by Carrie Doyle
“No one except Warner?” said Antonia. It was starting to come together.
Carl turned. His tone became vindictive and angry. “It was all planned. I went to see Grandmother and told her I had something special for her. Then I took the pillow and walked towards her. She said, ‘I don’t want the extra pillow, I need to sleep.’ I said, ‘You need it tonight, Grandmother.’ Then I put the pillow on her face and I pressed down. I pressed down as firmly as I could and waited. I counted to one hundred. She thrashed a bit, but actually, she didn’t really resist. Maybe she knew I had finally bested her…”
His voice trailed off. He had balled up his hand and pressed it against his thigh as he reenacted his grandmother’s final moments. It was as if he was doing it all over again.
“And Warner saw you do it,” said Antonia meekly. “Through the window, right?”
Once again, Carl turned to her with surprised eyes, as if still bewildered by all that had transpired, despite being the catalyst for everything.
“I had met Warner a few days before. I dug a hole in the Mastersons’ fence—the one you came through today—so that I could enter my grandmother’s house unnoticed. I didn’t realize anyone was staying at the Mastersons’ but then Warner happened upon me when I returned. I told him we did it as kids, going back and forth, and he didn’t care, wasn’t his house. But now he knew me, and knew my face. It wasn’t going to be a problem…”
“Until…”
“Until I caught him spying on me. When I was sure it was over and Grandmother was dead, I happened to glance out the window. And I saw Warner staring at me through the Mastersons’ window. Clear as day. Mouth agape, expression of shock. He was naked, about to take a shower. I’m quite certain he just happened to glance out of the window at the wrong time. Perhaps he was closing the shades. But he had seen me do it. He was a witness. A witness I couldn’t afford to keep.”
Those very words made Antonia’s heart leap: a witness I couldn’t afford to keep. Isn’t that what she was? She had to keep him talking, delay this monster from not affording to keep her.
“So, then what?”
Carl was talking as if on autopilot. “I went downstairs. I was calm, but quick. As you saw, my grandmother’s back yard is a mess so it was only a matter of grabbing the can of Lysol. I thought I would spray it in his eyes like mace. The Mastersons’ back door was unlocked. I found him upstairs, hiding like a pussy, calling 911. I sprayed him and smacked the phone out of his hand. Then I dragged him to the bathtub and smashed his head against the porcelain.”
“And then you staged the rest,” Antonia added. “You didn’t want anyone to know that he was in that back bathroom. You didn’t want them to connect the dots.”
Carl shook his head. “I cleaned it all up, put it back together and made it look like he had showered in that bathroom. Then I went back to the bathroom where he saw me at Grandmother’s and fixed it up.”
“You didn’t put the towels back correctly.”
“What’s that?”
“The towels. One was inside out.”
Carl stared into space. “The towel was inside out,” he repeated, more as a rhetorical question. “Is that what tipped you?”
“Partly. And you also forgot the Lysol can. The Mastersons use purely organic.”
“I was rushing. Genevieve was calling. Waiting for me. That’s why I forgot my watch.”
“The watch!” said Antonia.
“Yes. But I came back to fix it all up early that morning. But you were already there…you’ve been a problem since the beginning.”
The fleeting movement Antonia had seen in the yard. She knew she wasn’t being crazy.
“See, Antonia. Twice you almost foiled me.”
“And Sheila?”
Carl laughed maniacally. Antonia watched as his long fingers clutched the knife in his hand. She couldn’t believe this was the same person that she had actually liked and been excited that her best friend was dating. This was a true psychopath.
“Sheila was my sugar mommy. I met her a few weeks ago also. She gave me money and an alternate crash pad.”
“But I thought her lover was British?”
“She liked to role play. Turned her on. She was a crazy bitch.”
“Why did you kill her?”
Carl ran his hand through his hair. His eyes were far away. “She was demanding. I earned every penny I made from her. She was a nag. No wonder that ex-husband left her. Needy bitch. She started to follow me. Found out about Genevieve and threatened to expose me. I couldn’t take it anymore…”
Carl stopped and shifted slightly to scratch his chin. It was a split second falter, but Antonia made her move. She would never again allow herself to be a victim. Never. Antonia summoned up all of her energy and kicked his hand away, sending the knife flying. She pushed him with all of her might so that he fell backwards and leapt off the sofa.
“Stop, you bitch!” protested Carl.
But Antonia didn’t stop. She summoned all of her energy and ran out her front door. Her leg was burning and her body was sore but she knew she had to escape now or she never would.
The inn was still pitch black; the generator hadn’t yet kicked in. Antonia ran to the foot of the stairs. “Joseph!” yelled Antonia with desperation.
She craned her neck to stare down the hall at her apartment door, which Carl banged open with explosive force. He came hurling towards her, his face contorted, hell bent on pursuing her. Undaunted, Antonia ran up the stairs. But just as suddenly, she tripped on the edge of the rug. She pressed her hands on the carpeted stairs to pull herself up. Her cut was throbbing and her whole leg was weak but she was too terrified to think about that.
“Joseph!” she yelled.
