by Lilah Grey
Circumstances have changed, and I'm not sure they're for the better. I don't even know where to begin, but I guess…
Luke’s back, my stepmother’s dead, and I found out that she’s been poisoning me, my father, and Luke’s father. She killed the last two, and she was working on the first. Me.
There. It’s all out. Doesn’t that make me feel better?
No, not at all.
I don't want to believe that people like her exist in this world. I may not be her real daughter, but I can't fathom doing something like that to another human being. It's sick and twisted, and I can't think about it for more than a few seconds before feeling ill.
Luke told me the story of what happened the night he left, and I told him the story behind these scars.
Most of it, at least.
I left out the part where I forgave him. He was only a kid, working with the terrible hand he’d been dealt. He had no idea that it would work out in the end. He had no idea that he’d get so lucky.
It still hurts that he never visited me, even after he made it big. I can understand it, though. We all deal with painful situations in different ways. Luke threw himself into his work, letting it consume him, so he didn't have to think about what happened. He figured I was safe at Millwood and didn't want to mess things up by showing his face.
I may not agree with it, but I can understand it.
No one can make the perfect decision every time.
I actually liked Millwood. I had my own space. It was relaxing without the constant stress of Margaret hovering over me, never knowing what mood she’d be in. The smallest things could set her off, and I was tired of stepping on land mines.
I liked Millwood so much that I’d relapse just to stay. I’d find new ways to cut myself, forcing the doctors to keep me there. It wasn’t until my dad started to get sick that I stopped. I had to come back. But before I had the chance, it was already too late. He was gone.
I had to pause my journaling for a few moments. Olivia was in the kitchen having a heated argument with someone on her phone. Luke, most likely.
This isn’t the first conversation of hers I’ve snooped on; it’s hard not to. With the apartment’s open concept, sound carries unimpeded. Besides, if you send your assistant to babysit and spy on me, I’m going to do the same to her.
She was talking with the police a few days ago. She told them that Luke was away on business in New York. The comment annoyed the person on the other end because Olivia snapped back that Luke was free to move as he pleased; he hadn't been charged with anything, and he'd been cooperating fully with the investigation.
Investigation.
They had something on Luke, and I was going to find out what it was.
When Olivia showed up a few hours after Luke left, she gave me a phone. Luke wanted to make sure he could keep in contact with me.
I used that phone to call Damian and set up a meeting. He was more than happy to oblige, even after I made my request.
I wanted Margaret’s locket. She loved it, and I wanted to destroy it. It might be petty, but after being slowly poisoned over the span of many years, I felt a little petty destruction was more than justified.
With the meeting with Damian set up, the only issue I now have is getting there. Milton was over an hour away, and my car was broken down in the middle of Buck Wild’s parking lot.
Asking Olivia was out of the question. She works for Luke, and judging by how she’s been hovering around me, he’s given her strict orders to keep her eyes on me at all times.
It’s okay. I have a plan. I lifted it from a page in Margaret’s book.
“How’s chamomile sound?” I say, rifling through Luke’s tea selection.
“I don’t know,” Olivia replies from the living room. “I’ve never liked herbal teas. I need all the caffeine I can get.”
I bite my bottom lip, my teeth dragging across it as I let it go.
“That’s probably why you’re on edge. All that caffeine.”
My heart beats a little faster as I tap my finger against the counter.
She laughs. “That’s hardly the reason I’m on edge. I’m always putting out fires for Luke. He needs to stop being so damn abrasive all the time.”
My fingers fumble with the packaging as I try to extract the bag of chamomile tea. Finally, it rips. I pull the bag out of the wrapper, letting its string unfurl in front of me. I lower the bag into Olivia's mug, dunking it a few times. Yellow clouds seep from the bag and spread throughout the water. I repeat the process with another tea bag in a second mug.
“Give it a try,” I say, eyeing the crushed white powder sitting on a napkin, next to the mugs.
Prescription sleeping pills. I’d found them in Luke’s bathroom. I assumed they were powerful, so I only crushed one. I wanted to knock Olivia out, not put her in a coma.
“It will help you relax, I promise.”
I try to hide the nervousness in my voice, but it comes out strained and shaky. My foot won't stop tapping, and my fingertips turn white as I press them into the counter.
“I don’t wanna relax,” she whines. “I don’t have time to relax.”
I chew my lip again, thinking.
“But you have time to sit on the couch and watch Real Housewives of…?”
“Atlanta,” she says, finishing my sentence.
I can sense a tinge of embarrassment in her voice.
“But I’m writing emails too! I’m—Oh, alright. What can I say? Bad reality TV with bitchy women and silly drama is my kryptonite. I can switch off my brain and not think about all the work I should be doing.”
After a brief pause and exasperated sigh: “Fine. Bring on the tea.”
I pick up the napkin covered in white powder just as Olivia lets out a braying laugh that causes my hands to jerk. Thankfully, the powder didn’t fly off the napkin.
