Summer Fire
Page 48
I unwrap the coat from his face and crawl out from underneath him. Then I drag his body to the fire escape in the back and put his body just below it. I take his coat off his dead body and swing it around until it’s long and thin, like a rope. Then I throw it around the bars of the fire escape, tie it, and tightly wrap the other end around his neck. I make sure his body is positioned right and the tension on the coat is just right, so that when the paramedics or police find him they’ll think exactly what I want them to think; that this was a mindless suicide with no further need to investigate.
Hopefully, they won’t find him before morning, and I’ll be long gone.
Before I leave, I fish in his pockets and take out a rather convenient card that will grant me access to the back door of the building. Smiling at him, I say, “Sorry, dude. Business is business. No hard feelings.”
*
Vanessa
One look, a simple glance, can change everything.
A nod, narrowing eyes, or a twitch of the lips is all it takes to convey a message that destroys everything.
I should’ve trusted my instincts, should’ve listened to the warning signs. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the dread rippling through my veins, telling me this wasn’t right.
Instead, I give my husband the glass, my smile, and a soft pat on the shoulder.
“Here you go, darling,” I say, giving him a peck on the cheek.
When I turn to look back at the man I exchanged looks with, he’s gone.
My husband laughs and takes the glass from my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. “Vanessa, let me introduce you to Cordelia.”
The woman next to him holds out her hand, her smile full of fakery as she says, “Cordelia, I’m a fan of your husband’s work.”
“Vanessa, lovely to meet you. My husband seems to have many fans at this party.” I laugh and smile like the good wife, pretending not to have noticed the wink she gave him. Her tightly squeezed dress reminds me of my husband’s hand, which was on her ass just seconds ago. I wonder if the squeeze was good enough, or if he’ll find more asses to pat later.
In one go, I chug back my drink.
Everybody looks at me like I’ve gone insane, but I ignore them. I place my glass down on a tray held by a waiter passing by and return with a smile. “So, Cordelia, I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re one of the actresses in my husband’s movies if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes, our latest movie will be airing in January this year, so I’m quite excited about that.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Did you work closely with her?” I ask my husband. “Since you two seem to know each other so well.”
“Ah, yes, well …” My husband chokes on his wine.
“Phillip showed me all around the set. He’s quite a charmer,” she says, giggling. “He knows so much about this business. I swear that I feel like a rookie again when I’m around him.”
“Hmm … I can imagine,” I say, smiling again. First name basis already. That went quickly.
Phillip coughs a couple more times, his wine glass shaking so much that it spills and droplets fall to the ground.
“Oh dear, are you all right, Phillip?” Cordelia asks, placing her hand on her chest.
He coughs some more, this time bending over, punching his own chest. I grab the glass from his hand and put it down. “Phillip? Talk to me,” I say.
“I’m … fine,” he mutters, but I can clearly tell he’s not. He’s coughing too much, more than I’ve ever seen him do, and that’s noteworthy, as he’s a fervent smoker.
“Do you need me to help you?” I ask.
“No … no, no, I just need some air.”
I place my hand on his back. “Let’s go outside then.”
“I think it’s better if you took him home,” Cordelia says, swallowing away the lump in her throat. “He seems … ill.”
“Thank you for your concern,” I say. Always so involved. “We’ll be fine.”
“No, she’s right.” Phillip places a hand on mine. “Let’s go home. Seems this wine was a little too much for my body to handle. I’ve had enough drinks for one night.” He laughs, but it’s more pathetic than anything else. “Besides, I’ve shown my face and talked to some people. The party will probably go on fine without us.”
“All right, if you’re sure. See you later, Cordelia,” I say, waving back at her while I take my husband outside.
The doors are opened for us as I escort him outside. My husband dismisses all the help the waiters want to give him, much to my dismay. I help him down the stone staircase, which is quite a feat. The more we walk, the more he leans on me, and it’s becoming harder and harder to help him walk. Soon, I’m the one carrying most of his weight.
“What’s happening to you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says, the coughs still increasing in volume. “Just had a little too much, that’s all.” He stumbles across the pavement, almost pulling me down with him. I can barely keep us both on two feet.
“Phillip, this isn’t right. You can’t even walk,” I say, walking him all the way to our car.
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just a little … tipsy, that’s all.” He fumbles in his pockets, leaning against the car as he takes his keys out and I open the door to step in.
“No, no, I’m driving,” he says.
“What? No way, you can’t. You’re too intoxicated.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not. Now, step aside and let me drive.”
I make a face. “Must you always be so damn stubborn? Just let me drive. I can get us home safely.”
“There’s nothing wrong. Now move aside, woman.” He shoves me so hard that I have to hold onto the door to stay steady.
Before I have time to protest, he sits down behind the wheel and slams the door shut.
My hands turn into fists as I storm to the other side of the car and mouth some foul words. This man … ugh, the amount of crap I have to put up with is driving me insane.
I open the door and sit my ass down, slamming the door shut behind me. The car starts and he drives off with a hiccup, hitting a stone ridge to the side of the road.
