Wrong

by LP Lovell

  Bob inhales several times. “I’m worthless…”

  Jude kicks him in the back and Bob falls forward, his face smacking the cold concrete. “Do better than that!”

  “Jude!” I shout. He looks up at me, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Stop,” I say quietly. I shake my head, but he’s too far gone. This isn’t about me anymore. This is about him, and whatever demon he has riding his back.

  He wipes his hand down his face, pacing behind Bob as he nods his head. He drops to a crouch beside Bob and flips him over, pinning him to the floor by his throat. His face is focused and determined as he squeezes Bob’s throat, watching as the man coughs and fights him. This is when Jude is at his most terrifying, not because he looks crazy, quite the opposite; he’s so controlled, fully aware of what he’s doing.

  “Tor,” he grates. His voice makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He looks up at me and gestures me over. The angry and abused girl in me wants to hurt Bob. The rational side of me says it won’t help, but I’m so fucking tired of feeling like a victim, of feeling weak in this place where monsters pretend to be men. So I take the first step toward him.

  “Ria…” Caleb starts. I glance at him, and his expression is filled with pity. I don’t want his pity. “You don’t have to do this. Let me do it for you.”

  “Caleb, out!” he snaps. I focus on Jude’s face, on his dark green eyes that always seem so bottomless. Something passes between us, an understanding, a matching need for revenge, an outlet to purge the rage and hate. I’ve been blaming him for what happened, but I know it wasn’t him. His only crime is leaving me. The man currently choking and gasping for breath, he’s the animal here.

  I close the distance to Jude and kneel down beside Bob’s thrashing body. Jude’s eyes never leave mine as he carefully places the knife in my palm with a nod. He may be violent, he may be a criminal, but he understands what I need, and he’s giving me the means to take back my own power. He can’t give it to me, though, I have to take it.

  My pulse speeds as I shakily hold out the blade toward Bob’s chest. My hand won’t still, and I close my eyes as I try to control my nerves. I feel warm fingers wrap around my hand, stilling it. When I open my eyes, Jude is right there with me. He guides my hand to Bob’s chest, pressing the tip into his skin before slowly dragging my hand down, and the blade with it.

  Bob screams, and there’s a certain satisfaction in it that both thrills and scares me. I feel as though by inflicting pain on him, I’m being relieved of my own; it’s almost cleansing.

  Blood wells and spills down his sides. I want to hate myself for this, I want to hate Jude for turning me into this, but I can’t. I didn’t do this, I became this.

  When Jude lifts the knife away from Bob’s skin, I release the breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. He lets go of my hand, and I numbly drop the knife, watching it to clatter to the floor. Suddenly, Jude grabs onto Bob’s throat, squeezing to the point that it literally looks as if his eyes will pop from his skull at any moment. “Caleb!” he shouts.

  The door cracks open and Caleb pokes his head around the door. “Take Tor outside,” Jude grates through gritted teeth.

  “Jude,” Caleb starts.

  “Take her the fuck out!” he shouts. I glance between the two of them as a tense, silence takes hold. Caleb breaks first, gently wrapping his fingers around my arm and pulling me from the room. I glance over my shoulder, looking back at Jude as his eyes fix on Bob who is still struggling against his hold.

  The door slams shut behind me, and all I can hear is the echo of my footsteps. I’m halfway to the next door when I hear a loud gunshot ring out behind me, followed by another. I flinch, and my hands start shaking. I know Jude just killed Bob. One look at his face and I knew there was no way Bob was getting out of that room alive. Jude is not someone to double cross. Bob hurt me and he killed him for it. Part of me knows that he doesn’t deserve my gratitude, and yet I can’t help but feel some towards him. I’m no longer just veering from my path, I’m crashing and burning, and like the masochist he makes me, I’m reveling in the flames.

  I don’t know who I am anymore or what I’m becoming. I just took a knife to a man, and I liked cutting him. It felt cleansing to me, and that’s depraved in so many ways. By the time I reach the door at the end I’m shaking, my knees threatening to buckle. I glance down at my hands, and they are covered in blood. For the first time in my life, they are covered in blood because I was harming someone, not saving them.

