by A. Gardner
An empty bench lifted up off the ground right next to me. I hurriedly walked around the back of the building towards Patrick and Lila, but the sound of something sharp piercing the sky stopped me dead in my tracks. My throat tightened so I had to force myself to gulp down a breath. I inhaled too much air and ended up sucking in a few snowflakes that made the edges of my nose freeze. I coughed and jogged behind the building.
The first thing that caught my eye was a pile of red snow.
Lila was on the ground in her wedding dress. She yelped out in pain as she clutched the side of her calf. Patrick was kneeling beside her, his eyes wide with a disturbed expression. In between the two of them was a shiny hand gun. It looked small enough to be concealed in a jacket pocket, but it was big enough to intimidate me. My eyes darted from Lila to Patrick.
"Patrick?" I spoke softly. A breeze rushed by me, and strands of my hair became unpinned. The wind had turned my head into a mop of curls, but that was okay. My hair hid the tiny droplets that formed in the corners of my eyes.
"Essie?" Lila looked right at me. She groaned as she squeezed her wound. Beads of dark red blood dripped from in between her fingers. "Get out of here!"
"No, Essie," Patrick blurted out. "It's not what it looks like."
I hesitated.
Part of me, the sensible part, wanted to run back to the hotel and wait for Sheriff Williams to sort this all out. But the other part of me knew the minute I turned my back someone might end up dead. I didn't know who that would be. My eyes skimmed over Patrick, focusing on the way his hands were opened rather than clenched. There was a blood stain on his knee from kneeling too close to Lila's open wound. My eyes then observed Lila. She clutched her calf desperately. It was obvious she had been shot. Her face grimaced from the pain as she attempted to stay sitting so she could watch me stay or go.
"Then what exactly is going on here?" I gulped.
"I didn't shoot her," Patrick pleaded.
"Oh, please," Lila argued. Her lip trembled and a tear trickled down her cheek. "Look at the gun. He just barely dropped it before you came around the corner."
I glanced down at the weapon – the gun that none of us had yet to reach for. The first person to lunge for it would be assumed to be the guilty party. The handle faced Patrick. It looked like it had been dropped into the snow near Patrick's right hand.
"Before you make any assumptions, Essie," Patrick shouted over Lila's groaning. "Remember Camp Viddletin? Eighth grade?"
I dove into my head and tried to remember Camp Viddletin. It was almost as if I opened up a filing cabinet in my brain and took out a folder labeled eighth grade. It was tradition at our middle school that each graduating class had the opportunity to spend the last week of the school year at a special camp before moving onto Bison Creek High. It was a week spent canoeing, hiking, and horseback riding. For me, it had been a week spent mostly in my cabin braiding friendship bracelets. There'd been one afternoon where Patrick and his posse walked past my window on their way to the archery station. I decided to casually join them, and I ended up shooting four bullseyes in a row.
I took a deep breath. What did Patrick want me to remember from that trip? We didn't talk much. Just the regular banter that middle schooler's say. Patrick had teased me at first for holding the bow wrong. Then I'd teased him for the way his toes pointed out like a penguin when he had taken his stance to shoot. He made me stand on the other side of him so he didn't have to look at me when he was trying to concentrate. I had to keep switching sides when it was his turn. Back and forth, and back and forth.
My eyes went wide as I looked at the hopeful half-grin on Patrick's face.
Patrick used his left hand to shoot arrows. I remembered the times I'd sat behind him in class watching him write right-handed. But he stood goofy-footed on his snowboard, always boasting that he was ambidextrous. He ate with his left hand. He threw with his left hand.
And he shot with his left hand.
I tucked a strand of wild hair behind my ear. I looked Patrick in the eyes and felt a piece of my chest warm up just enough to help me breathe easier.
"Don't let your feelings for him cloud the truth here," Lila stated. She frowned as she looked down at the crimson stain on her wedding dress. The dress was very form fitting. It hugged her fragile body, showing just how tiny she actually was. So skinny that the bones in her upper ribcage protruded from her chest and distracted from the little cleavage she did have. Her hair though covered in snowflakes was done up with an elegant piece of lace that matched her dress clipped underneath her up do. The dress was long-sleeved and classic, but it exposed her shoulders. It was as white as the snow around her. If she sat absolutely still she would have blended into her surroundings.
