The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller

by Marin Montgomery

  I chuckle. “You kids have fun.” I wag my finger at Mara and attempt a stern voice. “Behave, young lady.” They laugh and head out. Mara gives me a backward glance as she leaves, concern in her eyes, a silent ‘it’ll be okay’ mouthed as she shuts the door behind her. I hear the engine start, see the headlights of the Caddy backing out of the driveway.

  A thud I assume comes from the tires hitting the pavement.

  Another thump that sounds like it’s from the hallway.

  Damn heating unit. Sometimes I wish we’d purchased a new house or gutted this one and started over. We’ve replaced enough over the years—copper piping, the air conditioning unit, the roof.

  I lean forward to run a hand through my already mussed hair.

  A creaking sound echoes through the house. Then tiny footsteps.

  What the… Before I can reconcile whom they belong to, a controlled voice, a voice I’d know anywhere says, “You know what concerns me?” I cringe, my eyes shutting and opening as she moves into my line of sight. It’s Veronica. Brynn. Brianna.

  Except her appearance has changed.

  She’s no longer strawberry blonde.

  Her hair’s the color of cinnamon, a light brown tint. It amplifies her ivory skin and blue eyes washing out her complexion.

  She leans against the wall to my left, arms crossed, the creaks must have been her coming through a door, sneaking down the hallway toward me.

  How much of what Mara said did she hear? I start to sweat, beads of perspiration forming on my neck.

  “What concerns me is idle gossip. Using statements like ‘I’m going to ruin you.’” Brianna’s calm, her eyes honed in on my face, her pupils dilated.

  “Your wife ruined me, ruined my marriage.” She uncrosses her arms, a small handbag wrapped around one thin wrist. She pulls a gun out of the faux leather—a small, compact one—the type that are geared toward women.

  My face freezes, hands immediately in the air as if they can shield me from her wrath. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Is that so?” Brianna tilts her head, casually holding the gun like it’s a small baby. Shrinking into the gray material, I lean back, hands folded in my lap.

  “I did set our piece-of-shit rental on fire. That’s true.” Brianna shrugs her shoulders. “My dad had been beating the shit out of my sister and me since we were toddlers, same with my mom.” She tucks a strand of dark hair that falls out of a messy bun behind her ear. “My mama was just as guilty as him. She went along with it, but she was a victim, too.”

  “Can you imagine?” She keeps her distance between us, using our coffee table, the metal drum with a wood finish as her seat. “If you never knew when you’d eat? No routine meals, no breakfast, lunch, or dinner? That was our life.” She takes a deep breath. “Yes, we ate dog food, even tried to eat tissue. We ate grass.” She’s staring through me, behind me, toward the painting on the wall.

  I hesitate, deciding if I should keep her talking on this topic. “Did your teachers say anything?”

  “Teachers didn’t say much back then. They knew we were underweight. We smelled. Half the time we skipped class. Kids can be cruel. Adults not much better.” She gives me a twisted smile. “The night of the fire, my dad had hit my mama with a frying pan when she didn’t cook his meat just right. I remember that night, my mouth was watering at the smell, hoping we’d at least get a scrap.” Her eyes fill with tears. “We got nothing. A fight ensued, we hid behind our door, heard the yelling, the whack of the pan, mama’s cries. Someone was always crying in that house out of the three of us. Daddy was always mad at someone or something.”

  She keeps her hand on the gun as she continues. “I didn’t know they didn’t have batteries in the smoke detectors. I was eleven. My sister, Emma, was terrified. We shared a bed, confidences, tears. She was all I had.” Tears run unchecked down her cheeks. “I thought we would have time to get out. My daddy had locked us in our room after his fight with Mama. He always locked us in at night so we couldn’t sneak out. We had a tiny window in our room, but he told us we would break an arm if we tried to jump. Or he would. I waited. The house was quiet. I had told Emma of my plan, she was sleeping. I said I’d wake her when the time was right.”

