by Heather Lin
The nicotine infiltrated his system and the angry shaking began to subside. He was still thirsty. He still needed a shower. And then he needed to leave. He didn’t want the noise of L.A., he didn’t want to hear Madison say I told you so, but he sure as hell didn’t want to stay here, near Monroe, where everything reminded him of her scent and betrayal.
Alton massaged his temples and sucked down the cigarette. He knew what needed to be done, the only way he could take his revenge, though it would never be enough. He crushed his cigarette and went back inside. He approached Ms. Hutter’s door and knocked. She answered within a few moments.
“Mr. Daniels. What can I do for you?”
“I want Monroe fired.”
XII
It was early morning. Monroe sat with the TV on, a letter stating her father would be released from the institution today on the kitchen table in front of her. The nightmare had returned that night, full force, granting her only two hours of sleep and allowing her to snag the Chronicle from the front gate before anyone else was awake. She held it in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
She took a sip and read the article featuring a ten-year-old photograph from the night of the attack. It showed her father being forced into a police car while her sedated body lay on a stretcher off to the side. The photograph did not show her mother and step-father’s imbrued bodies, still in the house, being inspected and photographed for evidence before the medical examiner took them to the morgue.
A shiver ran down Monroe’s spine. She turned her attention away from the picture and focused on the text.
Nearly eleven years after Talbot List committed the most heinous murders the small town of St. Clare has ever seen, he is being released from St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington D.C.
During the trial, List managed to convince jurors he suffered from dissociative identity disorder and was locked away and medicated instead of seeing jail time or the death penalty. Psychologists at the institution say he’s responded well to medication, group therapy, and individualized therapy, and he is no longer a threat to society.
But try telling that to Monroe List, Talbot’s daughter and the only survivor of the List House Murders. She claims the “psychologists are wrong” and her father’s outburst wasn’t a case of temporary insanity but rather the “tirade” of a “jealous [man].”
The twenty-five-year-old, who covers her scars with gloves and strategically-cut shirts, was understandably shocked to hear of her father’s release. She also expressed fear her father may strike again.
“I was the only witness,” List said in a voice trembling with fear and anger. “If I were him, I’d want to finish the job.”
But Ms. List does hold hope that the well-guarded gates of Applewild Farm (where it’s rumored Alton Daniels is currently residing) will continue to keep her safe from intruders.
Talbot List is scheduled to be released on Wednesday, September 11th at 10:00am. He will be staying in a group home and is under orders to meet regularly with a parole officer and a court-appointed psychologist or risk the order’s annulment.
Fresh fear gripped Monroe. That idiot reporter had listed her place of residence. All Monroe’s father needed to do was read this article and he’d know exactly where to find her.
The case had been a historic one with a historic verdict. She was the as-good-as-orphaned survivor who received bittersweet justice. It had been too easy for local reporters to latch onto the story and milk it for all it was worth, and it could so easily turn into that again.
Especially if she died, after all. How tragic, they’d say.
Monroe threw the newspaper on the floor and held her coffee cup in a death grip. She struggled to keep from completely losing it. A part of her had already known it would come to this—leaving the only home she’d known since her father had destroyed hers. Monroe’s name and where she worked weren’t big secrets. But she thought she’d have some time. She hadn’t counted on Dee Franklin drawing her father a map and posting copies around town.
Monroe chewed her lower lip and stared at the floor. Where would she go? What would she do? How could she find a new place, quickly, with Werther in tow? She propped her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.
She’d have to give Ms. Hutter her notice. She couldn’t stay a full two weeks. She had a hunch David would also be getting a job—her job. Monroe’s hand ached from the stress. She massaged it and discovered they were shaking again. How had he done this? How had her father, after all these years, managed to turn her into a scared little girl again?
Monroe wanted to go back to sleep—she was so emotionally fried—but she didn’t dare. The more fear coursing through her, the more vivid her dreams. So she did what she always did when sleep eluded her; she went downstairs and got to work. Once she had a plan, she’d talk to Ms. Hutter.
But she didn’t get the chance. Monroe was throwing fresh straw into stalls when the housekeeper came into the barn, picking her way carefully around horse droppings and swatting at flies.
“Hi, Ms. Hutter.”
“Hi, Monroe. Is there someplace we could talk?”
Monroe cocked her head and looked at the housekeeper, trying to read her. This wouldn’t be good news. “Sure.”
She led the way up to her apartment and gestured to the kitchen table and chairs. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. Monroe…” She paused, trying to gather her thoughts or choose her words. She looked a bit guilty. Monroe’s stomach was in knots.
“What? What is it?”
“I wanted to show you this.”
Ms. Hutter put her iPad on the table. Monroe frowned at the familiar picture. She almost wished whoever was leaking the information would snap a new shot of them together just so she could stop staring at this one. She read the article and sighed.
“Somebody around here has no life. And the people who read this trash don’t have lives, either.”