"What?"
"The connection between you two is so obvious." Lila leaned forward, looking like she might even attempt to stand. "But the fact that you are attracted to my fiancé doesn't change the fact that he's a murderer!"
"Lila," Patrick said quietly. "Don't do this. Let's all go inside and talk."
"I agree," I responded. More tears ran down Lila's cheeks as she looked at me.
"You're crazy too," she shouted. "Is everyone in this town completely mad? Hasn't anyone around here ever heard of binge eating or daytime television? That's how normal people deal with their problems. I'm tired of all the ‘he said, she said.’"
"Calm down," Patrick instructed her. "Let's go inside before we all freeze to death."
"Do you really think that I'd be stupid enough to shoot myself in the leg?" Lila cried. "That's insulting!"
"No one is saying that," Patrick replied. He glanced at me and then carefully leaned towards the gun. My entire torso felt heavy as he stared at it.
"Stop!" Lila screamed. "Don't believe him, Essie." She scooted forward in the snow, letting a white blanket of powder drift up her hem and ruin part of her dress. "He's a murderer!"
"I didn't so much as touch Donna," Patrick stated, raising his voice.
"That's a lie too." Lila scooted again. Her hand was inches from the pistol. "You touched her the night we got to this wretched town, and who knows what else."
"She was upset and she couldn't stop crying. I gave her a hug. That was it." Patrick shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you that nothing was going on between us?"
"Hmmm." Lila tilted her head playfully. The grimace erased from her face. She began acting like she hadn't been shot and she wasn't bleeding into a pile of flurries. "I don't know. At least a dozen more times."
Patrick raised his eyebrows. I took a few steps forward, my eyes glued on the gun.
"Stop it," I said looking to Patrick and then to Lila. "The both of you."
"Oh to hell with it," Lila muttered. In one swift movement she let go of her bleeding calf and scooped up the pistol. She slowly stood up and shifted her weight onto her good side as blood oozed down her leg, forming a crimson pool around her foot. She hardly even acknowledged it. Her expression was fixated on Patrick rather than the pain that was undoubtedly shooting up her extremities. "I've had it with the trips down memory lane. The secretive glances. The secret rendezvous on Canyon Street. I knew I couldn't trust you around her, Patrick." The look on Lila's face changed again in less than a second. Her gentle eyes became more still and doll-like. She didn't smile. The best way to describe the look on her face was that she had a devilish smirk.
"Now Lila…" Patrick took a couple of steps away from me, putting more distance in between the two of us. His gaze fixated on hers, holding her attention as best as he could.
"Just like I couldn't trust you around Donna, that waitress at the steakhouse in Miami, Bev even. When will it end, Patrick?"
The sound of Lila's voice sent chills down my spine. The nature of her allegations were serious yet she was addressing them like she was ordering a coffee. She pointed the gun at Patrick and casually stepped closer to him, limping to keep herself from falling.
"Put the gun down." Patrick had his hands u
p showing his surrender. "Let's talk about this inside." He was calmer and more collected than I would've expected him to be. He watched Lila with a look of disappointment on his face. His expression was far from showing any fear.
"No," Lila said lightly like she was possessed by a soft-spoken, innocent teenage girl who didn't believe murder was a crime. "I am going to keep it pointed at you until I make up my mind."
"Lila—" I started.
"Shhh," she cut me off. "It's not your turn yet." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. The blood on her calf had stained the bottom half of her dress and the red blotch was visible now.
"Why did you do it, Lila?" Patrick asked. "Donna was a good friend of yours."
"I know," she agreed. "Pity." She took a deep, calming breath. "But it had to be done. She can't just go around hugging people's fiancés and telling people my business."
"You mean telling people about those pills you are on?" I blurted out.