“Watch it!” I say.
“Oh, c’mon,” he says, driving out of the parking lot. “Can you just give me a break?”
“No, this is dangerous, and you know it.”
“I said I’m fine. What more do you want from me, huh?” He starts driving faster.
“Oh, not this again,” I sigh.
“Keep quiet then and let me do my job.”
“Your job is driving?” I jest, as we ride through the city.
He throws me a glance. “Can you just not make it worse? Like, for one fucking second in my life, can you just not annoy the ever-loving shit out of me?”
The car is going faster and faster, even when a traffic light is eminent.
“Phillip, stop.”
“No, you stop.”
“No, I mean, the lights!” I yell.
Too late, he’s already rushing straight through after it had turned red. I put my hands in front of my eyes so I won’t see the impending disaster. My heart is racing, my breathing is ragged, and when I open my eyes, again nothing has happened. Phillip is still sitting next to me; his breathing is loud and his veins bulge through his skin, his face red with rage.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I scream.
“Nothing, you’re what’s wrong with me!” he yells back.
“You just drove straight through a red light. Are you insane?”
“If I am, it’s your fucking fault for always getting on my back,” he hisses.
“And this is payback? Scaring me? How dare you,” I say. “Stop this car.”
“No.”
We’re nearing the highway, and I don’t want this to get worse. I need to get out. “Phillip, stop this car. Right. Now.”
“No,” he repeats, fuming.
“Let me out!” I scream.
“We’re not doing this. Not n
ow,” he says, gritting his teeth.
I look around, but all I see are roads and other cars; no grass in sight to even remotely think of jumping out, even though that’s a ridiculous idea. But when you’re afraid, stupid things go through your head. I hate danger.
Shit, we’re already driving on the highway. It’s too late.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Get off the highway!”
“I’m driving us home. Now will you shut up already?” he yells. “You’re driving me crazy with your constant whining.”
The yelling causes him to cough so hard, the car swerves.
“Be careful,” I say, sweating like crazy.
“Shut up! Just shut up, all right? If you can shut your mouth for like ten minutes, we’ll get home safely, and I’ll be rid of this nasty cough,” he growls, still coughing.
“Fine,” I say, and I turn my head to look out the window.
The lights pass by quicker with every mile we drive, cars shooting by as if they were never even there. I try to focus on my breathing, trying to calm myself down so I can think of a rational solution to this problem. The problem being his cough and incredibly bad temper. I try to ignore the fact that the car is still speeding up and that his cough still has not subsided, even though he said it would when we’d stop talking. After a few minutes, the swaying becomes so bad that I turn my head to see if I can help.
What I see makes my heart stop.
Phillip’s eyes open and close.
His body is limp.
His hands aren’t on the steering wheel.
And the car has already veered from one lane into the other.
“No!” I squeal, grasping the wheel with all I have, trying to straighten it in time.
But the car is already too skewed, and when I turn the wheel, it starts to spin.
The backside slips to the left, crashing into the guardrail. Another car hits ours so hard it catapults us into the air.
At this moment in time, my body is bumping into my seat and my head into the window, exploding in pain. My vision becomes blurry as the car cartwheels across the road. I swing from left to right, up and down, as the belt proves to be of little use to protect me. My hands clamp around my face in an attempt to protect myself as the car flips again and again.
When the car comes to a stop, I’m hanging from the top and gravity is pulling on my body. My lungs are about to burst from the air locked inside. For a moment, my mind leaves my body, and I fade in and out of consciousness. Blood trickles down my nose, keeping me awake. My hands feel numb and my feet are swollen, but somewhere inside me, I find the courage to move.
I lift the belt and unbuckle myself. My body drops to the hard roof, which is now the floor, crushing my ribs. I howl in pain, but stop when I can’t breathe. I blink to clear my view and look around. Phillip hangs next to me, his body lifeless and limp. And then I notice the smoke.
“Phillip,” I whisper. “Phillip, wake up.” My throat burns and my muscles ache as I attempt to free him. However, a flicker of fire is enough to make me stop in my tracks. Flames are eating up the car, and by the time I slide out of the car, they have swallowed the metal.
I crawl further away, hoping to get on my feet and run to Phillip’s side so I can drag him out myself, but when I try to stand, my legs won’t budge. Cars around us stop as I fight to get away from the car. The fuel entering my nostrils is the adrenaline that pushes me to keep going.
When I turn my head to look at the car, flames have engulfed it.
My ears are ringing, my eyes tearing up from the pain.
My husband is in there, and despite my efforts, I can’t make it back in time.
He’s burning alive.
“No!” I yell but then cough because I can’t bear the pain. It’s so hot, and everything hurts.
As I look around, someone comes toward me. One of the people from the cars that stopped. My vision is getting blurry again, and my strength is fading fast. Even though I try to lift my arms, they don’t listen to me, and I lie lifelessly on the cold asphalt, waiting for the ordeal to end.
Feet come closer until they stop in front of me. I pour my last ounce of strength into gazing up into the eyes of the one who will pull me out of here.
He’s none other than the man at the party.