My hands are trembling as I hold the napkin over the mug. I don’t want to be like Margaret, but this was different. I’m not trying to poison Olivia, just helping her relax. She could use the sleep. That’s how I’m going to justify it anyway…
I breathe in deeply, holding my breath for a count of five before exhaling. A few moments later, I tip the powder into the tea and stir it with a spoon. It dissolves in a few seconds, and I bring the steaming mugs into the living room.
“Here,” I say, extending my left hand.
She reaches for the mug in my other hand, but I pull it back.
“Already drank out of it. Sorry.” I take a sip but nearly spit it back out because it scorches my tongue. I hand her the mug, trying hard not to grimace as I swallow the near-boiling liquid.
She takes it, bringing the rim to her nose as I sit down next to her, trying not to focus on my tender mouth.
“It smells funny,” she says, frowning at me. “Like weird flowers or something.”
I’d laugh if I weren’t so nervous. “What do you think chamomile is?”
She sighs and takes a sip.
Finally…
“The worker's will be back here tomorrow to finish the room,” Olivia says, holding the mug in her lap.
“Great.”
Luke had been preparing a workstation for me in a section of his office, the room that reeked of paint and chemicals. It was a thoughtful gesture and made me feel welcome, but I’m still not sure I’m ready to give my art a try yet; there was still something holding me back.
I try to focus on the show, but I can’t help watching Olivia out of my periphery. Each sip brought her closer to dreamland and me closer to getting out of here and finding the truth about Luke and Margaret. I didn’t want to believe that Luke had something to with her death, but he’s the only person I could think of who had a motive.
Bile rises in my throat, but I wash it down with another sip of chamomile tea.
We'd already watched a full episode, and I was beginning to get worried that I hadn't put enough in her drink or that the pill had lost its potency when I put it in hot water. But all the
doubts in my head faded as Olivia faded.
“Wow, you were right,” she slurs. “This stuff is potent. What’s it called? Calm-oh-meal?”
I laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
I glance at her. She’s cupping the mug in front of her with both hands, bringing it her lips every few seconds. Her eyes drift to the TV; they flutter slowly as she tries to stay awake. It’s like watching a puppy, swaying as they refuse to succumb until they collapse. Obstinate until the very end.
Finally, Olivia sets the mug down on the coffee table, lies down on the couch, and clutches a pillow against her chest.
“Good Crouton,” she whispers, stroking the pillow.
I bite down hard on my lip, trying not to laugh, but I can’t keep it in. A sputtering laugh escapes my mouth before I have the chance to cover it.
It worked!
I waste no time rifling through Olivia’s purse, looking for the keys to her BMW. I dump out the contents of her purse, letting everything splay out on the counter. I lock onto them, grabbing them off the counter.
Crouton bumps my leg, and I feel bad leaving him alone.
“You’ll be fine,” I tell him as I scratch his ears. “I’ll be back in a bit. I might even bring you a treat.”
Crouton purrs contentedly and then trots off. I watch him as he hops onto the couch, kneads Olivia’s back, and promptly falls asleep.
I check the time on the phone Olivia gave me. I have more than enough to get to Milton before my meeting with Damian. I slip the phone into my purse and begin to head out the door when a thought strikes me.
Would he? Of course, he would.
I wasn't going Luke tracking me, so I remove the phone from my purse and toss it onto the table. It slides off and falls to the floor, shattering the screen.
Oops. Sorry, Luke.
I make my way down to the garage and find Olivia’s BMW. It chirps as I unlock it. I hop inside, listening to the roar of the engine as it comes to life, my body thrumming as I reverse out of the spot and zoom toward Milton.
17
Libby
I’ve been parked in front of my house for twenty minutes now.
I drove past Andy’s, the bar where I was meeting Damian, and came here. It was like there was an invisible rope tied around my waist, pulling me back home. It brought me here, but I couldn’t drag myself out of the car. I didn’t want to go back into that house because I knew, as soon as I crossed the threshold, old memories and feelings would come flooding back.
A knock on my window jolts me out of my trance.
It’s Mrs. Dunne.
She waves at me, a smile forming under the deep folds on her face. She motions for me to roll down the window, and I do.
“I thought that was you, Abby,” she croaks.
“It’s Libby,” I say, a little confused.
“Oh of course, dear! Abby, Libby. I tend to mix things up these days.”
“It’s alright,” I say, smiling.
“Don’t get old,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “It’s just no good.”
Mrs. Dunne’s voice is raw and gravelly, but I find it soothing. I’d always enjoyed listening to her talk.
I smile. “I’ll try not to.”
“What are you doing out here? In this…” She glances at the car.
Heat spreads across my chest and up my neck. “It’s a friend’s car. She let me borrow it because Luke’s car is still at the station.” I rub the back of my neck as I think about Olivia.
Mrs. Dunne bristles at the sound of his name and points a finger at me.
“That boy was always trouble. I never thought he’d go this far…” Her voice trails off as she pulls back and places her hands on her hips. “His own mother.”
I still don’t want to believe Luke would do something to Margaret, no matter how awful she was.
“What are you doing out here?” she says, leaning toward me again.
I shrug. “Thinking.”
“Well, why don’t you take that thinking inside. I would sure love your company,” she says with a wink.
