by Lime Craven
"She's in the bedroom," says Harvey. "Don't touch anything. You've got five minutes before the police arrive—we couldn't stall calling them any longer."
I say nothing.
Even if I had words, they're all stuck behind the horrendous lump of knowing that prods at my gag reflex.
Tuija's bedroom is surprisingly sparse. She must've poured all of her personality into her office because here, the walls are white and bare, the beech furniture awkwardly put together as if she gave up mid-assembly and didn't fix in all the screws. There are no family photos or trinkets. No calendar full of social events. A couple pairs of heels lie scattered by her closet, as if someone kicked their way through them.
Perhaps they did.
I don't want to look on the bed, but I know I have to.
Would you believe it if I said I'd never seen her naked? It's the truth. Tuij and I were only ever platonic. Maybe I could understand Leo and Rachel's arrangement a little better if we'd been anything else, but no. We were friends, if you could even call it that.
We aren't friends anymore.
We aren't friends because Tuija is dead.
She's draped across the bed, half-obscured by a white sheet. Eyes still open and blood shot. Her face is oddly beautiful, all pale and scrubbed free of makeup; she looks like a mannequin. A wax doll. One large breast spills from beneath the cover, its nipple pink and erect. Stiff, probably.
All of lifeless Tuija is soft and stiff at once.
"Firecracker?" I don't sound like myself. I sound like I smoke forty a day.
A messy purple bruise circles her throat. Somebody strangled my redheaded rocket.
My fingers hover above her blank face as if they can somehow conjure new life, but nothing happens, the room is still dim and motionless and smells like damp. There's a faint undercurrent of the clean, sharp perfume I always told her I hated, but suddenly I don't hate it at all.
Harvey comes up behind me. I recognise his heavy gait.
"It was a break-in. The door was just pushed shut. We don't know how long she's been like this—probably happened in the middle of the night."
"Can I cover her?" I find myself asking.
"You can't touch a thing. Aeron—shit. Look at how they did it."
They choked her.
Just like my mother was choked.
"I have an alibi," I grind out. "Leo even has a camera in her kitchen...I'll be on there."
He nods. "It's the police you have to convince. Not me. We both know who's responsible here."
I blink. Am running on empty, scraping the rough edges of my own brain. "Who?"
"Montgomery," he hisses. "His people."
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Shit.
He couldn't have got to Leo; I was with her all night. So he skipped my heart and went straight for my main artery.
He went for Tuij.
"The police have arrived," someone calls through from the living area.
"Better get your ass out of here." Harvey clamps a big hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let them get in here and find something to nail the bastard."
"I can nail him," I utter. "I already did nail him. To a fucking cross."
And Tuija has paid the price, though she warned me. Hell, even Harvey warned me. It's the dead elephant in this cold, cold room.
"Sir," Harvey says firmly. "You need to move."
I take one last look at Tuija, whose hands are thrown above her head—probably where they were held down—in a vague mockery of a salute. Just the way she used to do in the office.
Of all the words that cross my mind, I can only form an apology.
I'm sorry, firecracker. This wasn't your fault.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
15
Love (noun): an empty, endless pit idiots fall throw themselves into without caring who will catch them or when.
If there was ever a story to overshadow Montgomery and his twink, it would be this one. Two women, both connected to me in various, shadowy ways, both dead in a matter of days. As far as the media are concerned—even my media—Tuija was my ex. So was Rachel. I finally make a public announcement about a relationship and these girls are quickly deceased, one in a suspiciously similar manner to my mother. A murder I was accused of, connected to.
Of course the police have questions. I'm better armed this time with a good lawyer, but I'm still at the precinct for eight hours, until Leo delivers the footage from her kitchen camera. If she sent the whole thing, they'll see her on top of me. See us fucking.
I can't even bring myself to care.
Even with my solid alibi, there are questions of conspiracy to consider. When the fuckers can't find anything to charge me with, they release me into Harvey's custody, and a police escort accompanies us to a hotel where a suite has been rented for me.
