Close to Home

by Nolon King

  What if I’m doomed to become a killer too?

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Selena had already run three miles, read nearly a hundred pages of Gillian Flynn, and watched four episodes of The Bloody Truth. But nothing quieted the chaos inside her.

  Her watch trilled. Sam. Where had she left her phone? The bedroom, maybe?

  The ringing stopped before she had a chance to look for it. She used the app on her watch to make it chirp, then followed the sound. Definitely in the bedroom, but muffled. It wasn’t under the scattering of papers she’d been sorting through on the bed. Or in her nightstand drawer. Or amid the clutter of miscellaneous things piled atop her dresser.

  She pinged her phone again, and found it in her closet, right on the shelf where she’d been obsessively checking the news while changing into her workout clothes.

  Is this what it would be like for the rest of her life? Half out of her mind with frustration and fear, unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds?

  Selena listened to the voicemail, expecting more bad news, but Sam’s message surprised her with the first flicker of genuine hope she’d felt in days.

  “So,” Selena said after a single ring. “You have something good for us?”

  “That’s not what I said.” Sam let out a polite laugh. She knew that particular sound. This news wasn’t good or bad, it would be treading water at best. “But it is something.”

  “Tell me more. Will it get me out of Almond Park, even for a few days?”

  “It’s that miserable?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “But no, not really. You could tell your husband that it’ll be more than a day, but I only need you tomorrow.”

  “For what?”

  “A pitch.”

  “I notice you didn’t say a pitch with Netflix or HBO. Who is the pitch with, Sam?”

  “It’s with a small production company called Trauma.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “They make smart stuff, mostly online. They’re great at driving attention and traffic to the things that they make, most of which is on the darker side. It’s a good fit.”

  “Sounds low budget.”

  “It is,” he admitted. “But it’s also the kind of project that can have exponential returns. You take this now, let things blow over, and the good stuff will be waiting on the other side.”

  It sounded to Selena like Sam was telling himself a story. “So, is it sleazy, or a shit deal?”

  “Definitely more of a shit deal.”

  “How shit?”

  “Not very, considering.”

  Selena sighed. “Okay. What’s the project?”

  “It’s a show called Murdering History. You’ll be profiling historical figures, identifying those who had serial killer tendencies. Imagining a what if? where they were killers who had to cover their tracks.”

  “That sounds colossally stupid.”

  “Hear them out.”

  “Did you? Or is this the only shitty offer we have left, so you didn’t even bother to vet it?”

  “Of course I did. It’s not as bad as you’re imagining. Their pilot episode is all about George Washington. Did you know that a lot of people close to him died mysteriously? And that he benefitted personally from many of them?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “Seems thin.”

  “We don’t want more than a season, anyway,” Sam argued. “It’s a web series with—”

  “A web series?”

  “Yes, Selena, a web series. But it has commercial potential, and if it does well, we’ll get picked up. You can’t forget that we’re mostly starting over here.”

  It was a punch to the gut all over again, despite the fact that she’d known that.

  “Fine, I’ll do it. Should I even ask what they’re going to pay?”

  “No, because then you might talk yourself out of doing it, and we need you doing this so that you can land the next thing. I like this, Selena. It’s the first time since all of this started going south that I can see a rebound on the horizon. Just take the meeting tomorrow morning with an open mind.”

  “Are you going to be there?”

  “I can’t. I’ll be in New York.”

  “You mean this is too small potatoes, right? Because if we were meeting with Netflix you’d be on the next plane.”

  A long pause, then Sam said, “You’re right. Do you want me to come?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve got it.”

  Selena hung up without saying goodbye, then started to plan.

  Her marriage and career were both in the crapper, but maybe they weren’t over. She could do this. She would do this. If it went well, it wouldn’t be long before everything would be back to the way it was.

  She wished she could slink out of the house without telling anyone where she was going or why. Get through this without having to explain it to Adam or the kids. Get things back on track without the extra humiliation of letting them see her selling.

  But she couldn’t. Things were so bad right now, another mistake might destroy the little chance she had left of bringing her family back together again.

  She called Tequila Sunrise and ordered at least one of everything on the menu that her family loved. At least three times what they could eat in a meal. The restaurant didn’t usually deliver, but she offered the kid on the phone a hundred dollar tip to bring it all.

  She had it all set up on the buffet a few minutes before everyone converged on the kitchen. But somehow, all that food looked ridiculous. Like she’d tried to throw a party and only three people had shown up.

  No one wanted to eat dinner. Corban and Levi each loaded up their plates, refusing to look at her or each other, and retreated to other parts of the house. Adam barely looked at his food, skipping the street tacos and tamales — his favorites — for a blob of beans, a quesadilla, and one of the enchiladas verdes that he always complained were too spicy.