She scrambled up to resume her ascent when Carl grabbed her ankle. He yanked her with force, thrusting her onto her face in the stairwell.
Antonia screamed in pain. Her nose was burning, possibly broken. She was momentarily disoriented. Carl took the opportunity to drag her down the stairs. Her head was banging against each step as he yanked her. From somewhere deep within, Antonia gathered her strength and screamed on the top of her lungs.
“JOSEPH!!!!!!!” she had never yelled so loudly in her life.
“Shut up or I’ll kill you now,” hissed Carl. He was dragging her towards the front door. Antonia clung to the banister, wrapping her arms around it as if it was a buoy and she had been in a shipwreck.
“What’s going on?”
Antonia glanced up at the top of the stairs. There was enough moonlight streaking through the window to illuminate Joseph. He had propped himself on his crutches and was looming in the distance, staring down at Antonia and Carl. It was a surreal moment, as if the sky had opened and God himself parted the clouds of heaven to help her.
“Help me, Joseph!”
“He can’t help you!” snapped Carl. He took a final yank and pulled Antonia. She thought she heard a snap, and she felt as if her knee had been dislocated. A warm sensation flooded her body, as if she was taking a hot bath. Carl dragged her towards the front door.
Antonia heard Joseph’s footsteps clunk down the stairs. The crutches making it sound like a four-legged creature was coming towards her. “Let her go!” shouted Joseph.
Antonia glanced up at Carl, but he paid Joseph no heed. He was frenzied, determined to drag Antonia out of there.
“I said, let her go!” bellowed Joseph.
Carl ignored him. He opened the front door with one hand, letting in a large gust of wind and rain. The raindrops actually felt soothing to Antonia, as if reminding her she was alive.
Antonia heard Joseph’s footsteps continue as Carl dragged her. She rolled her head back to stare at the diminishing figure of Joseph, who had now made it to the middle of the stairs. Then suddenly the strangest thing happened: Joseph lifted one of his crutches, an
d with the precision of a javelin thrower, hurled it directly at Carl. The crutch smacked Carl straight in the chest, sending him falling through the door backwards. Antonia heard his head hit the brick patio.
With all the strength she could muster, Antonia reached and grabbed the crutch. As Carl started to stir, Antonia raised the crutch. She began whacking him repeatedly over the head. She paused.
“Where is Genevieve?” she demanded.
Carl’s eyes were rolling. He shook his head. Antonia whacked him twice on the head.
“Where is she?” demanded Antonia.
When he wouldn’t answer, she raised the crutch again. Finally, he put his hand up.
“In the hole.”
“Which hole?”
“The yard…”
Antonia remembered the shovel. Carl digging in the rain. Was Genevieve buried alive or dead? Antonia whacked two more times, until he no longer moved. She heard Joseph calling her name over and over. She glanced up at him and said: “Get Genevieve from the Harkins’ yard…”
Before she passed out.
Monday
29
Southampton Hospital has a bad reputation. It is the East End’s punching bag, a place ridiculed for being inefficient and incompetent. But Antonia found the derision undeserved as she had received excellent care. Her leg had been set, her wounds tended, and most importantly, her body drugged up enough so that she would feel no pain. As long as they continued bringing on the Vicodin, she was one happy lady.
Sergeant Flanagan was her first visitor; he came to take her statement.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Sergeant Flanagan scolded.
“I know,” said Antonia.
“And you’re even luckier that your friend is okay.”
He was referring to Genevieve. When Antonia regained consciousness, her first questions had been about the fate of her friend. Thankfully, Genevieve had been found alive. Carl had indeed dug a hole in the backyard and placed Genevieve there, but didn’t have time to kill her, perhaps because he was interrupted when Antonia went by the house earlier. Fortunately, Genevieve was rescued in time to only suffer a bad bruise on the head and a case of serious heartbreak. Her biggest lament, she said when she visited Antonia, was that it would be “back to the drawing board in the dating game.”
“I know. What would I do without her?”
“You were a big help, but it was too dangerous. Don’t get yourself into trouble again. Let the police handle their own business,” warned Sergeant Flanagan.
“Absolutely,” promised Antonia.
“You know, you really pummeled Carl. He’s going to be in the hospital for a long time. If this innkeeping doesn’t work out, you have a second career as an American Gladiator.”
“I will reserve my brutality for serial killers. Isn’t that what he is?”
“A classic psychopath. We’re right now talking to other police forces in other states trying to map together the crimes this man committed. There was no way that these three were his first. This is where he started unraveling. Unfortunately, I think he did a lot of damage before we found him.”
Antonia felt chills. To think she had been that close to a sociopath. “I hope he’ll be locked away for awhile.”
“Don’t worry. Just get better.”
“They said in four to six weeks I will be fully recovered.”
“That is if you stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try.”
After the Sergeant left, Joseph entered. He had been with her most of the night, but upon Antonia’s insistence had been driven home by Hector in the early hours so that he could take a short nap and change clothing.
“I’m so glad you are okay, my dear,” he said, patting her hand gently.
“What would I have done without you?” asked Antonia. “You saved my life.”
Joseph waved off her gratitude. “Does this mean you will waive all of my dietary restrictions forever?”