  She lets out a loud exhale. “When I knocked the candle over on purpose in our room, I thought we’d have time to leave. I didn’t know the dog was outside with the scraps, that my mama was passed out, and that my sister wouldn’t leave.”

  “What do you mean ‘she wouldn’t leave?’” I’m curious as I rest my eyes on the gun.

  “I’d busted out the window and made sure we could fit and crawl out. A normal size person couldn’t, but we were tiny then. She weighed no more than seventy pounds soaking wet.” I look at her, the pain, her mouth in a tight line. Making her remember, walk through the sordid details of this night, might not have been the best plan of action.

  “The fire started in the corner, the furthest spot away from us. I figured a candle would seem like a normal fire, an accident. I shook her awake, I had a bag packed that I could throw out the window. We could run to the neighbors a few miles away as the house burned. Em wouldn’t come. I begged her, tried to push her out the window first. She wanted our mama and wasn’t leaving without her.”

  My eyes widen, horrified, as I picture two young girls, not much older than my daughter, figuring out decisions that impact the rest of their lives, how to escape circumstances that are no fault of their own.

  “I lose my sister, and I try to move on...” She tugs at her bun, loosening and tightening the elastic band holding it precariously in place. “So, yes, they put me in a group home. They couldn’t argue the candle theory, and that it was an accident. It was called a tragic accident. No one knew what to do with me, so a troubled girls’ home was the answer.”

  She sighs. “Everyone in town was glad to get rid of our family. We were the white-trash, the misfits. Many said I did the town a favor.” She’s grim, her mouth tight. “I miss my sister every day.”

  “I don’t blame you…” I whisper, “… for trying to escape.” I clench my hands into fists, forgetting about the gun, the baby, the situation I’m in. I imagine if it were my child and someone hurt Livvie. It’s heartbreaking. I blink my eyes, forcing the thoughts from them. I’d kill them. There’s silence for a moment. We both catch our breath, lost in our own thoughts, Brianna reliving the terror, a haunted look in her gaze.

  “I meet a guy, the first one to be kind to me, and the one who wants to build a life together. We fall in love, get married, have a beautiful boy. I finally get some happiness in the void losing Emma left.”

  She shudders. “I had Lance for three years. Three years, can you imagine? That’s all the time I got with him. Then he was taken away from us so cruelly, so tragically, all in the blink of an eye.”

  “And you wanted another baby?” I shake my head. “Why me? Why come after us? My wife didn’t harm your child.”

  “No,” Brianna says. “She didn’t. Not with her own hands. But she defended the daycare to the press, a smear campaign on my husband and me. He left me, couldn’t handle the pain. We looked at each other, and nothing could bring back our angel.”

  27

  “How did you find me that night at the bar?” I switch tactics, trying to buy time, get to a phone. I picture that night, her flirtatious behavior, our conversation, the night my life changed when she sat down on the stool next to me.

  “I became a little obsessed, what with all the free time I had on my hands.” She smirks. “I lost my job. I could barely get out of bed. This gave me a purpose. I Googled your wife’s firm, found an article from a few years back on the remodel of your house that was featured in a local magazine.”

  “How did you know I would have a drink there?”

  “I didn’t. But chances are after an all-day conference, a drink at the bar in the lobby isn’t unusual. I waited to see after the conference where you would go.”

  “How did you know I would�
��” the words catch in my throat. “Be unfaithful to my wife?”

  “I didn’t, but there’s a good chance when it’s presented. Men are weak and tend to think with the wrong head.” She shrugs.

  I’m bewildered. “What if I’d never cheated before?”

  She frowns. “You looked miserable. It was worth a shot. And it paid off.”

  “What about proof?” I ask. “What if it hadn’t been me?”

  She grimaces. “I took a photo from your wallet when you paid the bill. I saw the family photo, one happy family.”

  I interject. “What if you hadn’t gotten pregnant from that one time?”

  “I made sure it was the right time for my body. I also had a dashboard cam set up to at least record us. I figured I could use that later as collateral. Or keep trying with you.” She pauses. “Though you were a tough sell. I decided working with her was the next best thing after you went radio silent.”