I can't go home. There are too many eyes on me; I must hide.
I need a shower.
I need to call Ash.
I need to see Leo, and I need her to bring that fucking scalpel so I can paint myself some rose-tinted glasses in the mess of another cut. At this rate, I'll end up slicing myself open if I can't do...something...
"Is Leo coming?" I ask Harvey as he walks me to my suite.
"She'll be here in ten." He regards me. "Sir. About Tuija. I'm...I'm sorry."
I swallow dry air. "Thank you."
"I should have thought about the possibility, with the photos going out. But I didn't—"
"You didn't know." Because I didn't tell him I was running the story. My petty impulses got in the way and I didn't give him time to plan.
"We're making all the necessary arrangements. Her parents have asked us to delay a funeral until they can come over from Finland."
"Very well." I slip the key card into the hotel suite door, and float through it. The world doesn't feel like its axis are quite right. "You can go now."
"Call me if you need anything. Anything at all. We left a new cell on the bed—your sim card is in."
"That's very thoughtful." It's like I'm operating on backup power. Utterly drained.
The door closes behind me with a thud, and then I'm staring around at this pretentious, antique-style old suite with its four poster bed and gold thread tapestries. Who the fuck looked at this in the brochure and thought, hey, Aeron's enough of a dick that he'd love a place like this?
I don't want old furniture pretending to be more expensive than it is, or ridiculous sheet thread counts, or macademias from the mini bar. I just want to close my eyes and smell Leo. Or to float back further, to a time when I hadn't held a scalpel yet and things weren't simple, but they weren't utterly fucked, either.
After a brief, hot shower, I change into the clothes left for me on the bed—a pair of track pants and a tee—and I give Ash a call.
"Hey," says Ethan, his voice strained. "Um. How are things? You're out, yeah?"
"I'm out. Holed up in a hotel downtown." I pick at a cuticle near my thumb, watch the skin pull. A faint flash of crimson taunts me. "I didn't mean to leave Ash with you for so long. You'll be compensated."
"It's not a problem," he says kindly, because that's what Ethan and his fucking conscience always say.
"Is Ash around?"
"Of course. Yeah. One sec...Ash!" He wanders off. Footsteps, cartoons on the TV. Ash's familiar squeal.
He bursts on to the receiver in a rush of static. "Aeron! Where are you?"
"Hey champ."
"You missed pancakes."
"I did. Well, shi—I mean, crap. I mean...yeah, I missed them. I'm sorry, buddy." I rub at my damp hair. "Listen. I got real caught up with work, but I'll be home in a few days, okay?"
He sighs in that heavy, exasperated way kids do. "You promise?"
"Yeah. We'll catch a game together."
"Cool." He pauses.
I pick at my cuticle again.
"You still Batman?" he asks.
"What?" Then I remember—practically the last time I saw him. God, it feels like
it's been a while. "I...not right now."
"Me either. I got tired of being Batman. His mask really sucks."
All masks suck. I'm so sick of them; I have so many to rip off.
A knock sounds at the door.
Leo. Thank fuck.
"Listen, champ. I gotta go now." I press my lips together. "My girl's here."
His tone goes up an octave with curiosity. "The one you're gonna marry?"
"Maybe. I think so."
"Awesome. You go do romance then."
"I will." I find myself smiling. "See you soon."
"Byeeeee!" he sings.
And then I'm dropping the phone, hurrying to the door, and scooping a bundle of smoke and honey and sweet, warm skin into my arms.
"Aeron," she mumbles against my mouth. "Aeron, I—"
"Jesus Christ, I missed you."
"I saw you this morning." She edges back, peering up at me through loose streaks of hair. She's all made up again. Fierce-looking black eyes, smudged and wild and pretty. Lips half-kissed with patterns of gloss. "I suppose a lot has happened since then, huh?"
I nod. I don't want to talk about Tuija.