  “There’s queso if you want it,” she said, scooping some out of the Styrofoam tub not because she wanted some, but because she was hoping Adam would light up and say, Thanks, I missed it.

  “Okay.” He stared at his food for a moment, blankly. Then he picked up a section of quesadilla and shoved it into his mouth. Chewed mechanically. Swallowed. Put the quesadilla down again, his frown suggesting that he’d just remembered not liking them.

  So much for winning her family over with a feast.

  But she pushed on. “I’m driving to L.A. early tomorrow morning. It looks like I’m going to be doing a new show. It’s called Murdering History.”

  “Okay.” He pushed the beans around his plate with a chip.

  “Sam thinks we can turn this around with a small win that gets me some positive word of mouth.”

  “Well, who am I to disagree with the all-knowing Sam?” Adam pushed his chair back and walked out of the dining room, leaving his plate full of food on the table.

  Dinner was a stupid idea. So was expecting Adam to give a shit about her career right now. Doing a sensationalist show about how beloved figures of history might’ve been serial killers was the stupidest idea of all.

  But Selena was going anyway. Because right now, it was the best idea she had.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  It was time to turn himself in.

  Levi still couldn’t believe that none of the people who’d watched his attack on Kari had reported him for bullying. Because that’s exactly what he’d been doing. The principal should’ve called him in and suspended him. Or at least had a serious talk with his parents. Not that they’d care, but why was everyone letting him get away with it?

  Were they all afraid that his dad would come after them if they said anything?

  Or were they afraid of the same thing Levi was — that he was the same kind of monster his father was?

  Knees bouncing anxiously, he shifted in the stiff-backed chair in front of the guidance counselor’s desk. The school
secretary said that Mrs. Michaels would be back any moment when she’d ushered him in.

  What was he going to tell her?

  He hoped that she’d already heard. That he wouldn’t have to describe the incident over again. That she’d give him a stern look and tell him what he needed to do to make things right.

  Because any punishment would be better than living his fucked up life a second longer.

  The door opened and Mrs. Michaels entered, mug of steaming coffee in hand. She gave him a warm smile and sat behind her desk, leaning back, like he was a friend she’d been looking forward to hanging out with.

  Crap. This was an awful idea.

  He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want anyone to make excuses for him anymore, or to help him rationalize that he’d been right. He wanted someone who cared enough to tell him the truth.

  “Nice to see you, Levi.”

  Was it nice to see a potential serial killer who’d already started ruining the lives of everyone around him?

  But he needed her help, so it would be dumb to start off by being rude.

  “It’s nice to see you too.”

  “So, what can I help you with?” Mrs. Michaels asked, even though she probably already knew. When he didn’t answer immediately, she smiled and took a sip of her coffee.

  Levi squirmed in his seat, unsure of where to start. I think I’m a serial killer. The words stuck in his throat.

  After a moment, she asked, “Would you like to talk about what’s happening at home?”

  YES. He flushed with shame, but it was time to grow a pair and tell someone the truth. “Everything’s messed up. I might be the reason some of it’s messed up. I’m messed up.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, I can imagine how hard it must be, what you’re going through right now.”

  Oh shit, now his eyes were starting to water. He looked down, hoping she hadn’t noticed. His friends, his brother, even his own parents hadn’t tried to imagine what he was going through. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own shit, they had no time for his.

  His voice wouldn’t work, so he nodded.

  Apparently, that was enough for her. “What’s the hardest thing about it?”

  Levi drew the deepest breath of his life and finally said it out loud.

  “I think I might be like my father.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Levi was surprised by how much better he already felt.

  Mrs. Michaels hadn’t laughed or scoffed or told him it was just a phase and that what he was feeling was perfectly natural for someone his age.

  Instead, she’d nodded and listened as all of his craziest, most frightened thoughts poured out of him. How angry he’d been when Corban tried to show him their father’s darkest fantasies. How isolated he’d felt as his parents’ marriage fractured under the stress of Mom’s career and Dad’s murderous fantasies. How betrayed he’d felt when Kari turned their family into pariahs to save her father — and how everyone around him crumpled rather than fighting it.

  Most of all, how much he hated himself for being just like his father, hated that he couldn’t seem to help hurting everyone around him.

  “I’m the worst kind of asshole,” he’d told her.

  “You’ve definitely got some apologizing to do,” she replied with a smile that lifted his heart, because if she could listen to all that and think there was hope for him, maybe there was. “And you can’t make people forgive you. You have to give them time. It’s probably going to be hard for a while.”

  He could do hard, if that meant things would get better. “Where do I start?”

  “Corban.” She said it like it was the obvious answer. “He needs to hear you say that he was right.”

  “I already said that.”

  “You told him you were sorry you didn’t believe him when he was snooping on your father’s tablet?”

  Uh …

  “No, not that.”

  “That’s what started the original fight, wasn’t it?”