  I small sob rips up my throat, and tears slip down my cheeks. I’ve become the very thing I’ve always feared, because as of this moment...death no longer affects me. I feel nothing except the loss of myself. My knees give out and I drop to the floor.

  “Ria!” Caleb rushes to my side, but I push him away.

  “No.” I whisper. I don’t want Caleb to see this. He still sees good in me, and his faith is so misplaced. I glance up at him and meet his concerned eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re not a monster,” I cry. How could I ever think he was a monster? He’s just a kid.

  His hands stroke over my face. “I’m sorry.” “Shh, it’s okay.” He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  I nod and sniff as he wipes tears from my face.

  “Caleb. Go.” Jude’s rough voice rumbles behind me. Caleb rises to his feet, flashing me one last look before he turns away.

  “Tor,” Jude says my name quietly.

  I meet his eyes, and he studies me for a long while. “I’m...I can’t…” My voices trembles as I try to process what just happened.

  “Tor,” he says, more sternly this time. “Look at me.” I can’t look at him. “Look. At. Me,” he demands.

  I drag my eyes to his, expecting his anger, but instead understanding. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

  I nod, and whatever emotional barrier that I had in place snaps as tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know whether I’m losing myself or finding myself. The old me would never have taken a knife to someone, she would have recoiled in horror. This damaged version needed to cut Bob, needed revenge and Jude could helped me with that. I close my eyes as shuddering sobs wrack my body. One minute I’m falling apart, and the next, strong arms are wrapping around me, holding my broken pieces together.

  I shouldn’t let him hold me, but I do.

  I shouldn’t like the way his warm chest feels pressed against my cheek, but I do.

  This should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.

  Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.

  I sit at my desk taking bets, but I’m distracted. I can’t get her out of my fucking head. I start to light a cigarette when the phone rings and I answer it.

  “Go ahead.”

  “That missing person’s report came in,” David pauses. I can hear the muffled noise from his police radio on the other end. “I cancelled it twice already. Can’t do it again. You’re gonna have to do something to make this disappear.”

  I twist the cord between my fingers, scraping a film of nicotine from it. This is all I’ve been able to think of. What I’ll do with her. I can’t let her go because I fear Joe will kill her. To me, there’s only one logical solution. I inhale. “I need your help.”

  “Yeah?”

  Cradling the phone with my chin, I bury my face in my palms. I’m tired. I’m worn out from dealing with this shit, from all the fucking guilt I’ve had over her. “I need a body,” I say.

  I hear David draw in a long breath. “A body, huh? How tall is she?”

  “About five four…”

  “She have anything on her that could ID her?”

  “A necklace.” I bend a paperclip, then drag the end along the edge of the desk. “We’ve still got her boyfriend’s car too.”

  “All right. You’re gonna have to help me though. Shit’s a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’ll go around to some of the abandoned houses on the North side. Give me a f
ew days and I can probably find a dead transit we can use.” I hear static from the radio calling for back-up, which causes David to groan. “I’ll handle it later. I gotta go,” he says quickly, and hangs up.

  I open the desk drawer and pull out her necklace. There’s still dried blood in the tiny crevices of the chain. She’ll never really appreciate why I’m doing this, but that doesn’t matter.

  Three days later, David and I cart the corpse through the pitch-black abandoned lot. I tuck the legs under my arm as I open the door to Euan’s BMW, and we set the body behind the wheel. David found her early this morning when he was on patrol, and by the look and stench of her, she’s been dead for a few days.

  “This is sick, even for me,” I mumble, my fingers trembling as I pull Tor’s necklace from my pocket. I loop the chain around the dead woman’s neck and fumble to fasten the lock. A light breeze blows, causing the rancid smell of rotting flesh to waft up to my nose, and I gag. I have to step away to catch a breath of clean air before finally clasping the lock.

  David tosses me a pair of pliers. “Pull out her teeth.”

  “Are you serious?” I furrow my brow, then glance back at the corpse. “I’m not fucking doing that!”