“Not a chance!” teased Antonia. “But I will make you your favorite meal, cholesterol be damned, as soon as I get out of here.”
“Sounds delightful.”
For the rest of the day Antonia received a steady stream of visitors. Larry Lipper came in, whipped open his notebook and demanded an exclusive.
“You owe me, babe,” he demanded.
Antonia (not the way he really wanted!) sighed deeply and told him everything she could remember. Their meeting was fortunately cut short by Soyla, who was so intuitive about when Antonia needed her help. Later Glen, Marty, Kendra, Soyla and Hector all came to check in. Marty told her she looked “sexy as hell” in her hospital-issued gown.
In the afternoon, Jonathan stopped by.
“I knew that man was bad news,” he said as he pulled up a chair next to Antonia.
Antonia propped herself up. “I never even asked you. How did you know each other?”
“I didn’t really know him. I was at a bar one night about two weeks ago and he was sitting behind me with a woman pontificating about culture and class, all the while speaking in what was clearly a fake British accent. When he started to go on and on about his years at Oxford, spewing all sorts of erroneous facts, I couldn’t help myself. I turned around and corrected him. He was furious and his date was not amused at his deception.”
“Wow. I wish I had asked you earlier.”
“I know. But I probably wouldn’t have said anything. I thought you were friends.”
“Yeah.”
“Speaking of which, I have something for you.”
Jonathan handed her a tin. “It’s from your friend Sam.”
“Aw, that was sweet.”
When he left, Antonia opened the tin and found bacon and fig muffins. She read the note that was attached to it:
Antonia—Wishing you a speedy recovery. As we both agreed, bacon heals all, so eat these as if the doctor prescribed them! I’m heading out of town, hoping one day our paths will cross again. Sam.
The note and the gesture were classy. She had to hand it to Sam. He was a nice guy. It made her wonder, had she had totally blown it with him on purpose on some subconscious level? Maybe she wasn’t ready for a nice guy. Maybe she still felt she didn’t deserve it.
After the visiting hours ended, Antonia dozed off into a fitful sleep. This was one traumatic week that would leave her with nightmares for awhile. But even so, she was grateful that she had so many close friends around her. Sometimes it took a crazy thing like this to happen in order to realize what you have. Antonia vowed to take more time to appreciate everyone and everything.
When Antonia opened her eyes, Karen, the nurse, poked her head in the door. Her face was animated.
“Nick Darrow is here to see you,” she whispered with excitement.
Antonia stared at her with glassy eyes. She tried to sit up a little.
Karen handed her a small mirror and a brush with a wink. Antonia did the best to make her wild mop presentable, but she was suffering from a severe case of bed head and the fact was there was very little she could do about it. Her reflection also confirmed the presence of swollen eyes from hours of remaining horizontal and an alarmingly pale complexion. Ah heck with it, she thought. She couldn’t exactly look like a beauty queen when she’d recently been attacked.
“It is what it is,” she said finally, before asking Karen to send him in.
Of course, as was his manner, Nick Darrow swooped in and made a grand movie star entrance. He wore a coat and tie and held an enormous arrangement of flowers, which he placed on the table next to her, then he leaned in and gave Antonia a kiss on the cheek.
“You look incredible for someone who took down a serial killer,” he boomed. “Remind me to hire you as my stunt double next time I do a movie.”
Antonia smiled and sat up. She still felt somewhat weak and the blood rushed to her hea
d, but there was no way she was going to let on. “Thanks. I think I’m retired from all that now.”
“I hope so.”
Nick swung a bench towards the edge of Antonia’s bed and sat down. “Seriously, Toni, let’s not do this again. You had me worried.”
Antonia smiled. She hadn’t heard anyone call her Toni since her father died. It was sweet. “I don’t plan on it Nick. I swear.”
Nick put his hands on hers. He gave her a long look. “How are you really? Are you okay?”
“I’m going to be.”
Nick nodded, pensively. “Okay, because I need you to stick around.”
“Oh, I’m here for the long haul,” said Antonia.
“I like to hear that,” said Nick. “I like to hear that.”
Six Weeks Later
30
The restaurant was buzzing. Antonia smiled and waved at Sergeant Flanagan, who after much cajoling had finally taken her up on her offer to bring his wife by for a special dinner. From the looks of it he was enjoying everything, including the special course that she sent out for her “celebrity guests.” She was glad.
As she checked on various diners and made the requisite small talk, Antonia realized how much better she was feeling these days. Only yesterday, she was finally able to ditch her crutches and could now use a cane as her knee had almost healed. She had been determined to get back on her feet as swiftly as possible, and with the help of thrice weekly visits to Matt Powers, the physical therapist, she had achieved her goal.
She approached table twelve with a big smile. A young blonde woman in her twenties faced her, seated with a man. The woman had a wide Scandinavian face, cornflower blue eyes and flaxen hair. She was striking because of her Nordic looks, but basically nothing special upon closer observation. Antonia said hello and put her hand on the back of the man’s chair. She turned to introduce herself to him and her mouth dropped open. It was Sidney Black.
