Indecent Games Duet - Boxed Set

by Clarissa Wild

  But now, finally, I’m coming into my true self. The person I want to be.

  And I won’t rely on anyone to save me.

  With the gun in my hand, I stalk toward the door and listen.

  “YOU FUCKING BITCH, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard him yell this loud.

  He rams the door so hard I can see the wood crack.

  “You lying whore, fucking another man. I knew it!”

  Right as he’s ranting, I pull open the door and hold up the gun, hoping to shoot him down. However, as I’m aiming and trying to pull the trigger, he manages to ram me like a bull, bulldozing me back inside my own house. He pushes me against the wall, pinning my wrist in a place that makes me drop the gun to the floor.

  “Let go!” I scream.

  “You fucking bitch, how dare you?!” He’s screaming so loud it’s like my ears pop.

  Instinct drives me to protect myself, and as he puts his hand on my throat, I kick him straight in the nuts. I run into my bathroom but not in time to slam the door shut. He chases me, jerking the door from my grip and shoving me against the tiled wall.

  I claw at his face, but it’s no use; he won’t stop. With a hand on my wrist and a hand on my mouth, he hisses, “You’re not getting away this time.”

  I do the only thing I can at this point and bite him as hard as I can. Through his flesh … I can taste his blood in my mouth.

  He howls at the top of his lungs, pulling away immediately, after which he smacks me so hard I land face-first against the shower wall. However, I use the opportunity to my advantage and grab the showerhead, swiftly pulling the hose over his neck. I pull, hard, tightening the metal wire around his neck until I hear him choke.

  “You motherfucker … you’ve hurt me for the last goddamn time,” I growl, putting all my strength into wrapping the hose around his neck.

  “Stop …” He gurgles, reaching for the hose.

  I twist the knot tighter in response. “No.”

  I don’t stop.

  Not as he begs me to.

  Not as he tries to claw his way back into life.

  Not as he breathes his final breath.

  His body sinks to the ground and takes me with it. Still clutching the shower hose, I breathe in and out steadily, sweat drops rolling down the back of my neck from my ordeal.

  I push his filthy body off me and crawl up from the floor. I don’t look back, not even once before I make my way to the telephone and dial 911.

  “This is 911, what’s your emergency?”

  I clutch the phone with both hands, my brain going on autopilot. “I killed my husband.”

  23.

  Accompanying Song: “What Have We Done To Each Other” by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

  Drake

  Two hours after Greg’s murder

  From behind a tree, I look at the house through my binoculars. I’m far enough not to draw any attention to myself but close enough to watch the scene unfold. Two ambulances and three police cars arrive one at a time. The first two medics went inside and never came out. Not until five others, including three policemen, join the group.

  A medic escorts Hyun out of her house to be checked out in one of the ambulances. They help her clean off the blood and tend to her wounds, placing a soft blanket over her shoulders. She weeps, consoling herself by hugging the blanket close, and it’s at that moment that I feel most ashamed. I should’ve been there. I should be the one to hug her and tell her it’s going to be okay. But I know I can’t. It would ruin everything we fought so hard to achieve.

  So I stay and watch as the coroner arrives and goes inside. Minutes later, a body is hauled outside on a stretcher, tucked away into a body bag to mask the damage done by the scorned wife.

  I knew she had it in her.

  She went through so much suffering, so much pain at his hand. Even after escaping his house, she could not escape his terror. And I knew when I saw her … one day … she would break. And that day was now.

  ***

  A few days later

  With a cup of coffee, I sit down on the couch in my cabin and turn on the television. A news report catches my attention, and I stop drinking my coffee to listen to what the reporter has to say.

  “A woman murdered her husband after he came into her house and attacked her. Witnesses have stated her husband has been stalking her for the past few weeks after she’d left him in a desperate attempt to save herself. Insiders report the husband having scratch marks all over his face, saying he was suffocated by a shower hose after what appeared to be a struggle. The woman has bruises all over her body and is now at the hospital.”

  I take a quick sip from my coffee and put it down on the table, listening carefully.

  “Police have found several pieces of evidence suggesting the man was sending her illicit notes, including threats. There’s currently an ongoing investigation at the man’s house as well as the woman’s house. Sources claim several pictures of her taken without her knowledge were found in his home, along with an audio tape of her parents saying they forced her to marry the man. The outrageous story continues as, only minutes ago, the police found two dead bodies in her parents’ home. Whether these are her parents have yet to be confirmed. However, in a statement made to the media, the woman herself claims not to have killed them.”

  I pick up my lighter and grab a cigarette, lighting one up as I watch the story unfold.

  “This just came in. Police reports show a bloody knife was found at the husband’s house. Whether the blood belongs to the victim’s parents has yet to be verified.”