I never want to talk about Tuija again.
"Don't just stand there," I say, ushering her toward the bed. "Come on in." Then I shuffle up behind her, my palms melting over her breasts, and she lets out a little sigh.
"I hope you brought what I asked," I whisper.
"I brought...something..."
"Huh." I turn her, press my forehead to hers. Inhale the spice and citrus of her perfume. "You miss me?"
She brushes her lips over mine. "I have to talk to you about something."
"You okay?" I grope around along the rise of her buttocks, feeling through her clothes for the dressing. "You taking care of yourself here?"
She winces as I catch the edge of the wound. "It's not that."
"Then what is it...? Is it about Rachel?"
"No. Not yet." She sniffs. Shrugs. I almost see a hint of a bitter smile. "I just...the Tuija thing. It's made me feel a little funny."
The image of pale, waxy mannequin Tuija fills my brain, and no matter how hard I bite my tongue, it won't leave. "Well...yeah."
"I didn't really know her. But she was close to you. I know she meant a lot. I'm so sorry, Aeron...I don't know what to do for you, I..."
"You don't have to do anything, baby. Let's not talk about it, okay?"
"But the other thing." She clears her throat. Collects herself. Pulls her hands from my waist and tucks them under her jacket. "When I was in her office this morning, I...I found some stuff."
"What stuff?"
Silence.
Leo smiles a little, but she trembles, and I search her face in confusion before I feel the nudge at my hip.
A cold nudge. A hard one.
Then there's a sound—or at least I think there's a sound—and I'm falling back, hitting the ugly fake tapestry carpet with a burning cheek and a strange, numb feeling, as if I don't have any legs. It's like diving underwater; the world spins and swims.
I'm vaguely aware of Leo's knees in my eye line. She's fallen beside me, making more sounds.
An image fades into view: the gun in her hand. Her finger still braced on the trigger. Leo lets off a harsh, hoarse wail, and I follow her gaze to my belly.
All red.
"I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She launches the gun somewhere behind me. It lands with a blunt thump.
The carpet beneath me grows wet and warm. I'm still swimming. I try to connect dots, to understand things—because I'm aware that I should be doing that—but half my brain won't work.
"I saw your fucking website plans for SilentWitn3ss," she weeps. Her tears shine like diamonds—they're beautiful and precious, and I can suddenly taste the salt of them on my tongue, as if it's where they should always land. "I know what you were planning. You promised me! This wasn't even in your fucking contract, you snake!"
Oh.
So...that's what this is about. It all feels very casual, like any other lover's spat.
Only this time, I'm the one who's bleeding. A lot of bleeding. A steady ooze of blood.
"I let you take enough already, but you are not going to fuck over my baby. Oh god, I've been so stupid." She's hysterical. I've seen her broken, coming, just plain coming apart...but these sounds feel coarse in my ears. "This is what I have to do," she tells herself. "This is what's left."
"Leo," I manage. I sound like a little girl.
"Shut up. I'm not talking to you!"
"Sweetheart...pl—please..."
She keeps flashing in and out of focus. "Shut up! I have...things. Things I need to say to you."
So do I, I want to say, but the words are already bleeding out of me. My legs tingle. The muscles contract.
She lets out another feral sob. "I don't have OCD. I never had OCD."
I take a dry, rasping breath. She's inches from me and yet, so far away.
"I needed something to get into therapy, to be with Rachel." She draws an arm across her wet face, feathering her makeup and dragging trails in her nervous sweat. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"
Another rasp.
No. But you're still Leo.
"About six years ago, you paid somebody a lot of money for an alibi," she croaks. "Your security guys came in one night and they needed something, just a little something, for a lot of money. They paid that money to my Mom, Aeron. They came in and told her that if she kept quiet and told a little white lie, our problems, they'd be over."
Oh fuck.
