He’s too quick to react. He doesn’t think things through. Doesn’t work through the situation before reacting. So I know this is all down to me. I need to take control of the situation before he fucking blows it for all of us.
“Carrie and I are old friends,” I say.
“Looks like it,” he replies almost calmly.
He’s not dressed in his suit today, but he still looks pretty smart. I wonder if he just came from home. I wonder if he fucked his wife before coming around here to fuck Carrie.
He makes me feel sick.
“Real good friends, right?” he sneers.
Smartass, I think. “This isn’t how it looks,” I add on with a scowl.
Adam raises an eyebrow and I can tell that he normally gets his eyebrows waxed so they are a good shape. They’re not a man’s eyebrows. They’re too groomed, too perfect.
What a dick.
“Really? Because it looks like you got my girl there against her will and it looks like you beat the shit out of her.” Adam lifts his gun a little higher. “And it looks like you need to let her go before I blow your fucking head off.”
And it’s weird, because I honestly thought he would sound…smoother, more stuck-up, but he doesn’t. He has a Boston drawl to him, and I think how strange that is. Because in that black-and-white movie, the other guy (the bad guy) he was from Boston too. And God I hope that’s not a hint for how this is going to play out.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I reply. Good one, Ethan.
But it’s true though. I mean, here I was thinking that he was some rich Los Angeles preppy privileged white boy, when really he’s not. He’s from Boston, and actually up close he doesn’t look as stuck-up as I first thought.
And part of me wants to say, good for you, man. Good for you for doing better for yourself.
But I don’t, of course I don’t, because this isn’t that type of situation. We’re not drinking buddies, or gym buddies, and you can’t go talking to someone like that and letting them know that you judged them before really getting to know them. That’s another thing my mom always used to say.
Adam laughs dryly. “That’s very true.”
And see, we do have stuff in common. How strange is this?
“But the thing is,” he continues, “is that this gun isn’t deceiving. Not even a little bit. That’s my property you have there in your arms, and you’re also in my property, and I’m honestly trying to think of a reason why I shouldn’t just kill you right now.”
And, Wow, Adam, you need to work on your mommy issues. Carrie isn’t your property—she’s a person, and you can’t own a person.
“She’s not your property,” I growl out.
The side of his mouth pulls up in a smile. “Sure she is. I paid for her and I own her. Every dirty little hole she has is mine.”
Carrie hasn’t moved or flinched since Adam walked in, but she chooses now to speak up.
“Just let me go, Ethan, and Adam won’t hurt you. Isn’t that right, Adam?”
Adam grins. “That’s not entirely true, sweetheart. I’m still gonna hurt the guy for laying his hands on you.” At least he’s honorable. “I can’t make money when your face is like that, so someone’s gotta be punished.” Or not. “Christ, even I’d find it hard to fuck you looking like that.”
So now we’re at a stalemate. I can’t let go of Carrie because Adam will shoot me, but if I don’t let go of her he’ll probably shoot us both anyway. Up close he doesn’t seem the sort of guy that has her best interests at heart. I honestly don’t think he’d care about hurting Carrie if it came to that.
So now what?
Think, Ethan. Think.
“You’ve got about thirty seconds,” Adam says, and he’s looking right at me, not even paying Carrie any attention. And I hate him even more for that. For not showing her the attention she deserves. For not giving a shit that she’s hurt. For caring more about his so-called “property” than he does about the person. And I think it’s that anger that makes me react so carelessly.
Because I can’t stop myself from reacting when Carrie (she must sense this is all going to shit too) tries to get out of my grip. It takes us all by surprise, especially because she hasn’t tried to move since this all started. She turns to lead in my arms and drops to the floor. And this time I don’t have time to grab her, because I know that Adam is going to shoot me. And it’s all a blur as Carrie turns to lead, and I dive at Adam, and Adam fires the gun. And then we are a tangle of limbs, of arms and legs, and there’s kicking and hitting. And I hate fighting, Adam, I really do. But I’m not a pussy anymore. I learned to fight. I had to if I wanted to stay alive.
And then Carrie has the gun and she aims it at me, but I know she means to aim it at Adam, so when I see the fire in her eyes and I know she’s going to shoot because she raises the gun, I throw him in front of me. And See, Carrie? See how I’m still trying to help you?
The gun is louder than I expect it to be.
And the recoil is more than Carrie expects it to be.
And the pain is worse than Adam expects it to be.
And then we all freeze, and I think, Well done, Carrie. We sure showed him. What a great team we make.
Carrie drops the gun and screams, and I’m not stupid so I quickly grab it, and by the time I have it in my hands, she is kneeling by Adam’s side and crying.
“It’s okay,” I say as Adam struggles to breathe and Carrie presses her hand over the bullet wound in his shoulder like she is trying to stem the blood flow. But she can’t because there’s so much blood. “Thank you for saving me, Carrie,” I say, and I mean it, too. She just saved my life. And look what a great team we still make!