  She was right. This had been going on for nearly a year now.

  “Okay.” He smiled, for the first time in months.

  Mrs. Michaels smiled back at him. “If you want to come back and tell me how it went, I’ll be here.”

  But what seemed so simple in her office was harder in practice. Corban avoided him at school, and when Levi cornered his brother on the way to gym class, he’d shunned him, acting as if he couldn’t see or hear his twin.

  Now, as he stood in the open doorway of Corban’s room, Levi wondered what he could do to make his brother listen.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, for the dozenth time.

  “I don’t care that you’re sorry. Fuck you and your sorry. Fuck you and Pussabo and Elliot and Dane. Fuck everyone. You’re just like him!”

  “Who?” But Levi knew.

  “You only care about yourself, and what other people think about you. You only care about being funny, not who you might hurt along the way. Get out of my room.”

  Levi winced. Corban wasn’t wrong, that’s exactly how he’d been. But he wanted to be different.

  If only he could make Corban talk to Mrs. Michaels. He’d left her office feeling hopeful. And heard. She hadn’t forced him to do anything, she’d just listened to his words and acknowledged his pain. She hadn’t told him what to feel or think, or …

  That’s what he had to do.

  “You’re mad at me,” he said.

  Corban gave him a have you not been paying attention? look that could have fried an egg, before pointedly returning his attention to his phone.

  “You’re so mad that just seeing my face makes your insides feel like they’re on fire.”

  Now he had Corban’s full attention.

  “Mom and Dad let you down, but it’s easier to forgive them. No one’s parents really get them.”

  Corban eyed Levi like he was a snake about to strike. But he was listening, and that was enough.

  “When you found that stuff on Dad’s tablet, you expected me to believe you. Instead, I dumped all over you because I was afraid to hear it. You were freaked out, and if I read it, I would have to freak out too.”

  The muscles at the sides of Corban’s jaw bulged, but still he said nothing.

  Levi took a deep breath. “I’m your brother. I should’ve believed you. You have every right to be mad.”

  “Fuck you.” Corban looked like he wanted to jump off the bed and smash Levi’s face in.

  “If you want to be mad at me for the rest of our lives … I’d hate it, but I get it.”

  “I was right. Our father is sick, and I knew it, and we might’ve been able to do something about it if …” He looked down at his phone, blinking hard. “I should’ve gone to the police. Maybe those people wouldn’t have died.”

  “No, if anything, that’s on me.”

  “I found it first—”

  “No, I already knew. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Months before you—” He’d been about to say snooping. “—before you realized something was wrong with Dad, I went into Mom’s office, when she wasn’t there.”

  Corban’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

  “I found this box with a few red journals in it.”

  “You knew?” Levi’s brother leapt off the bed, fists clenched. “You knew Dad was The Virgin?”

  Levi raised both hands as if in surrender. “I had no idea who Mom was writing about. Or that Dad was one of her patients.”

  “But when I found what Dad wrote—”

  “I still have nightmares about some of the stuff I read in those journals. The idea that Dad might be sick that way too … I couldn’t take it.” Levi lowered his hands, held them out toward his brother in supplication. “If I read the stuff you found, I’d have to believe it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the journals?” Corban was blinking again.

  Levi pretended not to notice. “I should have.�
��

  “I would’ve believed you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry.” Corban took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for what you did to Kari.”

  “It was inexcusable.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “I’m going to apologize to her, for everything. In public, where everyone can see. So she knows I mean it.” And … “She doesn’t have to accept it, but she deserves to see me grovel.”

  “Yeah, she does.” Corban sighed. “Get out.”

  That was it? “But—”

  Corban was off his bed and marching toward the closet. He flung it open, rooted around inside, and emerged a few seconds later holding a bat. And then he screamed, “Get the fuck out of my room right now!”

  “What the hell is going on in here?” Their father was suddenly standing in the doorway, looking stern. As though he had the right.

  Corban raised the bat over his head, and for a moment Levi actually thought he might charge their father. But instead he lowered it without a word and stood there snarling like a bull, staring at the man in the doorway.

  Levi cleared his throat. “We were just figuring a few things out.”

  “I could hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

  Together, the twins said, “No.”

  Dad continued, trying to make something better when he was clearly only capable of making everything worse. He turned to Levi.

  “If this is about Kari, Corban has a right to be upset, so maybe you should—”

  Corban interrupted. “Are you kidding?”

  Dad looked almost comically surprised. Levi had to stifle a laugh, despite the tension. Or maybe because of it.

  “What do you mean? I’m trying to help.”

  “You’re not helping anything,” Corban said. “It’s too late for that.”

  “But—”

  Corban looked at Levi. For support?

  He could do that. “Get out of his room, Dad.”

  “This is my house.”

  Levi walked over to his father, looked him in the eyes without any apology, and slammed Corban’s door in his face.