  As I take a drag of my cig and blow out the smoke, I can’t help but smile.

  ***

  Hyun

  Social workers.

  Police.

  Reporters.

  Medical people.

  They all come and go, asking for the same information over and over again. I repeat my story to all, remembering as much as I can while leaving out as little as possible. It never changes. Not a tiny fleck in my convincing tale.

  Every time they talk to me, I swipe away a few tears, sniffling into a handkerchief I’m given before the conversation, like they know I will cry. As any person in my situation, one is expected to be a victim. To act like a victim. To become the victim.

  In order to win.

  I play my part and smile when they are kind, and suck my lip and form tears in my eyes when they mention the pain I’ve endured. A few nods and distant stares are all that’s needed to make them believe.

  The whole world knows my story by now.

  I even talked to the press myself, though briefly. I masqueraded as being too weak to feel up to the task of answering all their questions, and it worked in my favor.

  After all the questions and the fiddling with my body, I finally learn the outcome of my ordeal from my lawyer. I only listen with half my brain as I stare off into the distance, wondering if the world even realizes what’s unfolding here.

  I’ve been declared a victim and will not be facing any charges.

  What I did has been labeled an act of self-defense.

  I am a woman getting off scot-free with the criminal act of murdering her husband.

  I cry tears of joy. They spring into my eyes as if they come naturally. As if I’m not at all miserable inside after what this man has done to me. But I returned the viciousness a thousandfold.

  And as the people kiss me on the cheek and congratulate me on my freedom, I feel melancholic. Not in the present.

  All I can think about is what the future will hold.

  With the press following my every footstep, I go outside. Hidden underneath a dark blanket, I’m trying to hide from the world. But everyone already knows my story. They know it better than I do.

  I get into the car and quickly take off the blanket, feeling suffocated by it. Luckily, the tinted windows make it impossible for others to see the true me. Until my lawyer, Lauren Banning, gets into the car with m
e and asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Mmmhmm.” I nod, licking my lips as I stare at the photographers.

  “They can’t see you through the glass.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to go home?” she asks.

  I nod. “But I’m not staying there.”

  “I know,” Lauren says. “You already told me.”

  “Right.” I smile at her.

  “Where will you be going?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “Anywhere but here.”

  “I hope it’s some place safe,” she says.

  “It is,” I muse, trying not to give her too much info, even though she’s fishing.

  “And with someone who’s safe,” she adds.

  I ignore that last statement as if I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  Of course, rumors floated around that I was having an affair. That I had not one but three boyfriends. That I was a hooker and my husband traded me. All kinds of stories follow a woman who has murdered her husband … because no husband deserves such a cruel death, right? That’s what they want to believe, anyway, but I know the truth.

  And I’ve been set free.

  They don’t know anything.

  They only know what I want them to know.

  When the car arrives at my house, my lawyer steps out first while I cover my face with a blanket. So many reporters are outside that the moment I open my door it feels like a tide rolling in from the high seas pushes me back in. But I persist and wade through the crowd with her help until we finally get to my door and go inside.

  The clicking sounds of cameras and the yelling reporters cut off like a sudden vacuum in space as she shuts the door and closes all the curtains. My whole body feels numb as I walk through this house again … for the first time since I killed him.

  Instinctively, I walk into the bathroom, as if I’m expecting to find his body still lying there on the cold, hard floor, white eyes staring back at me. Of course, it’s a fantasy. There’s nothing here. Absolutely nothing. Not even a tiny hair or a speck of blood.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Lauren’s sudden voice makes me jolt, and I clear my throat and turn around. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I give her a fake smile. I want nothing more than to get out of here, but I know those reporters would follow me wherever I go, so I have to lay low for now.

  “It’s so noisy outside,” I say, trying to change the topic.

  “Give it a few days. Once they realize you’re not going to give them any more juicy details, they’ll leave.”

  “Right,” I say. “Thanks. For everything.” We shake hands.

  “Don’t mention it,” she says. “Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. Or call.” She chuckles awkwardly.

  “Of course.”

  She picks up her briefcase and walks toward the door, but before she goes outside, she says, “Be careful, okay?”

  I nod, not knowing what to say to such a thing.

  I know she worries about me, and it comes from a good place. She’s a good woman. I’ve not met many like her before. I smile as she says goodbye and leaves me. All alone. In the house that held a corpse.

  In the house where I’ll bury all my secrets and turn them to dust.

  Part IV

  The Scheme

  24.

  Accompanying Song: “What Have We Done To Each Other” by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

  Hyun

  One week later

  “Well, Miss Warr—I mean Song,” the notary says, almost choking on his words. “I’m glad to tell you that at least one positive thing came out of everything you’ve been through.” He grabs a few pieces of paper lying on the stack on his desk and holds them out to me. “It’s all yours.”

