someone. I met someone else.”

  “What?”

  “You left me.”

  “And now I’m back. Just because I needed some time doesn’t mean you violate your vow to me. I haven’t touched another woman, Emma. I haven’t even looked at another woman! You’re my whole life. How could you do this to me? To us?”

  “Me? You abandoned me! You disappeared! What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

  Aaron’s shocked by his wife’s use of profanity. He has never heard her speak like this. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Eric. He’s the man who beat the other one tonight.” She looks at the floor, studying the pattern of the tile, afraid to meet his eyes.

  “You have to be joking. That guy is a monster, Emma. I could tell from the second I saw him. No good man could do what he did. Beating someone within an inch of his life? Hurti
ng a woman, and then running out? Yeah, he’s a real prize.”

  “You don’t know him. He was here for me when you weren’t.” Emma thinks of Eric, alone in his trailer right now, hurting. The urge to go to him is poignant.

  “Baby, I know I messed up. I’m sorry for what I said just now. I’m sure he was good to you when I wasn’t here. I know I should’ve called you, I should’ve explained. It just hurt so much. I was grief-stricken. Please, Emma. You have to forgive me. I’m ready to try again.” He takes her hands and pulls her to stand with him. He places his hands on her waist, and presses his forehead against hers.

  Lips that she once loved and craved linger just a breath from hers. A part of her wants to kiss him, to remember. He leans in to her. . . but she pushes him away.

  “Aaron, I love him.”

  He freezes. His face aghast, he places his hand over his heart and backs away from her. His expression reflects the pain he feels as a result of the wound she has just given him.

  “I love him, Aaron. And I want a divorce.” With those words, a ten-ton weight is lifted from Emma’s soul.

  Aaron shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”