I’m smiling as she looks up at me. And honestly, it’s not that I don’t feel bad for Adam, or that Carrie had to save me, it’s just that once again I’m just so grateful to be alive. I lean over and put my hands on my knees while I try to catch my breath.
“Damn, that was a rush, right?” I smile, still grateful that I’m alive. That Carrie saved me for a change. And what beautiful symmetry there is in that.
I was always the one saving her, and now she’s repaying the favor. That’s just fucking beautiful.
“You’re insane!” Carrie screams at me. Her face is blotchy with tears, and swollen and bruised, and she’s still trying to stop Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam from bleeding to death, and her other hand is still on her side where her rib is possibly, probably, more than likely broken. She leans over him and presses her mouth to his. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says over and over.
And then Adam coughs, and blood sprays from his mouth, and I hate the sight of blood, and I hate to see Carrie so upset. Even if she’s made me just as upset.
But ain’t that always the way?
You hurt the ones you love, whether you mean to or not.
Chapter forty-eight:
I watch them for a long time. And it’s weird because I know that the human body holds anything from six to eight pints of blood in it. But it seems so much more when it’s coming out of a person and soaking into the carpet. It seems never-ending. Like there is an infinite amount of blood leaking from this man and staining the already disgusting carpet.
And this blood will never come out. It will never wash away, no matter how much disinfectant is used. Whoever lives here afterwards (not me or Carrie) will have to replace this carpet, and maybe even the floorboards underneath. In fact, I think this house will always be soaked in blood, because this much blood doesn’t go away. Not ever. They should probably just demolish it after we leave.
I feel bad, because I know that Carrie killing Adam has probably just knocked thousands off the other house prices in this street. (I’m not stupid and I shared a cell with a house auctioneer for a small time. He liked to rape and murder women when they were having a viewing, but honestly he wasn’t that bad a guy—well, beneath all of the murder and rape, of course.) But I do feel bad, because the other people on this street, they don’t deser
ve this. It’s not their fault that Adam was a dick and Carrie was a whore. They didn’t choose this, and neither did I.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, because she seems really unstable right now. She screamed at me, and that’s not like her because she knows I don’t like to be yelled at, never mind screamed at. And of course she’s sitting in Adam’s blood and it’s soaking into her clothes, and that can’t be nice.
She’ll need another bath, I think.
But I know that we really need to get out of this house soon, because other people will come looking for Adam, or even Carrie. And maybe the neighbors have heard all the shouting recently but have turned a blind eye to it because they’re used to it, but the sound of a gun? No one ignores that. At least not in neighborhoods like this. In my neighborhood people would pull the blinds down so they didn’t have to get involved. It’s dog eat dog where I live. But not here. It’s supposed to be nice here.
But I look around at the bedroom and then at Carrie, and I know that it’s not that nice. Houses may be more expensive, but it’s just as shitty of a neighborhood as mine is. I wonder if all the houses are like this around here. If inside those beautiful brownstone walls there is just as much misery and pain as there is inside these ones. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this it’s that things are never as they seem. People are never as happy as you think.
When I first saw Carrie and Adam, I thought they were a happy couple. I thought they were having a real relationship. And when I saw him going into this house, I thought, Damn, this girl has her head together. She’s really done something with her life. Of course I still hated him for being with my girl, but at least he seemed like a respectable guy. At least that was something. But he’s not respectable.
I was wrong.
Wrong about it all.
They were not happy together. And she doesn’t even own this house. Which is good, because it’s a mess.
So I know, when Carrie looks up at me again, that she doesn’t mean it when she says that she hates me.
“I hate you, Ethan.”
She’s just angry and hurt right now.
“I wish I had never met you.”
She just killed another person after all.
She leans over his body and presses her tear-stained cheek to his bloody chest, and gross, I think.
But she’s acting irrationally. She’s probably in shock. I’ll help her through it. I’ll be a good shoulder for her to cry on. Because I know we’ve had our moments, and we’ve gone through some serious stuff these past few days, but I’m understanding. I get that we had fifteen years of pain and anger to work through. I get that, and I forgive her.
Adam wouldn’t, of course. He’d make her suffer for her sins, but not me. But then Adam’s not going to make her do anything ever again. Not now that she just killed him.
That’s some major shit. I get she’ll need to get her head together before we can move on from this. Though as upset as she is, it’s of course not the first time she’s killed someone.
She did kill her dad, after all.
Chapter forty-nine:
“We should probably leave,” I say. “The neighbors might have called the police. I don’t want you getting arrested, Carrie.”
See, Carrie? I’m still looking out for you. I am a good boyfriend
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says without looking up at me. And I don’t get it. He treated her like trash yet she’s still fawning over him like it’s true love. Maybe there’s no coming back for her. Maybe I do need to let her go, because she obviously has something very wrong with her, that she can care so much about someone so bad.