“I’d like to, but I’m supposed to meet Damian.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Oh…”
“Nothing like that,” I say. “We’re just going to talk about Margaret. He’s giving me her locket.”
Mrs. Dunne fans herself with her hand. “He’s a handsome one, that Damian. A good man, through and through. If I were a younger woman…” She stops herself as her eyes drift back to me.
“He came around a few days ago, asking me questions. Nothing more to add to the statement I already gave. Made sure he’d follow up on it. He gave me his word.” She pauses for a moment. Another smiles forms on her lips. “My memory isn’t the best these days, but I could’ve sworn you two were a couple at one time.”
My stomach drops. “Yeah, we broke up.”
“Young love,” she says wistfully. “You know Earl and I broke up at least half a dozen times before we came to our senses. There’s always a chance…” She lets the sentence hang.
There wasn’t a chance that I’d get back with Damian, not after what happened, but I didn’t want to explain that to Mrs. Dunne. I’d let her dream.
I offer her a smile, but it’s a small, quivering one that I hold for only a few seconds.
“Well, the offer still stands my sweet child,” she says. “Stop by after your meeting. I’ll be up. ”
Sweet child. She always called me that. I think it’s because I’ve always had a sweet tooth, and she was more than willing to satisfy it. I found it endearing; it made me feel like I was loved for once.
“Alright,” I say, a real smile flashing across my lips.
I watch Mrs. Dunne scuttle down the driveway and toward her house. She waves at me from her porch, disappearing through the front door moments later.
I take a few deep breaths. I wasted enough time sitting here. I had to face Damian. I had to find out the truth.
I open the car door and start walking. It’s only a ten-minute walk from my house to the bar. I was already late, so I figured a few extra minutes didn’t matter. I could use the fresh air anyway.
It takes me nearly twenty minutes to get there, slowed down by the heaviness in my limbs. I almost turned back a few times, but told myself I couldn’t. I’d slipped Olivia a sleeping pill and stolen her car. How could I turn back now?
Andy’s exterior has seen better days. Metal bars cover cracked, dirty windows. Large chunks of bricks are missing from the front. I’m surprised the metal door is still hanging on its hinges.
A large bouncer wearing old blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black beanie leans against the building. His oven-mitt hands threaten to crush his phone as he types away. I pull out my I.D. as I approach but he doesn’t bother to check it. He glances at me for a moment, grunts, and then turns his attention back to his phone.
The interior isn’t much better.
It’s dimly lit and reminds me of Buck Wild. The floor sticks to my shoes as I walk, and I’m afraid of what I might find on the ground with the lights turned on.
I scan the room; it’s not exactly hopping, so it should be easy to find Damian so long as he hadn’t already given up waiting for me.
A tattooed bartender with stringy black hair and a long, hooked nose chats with the single customer seated at the bar. They nod to me as I pass by, and I can feel their gazes linger. I don’t belong here and they know it.
I spot Damian in a booth at the far end of the room, past a couple rows of pool tables. He waves at me, and I immediately freeze up as my core floods with nervous energy. I press my hand against my stomach, taking a deep breath as I steady my nerves.
You can do this.
As I pass by the last row of pool tables, a man whips around the corner and knocks into me. It’s hard enough to throw me off-balance, tottering as I try not to fall to the floor.
“What the fuck?” I blurt after finally steadying myself against the pool table.
The man’s th
in, but the hoody he’s wearing makes him appear larger. He doesn’t even glance back at me. He keeps walking until he finds an open table near the front of the bar and slouches into a seat. He rests his foot on the edge of the table as he begins sipping his beer.
Asshole.
I forget why I’m here until I turn around and spot Damian staring at me.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he says, beaming at me as I approach the booth. His smile sours as he looks over my shoulder. “Sorry about the dick over there.”
I glance over my shoulder. The hood from his sweatshirt casts a shadow over much of his face. His lips are twisted into a snarl. I might be imagining it, but I swear he’s watching me. He takes a long pull from his beer bottle, tipping it upright as he drains it. He sets it down on the table, stands up, and then heads out the front door.
I shake my head as I slide into the booth.
“It’s fine. I’m used to dealing with drunk jackasses at Buck Wild.”
Damian coughs and sputters as he tries to swallow his beer.
“I didn’t know you worked there.”
“Waitress,” I say with a sigh. “Not a stripper.” I grab the paper coaster that’s on the table and begin to tear at it. “But I don’t work there anymore.”
I glance up at Damian; he’s still beaming at me. His eyes seem to shimmer in the dim light, but I promise myself that I won’t fall under their spell again.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, focusing my attention on the coaster I’m slowly shredding in front of me.
The synthetic leather creaks as he leans back. “No problem.”
I glance at him as he rests his arm across the back of the booth. He’s wearing a button up with his detective’s shield across its left pocket. I try not to notice the muscles under his shirt, but it’s hard not to when they’re pushing against its seams, stretching the fabric to its limits. When he asked me out back in high school, I was thrilled. He was a more laid-back version of Luke and balanced out the craziness I dealt with at home. He was the Luke I could actually have.