  I’m baffled, the chain of events that led us to this point read like a horror story with no happy ending. “What now?” I ask.

  Brianna rubs the gun against her chin. “I’m deciding.”

  “Why would you want to do me harm?” I pick at the gray tweed on the couch. “A baby is on the way, you’re keeping it, and I’ll be supporting it. Why this?”

  “Steven, don’t you get it?” Brynn smirks. “I’ve lost everything. You living or dead doesn’t matter. I want you both to pay.”

  “Let’s talk about this.” I try a comforting approach. “Alastair represented the daycare, yes. But what about the daycare itself? Why go after Alastair?”

  She grits her teeth. “Because she has no moral compass. She lambasted my husband and me in the press for speaking out against the daycare, she painted us as lazy parents, as people who just wanted a payout. We lost our son.” A tear slides down her pale cheek. “No remorse, refusal to take responsibility.”

  “It was a terrible tragedy,” I say slowly.

  “But it wasn’t a tragedy. It was reckless indifference. There’s a difference. It’s not like it was out of their control to protect him. They just didn’t watch him.”

  “Do you want money?” I quickly add. “Not that it will bring back Lance. I mean in terms of helping you.”

  “Don’t say his name.” She glares at me. “Don’t you dare say his name.”

  “I don’t want your money.” She looks at me. “I want you.”

  “What about my own daughter?” Livvie doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Life’s not fair.” She disregards my statement.

  “We can fix this,” I plead.

  “I’m keeping the baby.” She’s firm, a hand on her stomach. “I’m not losing anyone else close to me.” She searches my face. “You and your wife will pay. First with the baby.” She snorts. “Then when we surprise your wife. Let’s get in the hot tub.”

  “Hot tub?”

  “Yep. Naked.”

  My mouth tightens. “For what purpose?’

  “Relax, Steven,” she says. “I want to watch you both squirm.”

  28

  She has the gun trained on me. “Head back to the master,” she demands, waving the butt of the gun for me to stand.

  I follow her, my steps slow and calculated. Can I grab something heavy? A fire extinguisher? Bash her with that? She slams the butt of the gun in my lower back. “Hurry up.” She’s got her purse in the other hand, a light tan bag. She shoves it under the bed. “I thought we could have one more tryst.” She winks at me.

  My mind races. How can I get outside, scream for help? Will our neighbors next door hear? I have to keep her talking, hope that I can convince her to drop her weapon. ”Should we do it here or outside?” I’m thinking of getting outdoors so I can yell and make a loud commotion.

  “What about the hot tub?” I ask.

  “I can’t use it.” She glares. “Duh, I’m pregnant. But your wife will be home soon to catch us in the act.”

  She starts to undress. I’m seated on the bed, watching her, warily looking her up and down. When she’s stripped down to her panties, she looks at me. I give her a level gaze.

  “You’re next.” Her voice is barely a whisper. I don’t know if she means killing me or taking off my clothes.

  “You want to see me naked?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  Reaching down to unbuckle my belt, I start to pull the leather through the loops. She runs a hand through my chest hair, the feel of her touch makes my skin crawl. The gun is on the side table, staring at me, begging me to make a choice. I start to unbutton my shirt as she reaches forward kissing my neck. “I missed this.” She breathes into my shoulder. Her body is in an awkward position, and I take a moment to catch her off guard as I’m gripping strands from her loose bun. I grab her neck and pull her down on the bed, using my belt to wrap around her hands and pull it tight. A look of fear registers on her face. “I’m done playing nice, you psycho bitch.” I hold her down, straddling her as I’m careful not to smash her belly. “You wanna keep playing with fire. Fucking bring it on.” She tries to struggle, the extra weight she’s carrying in my favor. “I’m sorry about your son. And your husband.” I look her directly in the eyes. “But we didn’t drown your son or force your husband to leave.”

  “Fuck you,” she screams. “Let go of me.”