"Exactly." Lila didn't even look at me. I gulped, knowing I shouldn't have said any more to upset her. But the fact that she hadn't been upset with my comment confirmed the worst. If she didn't care what I knew about her anymore that meant she'd already decided to kill me. She had already tried and failed once before. "I hate those stupid things, but Franco breathes down my neck insisting I follow the doctor's orders. Wouldn't want to have a psychotic break on camera, he always says." She waved the gun slightly as she giggled.
"So those were your pills he was giving you?" I continued. "You don't think he could have … switched them?"
"Wouldn't make a difference," she giggled again. "I haven't been taking them. I find that I have more energy when I don't, and those pills make me bloat. I mean, who wants to feel like they're on the first day of their period every day? Not me, thanks."
"Oh, Lila." Patrick lowered his voice and hung his head.
"I don't regret it," she sang. "If I'd been on my meds I wouldn't have seen the spark between you too, and I wouldn't have seen through the lies of my dirtbag of an assistant. Every time he slithered off to answer emails I knew what he was really doing. When I would act a little bit suspicious he would do some spying for me to win back my allegiance. What a fool."
"It isn't too late, Lila." Patrick lowered his hands and walked towards his neurotic fiancée like the pistol between them didn't exist.
"Don't tempt me, sweetheart." Lila forced a fake smile.
"It isn't too late to turn yourself in and make all of this right. I'm sure what happened with Donna was partially an accident."
"Oh, it wasn't an accident," Lila admitted. "I killed her. It was so easy too. All I had to do was hand her the cupcake as a peace offering and she freely ate it. Then I held her underwater to keep her quiet. Nut allergies. Pathetic, isn't it."
My feet were like blocks of ice and not because they were actually partially frozen in place. Lila wasn't sorry for what she did. She kept on smiling and talking in the tone of a cheery teenage cheerleader about to go on her very first date with a guy on the football team. I wondered if she had that same look on her face when Donna had been struggling to breathe. It made me sick even to wonder. Lila was clearly a psychopath.
"Lila—" Patrick moved closer despite that Lila had just confessed to murder.
"Not another step, dearie."
"But—"
BANG!
Patrick was interrupted by the pull of a trigger. Lila barely even blinked as he dropped to the ground and rolled over in the snow grabbing his shoulder. He yelled, and moved to his good side. Lila smoothed a strand of her hair though the wind rustled it out of place again almost immediately. The sound of the gun shot pierced the canyon the way the first one had and I prayed someone heard it. Out of all the times for the people in this town to be nosey, now was definitely the time.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
"Yes, I tried to kill you," Lila admitted. "You were headed in the right direction, but I knew you would never figure out it was me. I mean, I vandalized my own suite to make it look like I had a stalker in town and no one caught onto that either."
Lila glanced down at Patrick. He winced as snowflakes drifted down and settled on his black suit. He laid still,but his eyes were open. They darted from me to the ski lift and back towards the resort like he was quietly formulating a plan in his head. I knew he would be successful at it if I kept Lila distracted. I just hoped when she finally decided to shoot me that it wouldn't be in the head. If it was anywhere else, I might stand a chance.
"You're right," I humored her. "I didn't know it was you all along, and I'm sorry about what I put you through." Lying to keep her from going trigger happy put a sour taste in my mouth.
"Oh." She lowered her gun slightly and straightened her shoulders. There was no way she could last much longer on her wounded leg. She was so thin that the blood loss was sure to make her too lightheaded to stand pretty soon. "Glad to see you've learned your lesson. Too bad there won't be a next time." She raised the gun again.
"How did you do it?" I asked quickly.
"Well, it was actually really easy. You walk the same path every day. Always through the staff hallways and never out the front. Naturally, your sister gave me a quick little tour of the facilities when I arrived." She glanced at the handle of the pistol. "You see, my parents died when I was very young and I spent most of my childhood in Michigan with my aunt and delinquent cousins. She did this funny little thing where she would lock up all the kitchen cabinets at night to keep herself from late night binge drinking. She was a crazy alcoholic. But sometimes she would lose her keys, and when she lost her keys I didn't eat. So I developed sort of an obsession I guess with keys and locks and things."