  “Dental records won’t match. You want them to believe this is her, the only form of ID you can leave is that necklace,” David pats the hood as he leans against the car, “and this car. You want to make people think she’s dead, this is what you gotta do.”

  I catch another whiff of death and feel my stomach churn. I swallow the bile eating its way up my throat as I lean into the car, placing my palm on the woman’s chilled forehead. What’s underneath my palm no longer feels like skin; instead, it’s wet and waxy. I gag and cough, spitting out mouthfuls of saliva as I clamp the pliers over one of the few teeth in her head. It takes more force than I think to wiggle it from the socket. Each time I pull, the cracking noise it creates nearly makes me vomit.

  I pull the last tooth and get out of that fucking car as fast as I can. This is fucking sick! I pace as David douses the body in gasoline. I hear him strike a match. I don’t look back. I just walk straight ahead to David’s patrol car. The entire drive back to my car, I fight the urge to throw up. I can smell death on me, and I don’t know that any amount of washing will get rid of the stench. I stare out the window and I wonder how in the hell I got to the point of desecrating bodies, but above

  anything else, I wonder why in the hell she’s been put into my life.

  I fold the newspaper and pick up the phone.

  I hear the lull of the TVs in the background before anyone says anything. “Yeah,” Rich groans.

  “Send Caleb down with the girl.”

  “All right.”

  I set the receiver down and light a cigarette. Leaning back in the chair, I take a long pull from the smoke and train my eyes on the door.

  Within a few minutes, I hear footsteps on the stairs, and then Caleb walks into the room with Tor. Just looking at her causes a reaction in me: anger, guilt, need. I don’t fucking like that she makes me feel anything, and I try to look anywhere but her face. I trail my eyes over the pair of jeans she’s wearing, over the loose shirt that hangs from one shoulder. I cringe when I notice the long pink wound across her throat.

  “Sit down.” I point to the chair in front of my desk.

  She silently does as asked. There is nothing in her eyes. No fight. No fear. There’s a fragility about her that makes me want to protect her, and that’s some fucked-up shit right there.

  “I need to tell you something.” I pause and look her over. What I’m about to tell her is going to send her over the edge. She looks so frail, and this is going to be hard for her to process. I am pretty much ripping away any sliver of hope she may have left. This will make her hate me even more than she already does because she won’t possibly understand that the sole reason I’m doing this is to protect her. Why would she believe that a man who held her captive would ever be trying to save her?

  “If I could, I would protect you from this…” I trail off, waiting to see how she responds.

  Her eyes set on me, cold and hard. “It would seem that the only person I need protection from is you and your family.”

  I tried to help her the only way I know, but I guess revenge doesn’t work the same for everyone. She still blames me, still hates me. I narrow my gaze. “You think?” I arch my brow and shake my head. “Because I can assure you that Joe is a much bigger threat to you than I am.”

  “Fine, enlighten me.”

  I glance over to Caleb. “Get out,” I say. I don’t want anyone else in here because I know this is going to be awful.

  He looks nervously at Tor before walking out of the room. The door softly closes behind him, and I rise, walking around my desk.

  “You know…I visited Euan the other day.”

  “Oh, did you have fun?” A wry smile pulls at her lips, and I can’t help but grin at the slightly sadistic glint in her eyes. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  “Tor,” I lean over her chair, gripping the arms, inching my way closer to her until the only thing I see are her gun-metal blue eyes. I gently sweep a stray piece of hair behind her ear. I trail my finger down her jaw, and her muscles stiffen, but she doesn’t pull away. My gaze drifts over her full lips before slowly rising back to meet her eyes. “Trust me, when someone fucks with something that’s in my possession. I. Am. Brutal.” Those last three words come out so low, so hoarse, I almost don’t even recognize my own voice.

  Her eyes hold mine. I know she wants to ask me if I killed him, because there’s not much more that comment could have insinuated, but she remains completely silent. There’s no reason to tell her Euan’s dead, because in a moment that won’t even matter.