“Well, Monroe…Mr. Daniels seems convinced you were the one who gave the editor of this publication the information.”
The news was yet another blow. “We had this talk. Me and him. We sorted it out.”
“He said he saw you talking to a reporter. After I left the coffee shop. I couldn’t confirm or deny the accusation, but he wants you gone.”
Monroe shook her head. “This is ridiculous. He has no idea what trust even means.”
“Can you blame him?” Ms. Hutter’s tone was soft, her expression sympathetic.
“When do I have to go?”
“As soon as possible. Within the next two days, I think, or he’ll talk to Mrs. Avery. I’m giving you the opportunity to resign. You’ll get a good reference from me. He doesn’t need to know all the details.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I was young and—young once.”
Monroe had a feeling she’d been about to say young and stupid but stopped herself.
“Then I’ll start packing. Did you call David?”
“Yes. He’ll start Friday.”
Monroe nodded, trying not to feel bitter. “Could I ask a favor?”
“No harm in asking.”
“Could Werther stay? Just until I find a place? I don’t have to come to the farm to see him, and I can pay a month up front. Hopefully it won’t take me longer than that. And when I’m ready for him I could meet Beth at the gate with a trailer, or…whatever you think is best.”
“I think that would be fine.”
“Thank you.”
Ms. Hutter covered Monroe’s gloved hand with hers. “I really am sorry. I know how much this place means to you. I’m sorry that boy is so hurt and jaded he can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of him. And I’m sorry I have to be the one to send you away.
“It’s okay.”
Ms. Hutter smiled, nodded, and excused herself. They both knew it wasn’t okay. Monroe wanted to cry. She needed some kind of emotional release. But the tears wouldn’t come. Sh
e had too much to take care of, too many reasons to stay strong for at least a little while longer. So she had another cup of coffee and went downstairs to finish the morning chores.
By 10:00am, Shannon had happily agreed to give Monroe a place to stay, and by 3:00, everything Monroe owned was packed and ready to go.
The tears finally flowed when she went downstairs to ride Werther for the last time. Even though the separation would only be temporary, it broke her heart. That horse represented the best and hardest times in her life. He came so soon after the death of her mother and step-father, when her wounds were fresh, and he’d helped her heal. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye.
Werther snorted and stamped his foot impatiently as she cried into his mane. All he wanted to do was run. So Monroe pulled herself together, saddled him up, and let him.
XIII
Monroe left a list of barn duties for Ms. Hutter to fulfill until Beth and David could begin work. Mark and Shannon had arrived to help her load her things into her truck. They had special permission to be on the premises, as long as they didn’t enter “the primary residence.”
Monroe didn’t have much. Clothes, shoes, toiletries. A few ribbons from when she’d done shows as a teenager, some mementoes from her old home. A bit of jewelry, sheets and dishes. The furniture had come with the apartment, so she left it. The TV was hers. That was it. Her life in ten boxes.
She said a final farewell to Werther—rubbed his muzzle, hugged his neck, and patted his withers. She took a deep breath and forced the tears back. She’d spent enough time crying. She tried to smile as she walked out to meet her friends.
“Thanks, guys. I can take it from here. I’ll hand in my keys and meet you back at your place.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do?” Shannon asked.
“I’m sure. You guys are doing so much already.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.”
Monroe waved as they left and then drove to the main house. She parked by the front door but entered through the back. Elsa was eating a sandwich and looked up as Monroe came through.
“Today’s your last day with us, then?” she asked.
Her expression was sad and sympathetic. She and Monroe had gotten to be good friends. They were both sorry to part ways.
“It is.”
“All because of that boy?”
“Afraid so. I should have known better than to get involved with him, I guess. Like Ms. Hutter said.”
“And you won’t tell him the truth?”
Monroe’s attempt at a smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“It’s in the papers, ‘Roe,” Elsa reminded her, sliding the article her way.
“I took the paper.”
“I buy my own.”
“Did you show anyone?”
“No, I didn’t. I figured there was a reason you weren’t stating the obvious. You were already planning to go, weren’t you?”
Monroe shrugged her admission. “He’s made up his mind about me. He doesn’t want to trust me, so he won’t. I don’t see the point in arguing over details.”
Elsa got up from her seat and wrapped Monroe in a warm hug. She felt a prickle in the bridge of her nose again.
“You are so much more than a stable hand, Monroe. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” She hugged her back and gave a quick wave as she exited the kitchen. The longer she lingered with Elsa, the more in danger of breaking down she became.
She knocked on Ms. Hutter’s door and gave her the key ring she’d kept for seven years.
“Thank you, Monroe,” the housekeeper said. “I appreciate your efficiency. Here’s a letter of recommendation. I wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors.”
Ms. Hutter’s words were calm and professional, but Monroe thought she saw tears in the older woman’s eyes. On a whim, she hugged her, too. Ms. Hutter gave her a quick squeeze, then waved her away and closed the door.