“You’ll be arrested,” I say, a last-ditch attempt to convince her. She’s confused right now, and I should try to support her, at least for a little bit more. After all, I’ve waited for her for a very long time; a couple more minutes won’t matter. Because no matter what, with or without Carrie, I definitely need to leave.
“I don’t care,” she replies. “I’ll explain to them.”
I laugh then, and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. She looks up at me with fire in her eyes. That fire that I used to love so much. Fire that would burn me up on the inside so badly that I’d die if I couldn’t touch her. Now, though, the fire just burns and hurts. It just fucking hurts. And there’s blood smeared down her cheek and it’s disgusting. Much like her infatuation with Mr. Fancy Asshole Adam.
“What will you explain, Carrie? You shot a man in cold blood. He’s dead! At best it’s manslaughter, and then what? Are you really going to go to prison for this piece-of-shit person?”
“He wasn’t shit!” she screams at me.
“No?” I reply.
“No! He cared about me.”
I laugh again and her face goes red with fury. “If he cared about you, why was he paying you for sex? Why was he selling you? Why are you living in this…” I wave my arms around us, “…this hellhole? Because he’s a piece-of-shit person and the best he could offer you was this piece-of-shit house, Carrie! Wake up and see that you’re better than this. Better than him!”
She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out, and then she wails and buries her face against his chest. I wait several minutes, hoping she’ll calm down, but when she doesn’t I make to leave. I can’t save her, I decide. Perhaps my last gift to her will be to get rid of the gun.
I open the bedroom door. I hate to go, but I can’t go back to prison or to the hospital. I just can’t. I’ve worked too hard. I’ve waited too long. Not even my love for Carrie will keep me here. They’ll never let me out again.
I want a life.
I want something better.
Something more.
And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe she’s getting what she deserves.
I’m done with her and the world she lives in. I thought she was what I wanted, but I was wrong. I don’t know what I’ll do now. But I know I can’t stay here.
I don’t deserve any of this, so why should I pay for it?
“Don’t go,” she whispers as I take a step into the hallway.
And my heart soars. I look back in and she’s looking up at me with her bloody, bruised face. Her eyes are lost in a sea of tears. Her hair is a knotty nest of despair. But her voice is pleading, almost begging.
“Please don’t leave me.”
“I don’t want to, but I can’t stay, Carrie.” I hold out my hand to her. “Come with me.”
After everything, what do I expect her to do? I don’t even know anymore. I know what I want her to do. I know what I need her to do. But Carrie has always been confusing to me. She’s the ultimate puzzle. An enigma.
She stares at my hand with her sad, sad eyes and I’m reminded of another time in another place when I said that very same thing to her. That moment changed our lives for ever. Would this be the same? Would this moment in time finally be our moment in time?
“I can’t,” she says, her words a whisper. And then she sounds like an injured dog. She mewls, and her face crumples in angst and despair, and I want to take it all away for her, I really do. But I can’t do this on my own. She has to want his as much as me too.
I see that now.
I see where we keep going wrong.
Where it all keeps falling apart for us.
I try too hard, and she doesn’t try enough. But maybe this time, if I meet her halfway, maybe she’ll take them step with me
“You can.”
She shakes her head and I try again, pushing my hand further to her, more insistent than I’ve ever been before. Because this time has to be different. I get it this time. I know what’s really happening now. I get it. Finally, I fucking get it!
I didn’t the last time.
I didn’t know the consequences.
I didn’t know what I was asking of her.
*
“Come with me, Carrie,” I plead.
“Why didn’t you do it, Ethan? Why?” She cries like I haven’t
said anything. Like I haven’t asked her the most important question in my life. “You said you would. You said you’d protect me!”
And I feel bad. I honestly do. But I couldn’t do it. Killing was bad, and surely there had to be another way. Surely there was always another way.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. We can go, together. I’ll look after you, Carrie, I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” I beg her, my arm still outstretched, my hand still open, palm up, forever reaching for her.
“Your promises don’t mean anything,” she says, and she sounds angry, and I don’t like angry Carrie. I shake my head, because it’s not true. I mean my promises, but she tricked me into this promise and I can’t do it. “You lied to me. You can’t keep me safe, Ethan. No one can.”
“Carrie—” I start, but she puts a hand up to stop me from talking, and I do, because I’m polite.
“I don’t want to hear it. You said you would kill him. It’s now or never. It’s me or him. It’s life or death. I can’t live like this anymore, I just can’t.” And she looks at me with those beautiful almond-shaped eyes of hers. “Please help me, Ethan. Kill him for me. Kill my dad! Stop him from hurting me ever again, please.” And then she breaks down crying as if saying the words out loud are a knife to her side.
It’s nighttime and we’re hidden down by the side of her house, below her father’s window.
This was where we said we would meet.
This is where she gave me the knife, the knife I hold in my sweaty hand right now.
This is where she first told me what he had been doing to her, and this is where I was sick on the ground afterwards.
Beautiful Victim Page 21