  “I just want you to remember that I did this to protect you from Joe. He will kill you if he finds you because this didn’t go the way he planned.” I inhale as I slam down the front page of the Vanderbilt newspaper in front of her. “I’ve done what I had to do to ensure your protection.”

  She eyes me before glancing down at the article. Her brows pinch in confusion, then her face washes white. “What...is this?” Her voice is a breathless whisper.

  “You are dead as far as the rest of the world is concerned.”

  She snatches the paper from the desk, her eyes frantically skimming over the write-up detailing her grizzly death.

  “My sister,” she breathes, and in that moment I feel sympathy for her.

  “I’m sorry. It had to be done. I had no choice.”

  She sits there staring at the paper, and I wait for her to fall to pieces. The more she reads, the heavier her breaths become. She frowns, her lips forming a thin line. “You didn’t even tell me what you were going to do!” she shouts at me.

  “Why would I?” I shrug. “You didn’t have a say in the matter?”

  “You know what? Fuck you, Jude!” She stands and throws the paper down on the desk.

  She’s angry as a hornet, and she has every right to be. I wet my lips with the edge of my tongue and reach for the cigarettes on my desk. Just as I pull one from the pack, she swats it from my hand.

  “Fuck you!” she growls again. Her stance widens as she balls her fists by her side. She looks like she may be about to punch me. “You have cost me everything, and now you’ve cost me my life.”

  I shake my finger at her. “No, I saved your fucking life!” I’m growing agitated, not necessarily at her, but at the fact that I’ve had to damage her even further.

  Her entire body is shaking. “You have taken everything from me, including my freedom.”

  I pick up a loose cigarette from the floor and light it. I hold the smoke inside my lungs as I glare at her. Letting the thick cloud roll from my lips. My chest tightens, I feel sorry for her, I feel guilty, and those are not emotions I’m much accustomed to. I pull in another drag from the cigarette and wait for her to completely break, because it’s coming.

  Her expression morphs instantly
from despair to rage. Rage I can deal with, tears not so much.

  “Why would you do this? Have you not taken enough from me? You’re a selfish bastard!” she screams at me.

  I put the cigarette in the ashtray. I lean against the desk, bracing myself with my arms. She doesn’t get why I did this. “I told you—”

  “I’m not interested in your bullshit excuses! You have ruined my life. My sister thinks I am dead because of you! This was all just to protect yourself, so do me a favour and stop with the fucking lies.”

  “If I hadn’t you would have ended up dead, and if you think what I’m capable of is fucking deranged, you don’t want to know what Joe would do to you! If you want to blame anyone, blame that shit-poor excuse of a man who handed you over to criminals in the first place. This is all his fucking fault. He ruined your life!” I shout. ”And he made a fucking mess of mine.”

  “Fuck. You!” she screams, swinging her arm back.

  Her palm hits the side of my face with a loud clap, and my head slams to the side. Heat floods my cheek where she struck me, stinging like a motherfucker. I inhale as I close my eyes, trying to breathe. I will fucking take it this once.

  “Tor,” I growl in warning; my jaw tightens, my fists clench.

  “How has this messed up your fucking life? You’re not a dead girl walking!” She grabs the ashtray from the desk and chucks it at the wall. Soot flies everywhere. We’ve skipped the crying and gone straight to irrational, apparently.

  She stomps across the room. “You don’t have to think of your sister crying over your fucking closed casket.” She rips the painting off the wall, and smashes the frame over the desk. I jump to the side of the room as she hurls the mangled frame at me. “You haven’t just lost the career you worked eight fucking years for!” She takes the crystal decanter of whiskey and throws it against the wall.

  “And you don’t have a foot long scar down your body, and a slit throat! I fucking hate you!” she screams manically, throwing the telephone at me.

  This is how I would react, not how I expected her to react. I expected her to fall into a sobbing heap on the floor, not destroy my fucking house. I stand to the side of the room, lighting another smoke as I lean against the wall and watch her. If this is what she needs to come to term with things, so fucking be it. Eventually, she’s run out of things to break and grabs the cushions from the sofa, giving them an exaggerated throw in my direction.