"That sounds horrible." I sympathized with her, mostly because I felt like I was talking to an entirely different Lila.
"That wasn't the half of it," she answered, seemingly unscathed by her childhood nightmares. "Anyway, I noticed that some of the more expensive gym equipment gets locked up every night and you being the Head Trainer obviously tote around the keys. Yesterday morning when everyone else thought I was in my room pouting, I moved them so you would receive a phone call from that other trainer woman with oily hair."
"Taryn," I muttered.
"An awful name and an awful haircut," Lila commented. "No offense."
"How did you know where I kept the keys?
"Essie," she scoffed. "You work in an ancient hotel where no one important ever comes. My room doesn't even have a safe. Obviously the key was somewhere in your office." With her free hand she brushed back a few curls, pleased with herself.
"I take it you also sent me that letter?"
"Franco delivered it." Lila rolled her eyes. "He thought it was a thank you card. When the investigation goes further his prints will be all over that envelope."
"So you had Franco plant the threatening letter, you snuck into the gym, and you knew what exit I was going to use to leave the resort," I added.
"Uh-huh." She giggled. "I fit into those storage cabinets quite nicely. Must be my trim figure." She placed a hand on her hip and held her gun steady. "I sent that errand boy Eli down stairs to distract you. He has a thing for me, especially since I'm the one who told him Misty the spa receptionist had a crush on him. It didn't take long for the two of them to wander to the nearest utility closet so Donna and I could have our privacy."
"And the security cameras?"
"My request, but Franco always does the paperwork for me."
"Same with the special order with the Charles Dickens code name?" I asked.
"All me," she freely admitted. "All I had to do was show you Franco's lame old book and I knew you would put the pieces together. Like I said. It was too easy. All of it."
"Your friend from The Cove threw me for a loop." I paused to see her reaction.
"Who?"
"John Slagger," I responded. "Did he have a hand in this too?"
"I don't know what you are talking about." She clenched her jaw together and ground her tee
th as she stared at the gun in her hand. "Back to business, sweetheart. I'm thinking a closed casket. What do you think?"
"Do I really get a choice?" I gulped. My palms started to sweat and my chest felt like it was being held down by a barbell. I contemplated lunging forward and overpowering Lila. It seemed like it would be easy to wrestle her fragile frame to ground, but she was capable of far more than I'd given her credit for.
She really was one of the greatest actresses of all time.
"Good point," she replied.
Her finger twitched and I instantly let out a yelp. Lila laughed. She hadn't pulled the trigger yet. She wanted me to die from the anticipation first. I glanced down at her wounded calf and imagined myself dropping to a squat position and pushing her weight forward like I've done at the gym with a punching bag.
My throat tightened up and I took one last breath, hoping it wasn't my last. I was going to go for it. If anything, I could stall for more time so Lila didn't shoot me, turn around, and then shoot Patrick a second time.
Before I had the chance to execute my plan, an unexpected visitor interrupted us. Lila curiously turned around and lowered her gun in the process. Behind her was the man I'd been searching for. John Slagger, the mysterious out-of-towner slash fake undercover reporter slash escaped mental patient, was heading towards us with a look of concern.
"Hey!" he shouted. He waved his hand, and abruptly lowered it when he caught sight of the weapon Lila was holding. He slowed his pace and approached us with a calm demeanor.
I took Lila turning her back as my one and only opportunity to take her gun. Patrick had the same idea. As I squatted low to ram Lila's legs out from under her, Patrick lunged in our direction. My shoulders hit Lila's lower legs and I could practically feel the bone of her kneecap digging into my chest. Patrick let out a low growl as he let go of his bloody shoulder and snatched Lila's gun before she could react. My entire upper body throbbed as I glanced up and saw Lila lying in the snow trying to catch her breath. Patrick's face cringed as he forcefully handed me the gun. As soon as I accepted it he resumed clutching his shoulder. He let out another loud yell from the pain.