Monroe glanced up the stairs toward her old bedroom, now occupied by her ex-lover. She didn’t dare go up. She took one last look around the rest of the house and exited through the front door. She got in her truck, started the engine, and caught sight of a figure in the upper hall window as she adjusted her rearview mirror.
Alton was watching her. His face was a mask, the line of his mouth forming a deep frown. He had no regrets. She couldn’t, either.
She considered waving, blowing a kiss, flipping him off, crying, but in the end she just put the truck in gear and didn’t look back.
*
Alton watched Monroe go. She deserved everything she got. He was in the right. He was the victim. She’d taken advantage of him.
So why did he feel like the bad guy?
When he’d kicked Sophie out, there was no guilt, no regret. Now those feelings threatened to overwhelm him, stronger than his own pain or self-righteousness.
It could only mean Monroe was a better player than Sophie. She’d managed to rope him in so easily, make him an even bigger fool.
Alton threw the clothes Ms. Hutter had laundered into his luggage and tossed his empty Jack Daniels bottle in the trash. He’d had enough of this place. He’d gotten over his ex only to have his heart cut again by Monroe. Women were good for one thing, and that wasn’t a relationship. The ones on his level, in the spotlight, always thought they could do better. The “normal” ones would sell him out like he wasn’t even a person. He was a commodity. He was a cuckold and a commodity.
He wouldn’t be used anymore.
Alton closed his suitcase. It was time to go back to L.A. It was time to meet with his agent, do a couple of interviews, and face the music. He could handle questions about Sophie, talk of her impending marriage and probable pregnancy. He didn’t want to talk about Monroe, but it would be easy enough to downplay what they were to each other in a nonchalant sentence or two. Within a couple weeks, someone else would have the spotlight and he could focus on his career again.
He grabbed his luggage, shrugged on his jacket, and headed downstairs for lunch. He’d already called the cab company. The farm was down two workers now. It seemed easier for everyone if he just found his own ride.
For the first and last time during his stay, Alton sat at the dining room table in Madison’s well-lit dining room. Elsa brought him a glass of red wine and fried chicken with mashed potatoes. Her tone was friendly enough, but she wasn’t chatty and didn’t hold eye contact. She knew what had happened, or at least had a hunch, and she wasn’t happy with him. But she couldn’t know both sides of the story. He did. He dismissed her displeasure and ate.
He was right back where he’d started after Sophie—sullen and sure he’d never be as happy again. Or as devastated.
He downed the glass of wine in two swallows, wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, and stood. He went to Ms. Hutter’s door and handed her his keys.
“It’s been a pleasure having you stay with us, Mr. Daniels,” the housekeeper said. “I hope we’ll see you again.”
“Thank you.”
Then he grabbed his bags and left, walking the same hall Monroe had walked, opening the same door she had opened, and leaving from the same spot in the circle driveway where they had made eye contact for the last time before she left home.
Before he made her leave home.
Guilt continued to gnaw at him. His heart was telling him to trust her while his head knew better. And after trusting his heart and failing twice, he was damn well listening to his head.
Alton put his bags in the trunk and took one last look at the house. Then he got in the cab and closed the door. Just like that, he was on his way back to LAX, far from anything reminding him of his week-long romance with Madison’s stable hand.
*
Alton landed in Los Angeles at 9:00pm. It was midnight on the East Coast. He was tired and half-drunk. The paparazzi found him immediately, but he ignored them and let three airport security officers usher him to a waiting car.
He went straight back to his apartment, set on sleeping, but the place he’d once known as home was anything but welcoming. Pictures of Alton and Sophie together were torn and scattered on the floor. His things were knocked over; her things were gone. The dining room table and a couch were missing, as was most of the artwork she’d had on the walls. His TV, brown leather couch, and coffee table were all in place in the living room. The infamous magazine still lay on the floor. He had a feeling she’d left it there on purpose, just to make him see it again.
He ran his hands over his face and entered the bedroom. The mattress was bare. She’d taken her frilly sheets with her. It didn’t make a difference to him. He lay down with a pillow under his head and fell asleep.
Hours later, Alton awoke to a pounding on the door that matched the pounding in his head. He stumbled to the door and opened it to find Madison on the other side.
“Hi!” she greeted, in a too-perky voice. “I heard you were back in town.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced and massaged his temple as she let herself in.
She picked her way through the mess, a frown on her lips. “Wow. What a bitch.”
“Yep,” he agreed. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure. You know it’s noon, though, right?”
“I do now.”
Madison walked past him to the single cup coffee maker and turned it on. Alton’s phone rang. He’d promised himself this was back to reality, so he took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“Alton! Jesus Christ, where the hell have you been? You fell off the face of the fucking earth! Damage control is only a plausible solution if you pay attention to the goddamn damage before it escalates!”
“Sorry, Roy. I needed some time.”
“We all need some goddamn time.”
Madison raised her eyebrows as she took her first sip of coffee, clearly amused by the rant he knew she could hear.