But his eyes show no mercy.
Chapter Two
Phoenix
A few minutes ago …
The moment they step into the car, I rush through the back entrance and run to my own car. I would’ve stopped her from going with him if it weren’t for the fact that the place was crowded. Why the fuck did they leave anyway? He was supposed to collapse on the floor, or in the fucking bathroom, but not drive his fucking car.
I jump in my Audi A8, start it up, and race off the parking lot. Trailing behind them, I make sure they don’t see me as they drive to the highway. I wonder what he’s planning to do, but he won’t go far. I doubt they’ll even make it home. The chain reaction has already been set into motion, and once he passes out, the car will steer out of control. I can already see it coming miles ahead. Nothing will save them.
It’s unfortunate that she had to step into the car with him, but I can’t change the past. I dislike unnecessary casualties, but if it happens, so be it.
I watch as the car starts to swerve and then the spinning begins. The car hits the rails and I slow down as it catapults onto the asphalt road, tumbling over. Once it comes to a stop, the metal is already set ablaze.
I stop my car not far ahead of the accident. Other cars slow down around us, but I’m the first to block the road. The fire crackles as I step out of my car and look at the onslaught. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, but at least I can be sure he’s dead now.
I walk toward the wreckage where the girl comes crawling out, barely conscious. Noise comes from her mouth as she wriggles across the ground toward me. She looks up to gaze at me before her head drops on the ground.
Cocking my head to look at her, I fish in my pocket, whip out my phone, and dial the number.
“It’s done,” I say.
I close the phone immediately and go to my knees. My fingers instinctively reach for her face as I wipe away the dirt and blackened hairs. She’s beautiful. A beautiful, wretched, ruined girl.
I didn’t mean to drag her into this, but I guess she had it coming for her.
If you associate yourself with men like him, you’re going to be in trouble.
However, some part of me feels a little taken aback watching her die slowly on the cold, hard ground. My heart, which rarely beats for anyone, tugs at me for some reason and I can’t shake it off. I should feel nothing; no remorse, no guilt, no sorrow, no anger … nothing. But this woman …
Sighing, I pick up her limp body and drag her further away from the car, which flames have engulfed. I pull her all the way off to the side of the road as onlookers flock to the fire.
“I’m being nice now,” I say, as I place her in the bushes where it’s safe. “I normally don’t do this, but I’ll make an exception for you. Once.” I know I’m talking to a passed out person, but I don’t care.
I take out my phone again. “I’d like to report a car accident.”
*
Vanessa
The light shining down upon me blinds me. I blink a couple of times, wondering if this is the tunnel they speak about, and if I’m about to walk into heaven. Would it look like the place in my dreams? Coconut trees, white sandy beaches, a scorching sun, an endless ocean, and all the men in the world at my feet begging to touch just an inch of my skin…
I don’t remember falling asleep. My body just wouldn’t move, and now … now it feels like I’m floating. Floating through the air, drifting on an endless stream of subconscious thoughts. I’m not sure where I am, but that’s all right. Anywhere is better than on that highway. In that car. Burning.
I shudder, and somehow, it prickles on my skin. Am I supposed to feel something in heaven? I don’t know. Am I even th
ere? Is that light really a tunnel? I don’t remember dying … just darkness and pain. A lot of pain.
It hurts to try to move. The bedding is soft, but my body aches with every tightening of my muscles. My eyes start burning, and I get the urge to rub them. Only after a little while do my hands actually move to my face. It’s then that I realize there are wires in the way.
This can’t be heaven. It wouldn’t pin me down like this. Pain should not exist here. I refuse to accept that.
After focusing intensely, just like during a bad nightmare I want to wake up from, my eyes manage to open. The light was neither a tunnel nor heaven. It’s a bright fluorescent light on the ceiling. A soft beep is audible. For a moment, I believe I’m on a stage and there are people near me cheering me on. The story has ended. The woman died. Applause ensues.
But not everything is a play.
This isn’t heaven, where I get to act out every fantasy I ever had.
This is real life, and I’m still alive, breathing in this hell.
A painful hell.
My lungs hurt each time they suck in the oxygen to breathe. My eyes search to find something meaningful, but all they find are humans dressed in white coats, holding charts in their hands. The beep is getting louder and louder until the sound becomes so annoying, I want to scream, even though I can’t.
My mouth is dry, my lips raw, and the only noise coming from me sounds like a bird being choked to death.
“Where am I?” I ask the man nearby. At least, I think it is a man.
The blur that walks to me turns into a person with quite a distinctive beard. I knew it was a man.
“You’re in the hospital,” he says.
His voice is muffled, like mine, as if there are cloths over our mouths meant to slowly strangle us. Silence is the best tool to shut someone up, however, now it feels like my mind is silencing me instead. Something wants to come out … something important. A memory, perhaps. Something flaring and evil.
Eyes.
I gasp and shoot up from the bed, all beeps going off like crazy.
“It’s him!” I yell with a raspy voice.
The doctor pushes me down. “Mrs. Starr! You’ll hurt yourself.”