  “What …?” I mutter, leaning over the papers, pretending I can’t believe my eyes.

  “I’m happy to report that it is. Since Mr. Warren never signed the divorce papers, you were never actually divorced. Thus, you are now the rightful owner of his estate as well as his bank accounts.”

  I lick my lips as I go over the words on the paper, again and again, my eyes lingering on my name written in bold under the official notification from the bank that says I am now the owner.

  “Like I said … it’s all yours.”

  “Mine. No one will take it away from me?” I ask him, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “Well, a few expenses still need to be deducted, namely the costs of his funeral and—”

  “Funeral?” I cringe.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to …”

  “I understand if you would not wish to attend, but we still need to bury him,” he explains. “As well as your parents, of course.”

  “Oh … I see.”

  He clears his throat. “I apologize, that was a little insensitive of me.”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s okay.”

  He gently smiles. “I will make arrangements to let the funeral commence without your presence.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I want nothing to do with it.”

  He nods. “About the expenses … legal fees will also be deducted.”

  “I understand,” I interrupt. “But after that …?”

  He nods with a smile on his face. “All yours.”

  I try not to laugh.

  I honestly do.

  But I still can’t stop the wicked grin from spreading on my lips.

  ***

  Accompanying Song: “What Have We Done To Each Other” by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

  A few days later

  It’s raining cats and dogs as I stand above my parents’ grave, watching their caskets get covered with dirt. I don’t know what to feel. I just stand there, empty, staring at the soil.

  When all is said and done, I place a final flower on top of the mound and nod as people ask me if I’m okay. We go into the building to drink coffee and eat cookies, which is, of course, the normal thing to do after you saw two dead bodies being lowered into the ground.

  You eat cookies.

  Even if you’re sick to your stomach, you must eat the damn cookies.

  And it gives others the time to tell you how sorry they are for you like that’s useful in any way.

  As I sit on a not-so-relaxing chair, eating that damn cookie, Annushka approaches me. I knew she was here, I saw her from the corner of my eye as my parents were buried, but I didn’t give it much thought as to why she was here.

  “Hey,” she says, licking her lips like she doesn’t know what to say. “I’m … sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a deep breath.

  She places a hand on my shoulder but quickly pulls it away again after she probably realizes it’s really weird. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what Greg did to you.”

  I frown as it feels like knots form in my stomach. “You talked about me to your husband. He knew everything about me because of you. Where I lived. Who I was seeing.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” She makes a face and bites her lip. “I don’t know what to do to make it up to you.”

  I look down at the table and sigh. “You don’t have to do anything,” I say.

  She sighs out loud. “I feel so bad. He just …”

  I look up at her. “Forced you to do it?”

  She nods slowly. “After he found out I helped you escape Greg’s home, he forced me to give him all the details of our conversations, or else he’d make my life more miserable. I didn’t want to but …”

  I grab her hand and squeeze. “I know how it feels.” She doesn’t have to say it out loud. I know what being threatened feels like, and it makes you do things you don’t want to, just to protect yourself.

  I smile gently, and her mood seems to improve.

  Funny. We’re at my parents’ funeral, and I’m the one comforting others. It’s a little ironic.

  “Thank you,” she says as she pulls her hand back. She turns h
er head and looks at her husband, who taps his feet and seems pissed that he even has to wait for her. “Well, I’m gonna go now.”

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  “Don’t mention it. If you ever need someone to talk to … now that Greg is gone,” she says, chuckling. “I’m here.”

  I nod and smile as she turns around and leaves. “Good luck, Annushka.”

  She only briefly glances over her shoulder after my comment.

  Nothing else needs to be said. She knows exactly why I told her good luck. It’s not easy living with a man like that. I know.

  I grab my coffee and chug it down in one go then get up to leave.

  “Leaving already?” my aunt asks.

  “No, I’m just going to take a breather outside,” I reply.

  “Oh. Of course,” she says, smiling as I walk past her and go outside.

  The pouring rain hits my skin hard, but I welcome the cold. It’s refreshing. After a day like this, it feels cleansing.

  I step farther out and walk through the cemetery, admiring the melancholic beauty of the stones surrounding me. My hair turns to sticky webs against my skin, but the cold touch is exactly what I need to cool down.

  However, when I see a dark figure disappear behind a tree after looking my way, I know my cool down is about to come to an abrupt stop.

  ***

  Accompanying Song: “Burning Desire” by Lana Del Rey

  Drake

  The moment I see her, I know I’ve been caught.

  Our eyes connect, and I immediately turn around and hide behind the tree.

  My heart is pounding, and I lick my lips from just the anticipation that I’ll finally see her again.