"When my parents divorced, my dad paid for stuff like school, but he left Mom pretty high and dry," she goes on. "I mean, things were okay...but they were going to get a whole lot worse for her when I turned eighteen. I get that, you know? I saw where she was coming from. Then I came home from school for the holidays, and she told me how we didn't have to worry anymore. And she told me why." She bleats out a laugh wrought with despair. "Didn't take a fucking Einstein to figure out that it was you. And that...that you were guilty, Aeron. I know what you did to—to your mother." More tears. "I always knew. Do you know what that's like? To be that age and realise that men with enough money can get away with anything? It's like losing more than innocence. It's like having the entire sodding rug pulled from under you, this knowledge that nobody is ever really safe. I had this—this knowledge—but I couldn't prove it, and I couldn't use it to put away this very bad man because I'd break the agreement. It was like this constant threat."
I want to nod. Yes, I understand. As much as I can. I've always known that the world is a fucking horrible place; I only wanted to take care of her.
I've been doing that for longer than I knew.
"You're awfully quiet," she says softly.
I blink at her. Take deep breaths. "L-Leo. I won't..."
I won't make it.
Look at all this motherfucking blood.
"No, I'm not done yet. I have to get this out." Her bottom lip trembles; she's cut apart and I can't reach to heal her. "I don't know what happened. I think maybe the divorce had hit me hard...I started to read about you. Follow the news. I knew this part of you that hardly anyone else did; I felt like we had this weird intimacy. And we had money, so I used...I used...I hired an investigator. I just wanted to find something to help, because they dropped the charges against you, even though they hadn't arrested anyone else. Mostly the investigator was pretty useless, but he found out that your mother paid off another family a while before."
The Fordhams.
I need her to talk faster. My eyes are watery; I'm slipping away.
"So I looked up Rachel, who was at school with you. And she was in therapy. So I went to therapy. I found her there, and we talked, and...oh, we had a lot in common." Her voice drops with bitter sarcasm. "I had to do a few things I never counted on to make her talk. She really liked me. I did what I had to. God, I'm a horrible person." More tears, blurred in my vision but just as beautiful. I wis
h she'd stop crying. "When I found out what you did to her, I...I was curious...I knew this other part of you again. I held on to her. She was the only part of you that I could touch."
If I could, I'd laugh. Hysterically.
Firecracker, you were so on the money. My Princess Priss is more fucked than you ever knew.
And I don't care.
"I never thought we'd meet. That you'd notice me. I didn't know what to do with myself when you did. I still don't because I'm a fucking idiot. But you...you're worse. You're poison," Leo weeps. "All the women you touch end up dead. Your mother, Rachel, Tuija. None of them asked for it—"
I growl at her.
My mother, she fucking asked for it. She may as well have dropped to her knees and begged.
"Don't bother trying to defend yourself," Leo spits. "I wised up. I took care of things. I did what I had to do. What I should have done to begin with." She puts her face back in her arms, her knees pulled tightly together. "I...I did...had...do. I'm not...like you. Not...killer."
I can barely even hear her.
Can't focus.
Can't feel.
I pull strength from some strange place inside and force out four faint words. "Do you love me?"
"I try not to," she sobs. "I try not to!"
"B-because I...I love you..."
She almost roars. Leo isn't Leo anymore, but a river weeping herself far, far away.
My vision shrinks to pin pricks. I'm vaguely aware that the cold streaks dripping from my chin are tears.
I used up my last shreds of energy just talking. Breathing. Leo has said her important things, and I have said mine.
Perhaps it's time to go. It would be easy. I could slip and slither, my belly so wet, so sore.
I could go see my firecracker. Put her up somewhere real nice.
Leo's talking again, though I can't...quite...make...
"Hello? Is that 911?"
Leo...? Are you still there...?
"Sorry...I'm a mess...oh God. I did a bad thing..."
A flash. A flutter.
The dark kneels down to greet me.
Can you hear the piano, grasshoppers? That's some rockabilly shit.
EPILOGUE
Leontine
Six months later
My therapist's office is an obstacle course of risk.