  She grabs at my face, her sharp nails make contact with my cheek. She drags them across the surface of my skin. I wince as they draw blood. She manages to pull her wrists away, though they are securely fastened in the belt, she slams them into my face, the metal clasp hitting me in the eye. “Fuck.” I grab at it. She takes this opportunity to shove me off her. I fall off the bed, hitting my head on the closet door, a sharp crack as I make contact with the corner of it. Before I know what’s happening, she reaches into her purse. I feel a sharp jab and then look down, horrified, as a needle hits my vein, and I’m suddenly injected with something.

  “Take that.” She’s calm, her hands are free, the gun back in them.

  29

  “Get up.” She kicks at my feet. “Before that kicks in.” I want to refuse, my mind screaming as I consider what’s in the syringe.

  “Outside.” She aims the gun toward the patio door. “Now.”

  I reach up for the closet handle, pulling myself up. I feel throbbing pain, the closet mirror echoing my sentiments as blood trickles down my forehead.

  “Faster. You’re wasting precious time.”

  Unlatching the glass door followed by the screen door, we walk outside, the moon brilliant in the sky, a cloudless night. “Get in the hot tub.” I turn to look back at her. “Really?” She smacks me with the gun, a quick thwack across the face. “Shut the fuck up.”

  I stumble over to the side of the yard the hot tub is on, flipping back the lid. “Turn it on. Bubbles and all.” Messing with the temperature and the ON button, I watch as water rises to the surface and the noise of water gurgling replaces the pounding in my ears.

  “Finish undressing.” She demands. I shiver as I pull my pants and boxers off waiting for her next cue.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say quietly.

  “You’re going to lose body function soon. I’d get in if I were you.” Her voice is cold, the tone one of steel.

  As soon as my body hits the water, I feel muscle spasms overtake me. The reaction is so instantaneous, I sink straight down onto a bench in the water. My body is tensing up, my eyelids starting to feel heavy.

  I can barely speak. “What… what did you shoot me up with?”

  “Just a chemical agent that reacts with water when it makes contact with your pores.” She shrugs. “You’ll slowly wither away.” She puts some music on, humming along, it’s Pandora. Jazz and Blues. She uncorks a bottle of wine sipping straight out of the bottle.

  I moan. My heart’s rapidly speeding up as if I’m on a train that’s speeding toward the unknown.

  “Just relax. You’re dead to me. Or at least…” She laughs. “… you will
be soon.”

  “Everyone will know.” It’s tough to get words out, my body is numb, the water running over my skin should feel warm, yet I feel nothing. Is this shock?

  “No, they won’t.”

  My words are jumbled. I try to remind her that my wife isn’t home until tomorrow.

  “Whatever you say. This…” She continues. “This will look like you had a heart attack. It’s virtually undetectable.”

  I start to slip down in the water, my head bobbing under as I slide beneath the smooth surface. She’s starting to fade from memory, my eyes shut as I press them closed. I think of Alastair. I think of Livvie. Would Mara or Hal come back and check on me?

  Her face is swimming in front of me, blurry and out of focus. Water fills my nostrils as I lose control, sliding further down. I try to grab onto something, but my arms only manage air.

  “Stay down,” she says. “I don’t want to shoot you.”

  The sound of water is whooshing in my ears, the bubbles, I feel myself losing consciousness.

  Brianna’s climbing into the hot tub, her pregnant body still naked. She’s trying to push me under, her hands on my head as she aims to sink me.

  It’s then that I hear a scream.

  I don’t know who shrieked first if it came from my paralyzed body or hers.

  She’s saying my name over and over. She falls onto me, collapsing on my body. I can tell it’s not intentional by the groan.

  Something caught her by surprise. My head surfaces as she pulls me up. She tries to untangle herself, her lips pressed against my ear. Her arms are wrapped around my neck, tightening their grip.

  She whispers. “You’re a dead man if you don’t play along.”

  Grasping me, she pulls me around, and I’m face to face with my wife, a look of terror on Alastair’s face. I hope she can read the fear on my face, see the signs I’m not doing well. I’m fading fast, my eyes keep continuously blinking, my breathing labored.