Murder

by Ella James

  I stop before I reach my porch and reach down toward my foot. My fingers fumble between shoe and sock. I get the key but something hard slams into me, sending me flying, landing on my backside. Pain flares through my lower back and for a moment, I can’t move.

  He’s right there over me, his hands on my shoulders, his black mask face not really black, I realize, but dark camouflage.

  “I told you to stay calm!”

  I bat at his face like a crazed cat until he grabs my arms. I try to knee him in the crotch but he’s not at the right angle.

  He laughs. “Feisty.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk, like—”

  I punch him in the face. When his hand flies to his nose, I wriggle out from under him and fly toward the enclosure. Papa, Papa, Papa…save me! I think I may be screaming as I punch the code in: wrong, again, then right. The gate clicks open. I rush in and slam it shut behind me.

  “Fuck!” I start to sob. Run to the stock shed. I start running toward the stock shed and am almost there when I hear a loud smack. I whirl and shriek. He jumped the fence oh God he jumped the fucking fence!

  I fly at the shed’s front door, but it’s too late. He’s on me, hard and harsh; his elbow comes around my neck, I hear him say something but my brain’s flying too fast to process. Then there’s something sharp in my neck. I feel a blinding flare of heat sing through my body. Before I fall down, I pull his hood off.

  I frown up at him and see a fish bowl…

  Then the ragged pattern of the fallen leaves engulfs me.

  BARRETT

  Doc is right. The more I write it down, the easier it’s getting. I’m going to try the Prazosin again tonight, but half the dose. Or maybe not. Maybe I can just push through. With Gwenna by me, it seems possible.

  I wish there was some way I could tell her how much I love her. Something I could do. I remember how much buying my house helped her, and that makes me feel good. As I drive, I see a green and white striped awning that I recognize from satellite view: a florist.

  My throat feels tight as I park out in front and walk slowly inside. Behind the counter, there’s a girl with shoulder-length black hair and big brown eyes. I feel her gaze roll up and down my body, see the slow curl of her red lips.

  “Ziggy Stardust?”

  I blink.

  She pulls on her blouse. My eyes linger there before I look down at my own ragged-out, charcoal t-shirt.

  “Oh.” I found it in my bike’s seat bag the other day and forgot I pulled it on today. I nod. “Big fan.” A surge of prickling heat moves through my body, and I drag my gaze around the room, looking for blue. I latch onto the blue specs in the wallpaper, then tell myself that’s all I need, I’m stronger than this.

  I step over to the counter. I can feel the heat of the girl’s gaze. I feel her eyes on my left hand, but know for sure she’s not gawking at my sidelined fingers; I don’t think she’s even noticed they don’t bend. She’s checking for a ring.

  I give her a smile I hope says taken. When my mouth opens, I hear myself say, “I need something for my fiancé.”

  I watch the girl’s eyes comb my face and realize my eyes are wide. My fiancé. “Flowers, and…” I glance around the little gift shop. “I don’t know what else you have, but something with a squirrel or pig?”

  The girl smiles.

  I smile back.

  Fuck, it sounds right. Fiancé. My heart starts hammering again. I take a deep breath and watch as the girl goes over to a shelf.

  “I’ve got these little coins… They’re not real coins, of course. More like paper weights.” She smiles over her shoulder. “One has a little squirrel on it. As for pigs, I’ve got a pig, but it’s attached to a bird bath.”

  She walks across the room and points to a shallow bowl atop a two-feet-tall cement stem. In the middle, there’s a pig with wings.

  She shrugs. “Not sure if you want something that big.”

  The pig has the most adorable smile on its face, and a little curly tail. I grin. “I’ll take both. And some flowers. Something with gardenias?”

  “That’s more of a bush. But our florist could maybe work them into something. What about white roses with them? Maybe some eucalyptus, too?” I squint, trying to picture it. “Yeah, sure.”

  Oh, shit. I laugh. “I’ve gotta go somewhere.” To get that bird bath home, I’ll need something bigger than a motorcycle. “I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two?”

  “Of course.”

  I pay, slip the little squirrel token into my pocket, and laugh as I walk to my bike.

  I pull back up an hour and a half later in a dark charcoal Jeep Grand Cherokee. It’s a 2015, with 12,000 miles. The dealer said it was used as a rental car, but it still smells new. I smile as I walk back in to get the flowers and the bird bath. I texted Gwen, but she hasn’t replied, so I played a game of how fast can I buy a car. It helped having the full sticker price in my bank account, so all I had to do was call the bank and let them know the debit card was going to take a hit. I was out of there in less than an hour.

  The arrangement looks really good. I take the bird bath, in two pieces, to the Jeep, and open the console between the two front seats and put the flower vase in there. Then I text Doc, who lives in an apartment across the street from his office, and ask him to keep an eye on my bike for the next few hours.

  I drive to Gwen’s house feeling victorious and…happy. Strange feeling, that. I smirk when I think of how few nights I’ve spent in my own house. Maybe we should move the party there. Or not…

  I like her house. It’s small, but in a good way. We fill up the space. After years of combat, any open space feels like a threat.

  As I turn off the highway onto Blue Moon Road, I feel my phone buzz. Dove. I let it ring so he won’t be offended by the fuck you button, but I don’t answer. I just want to see Gwen. I’ll call D. later. Sometime soon, we need to really talk. I think if I tell him all of it, I can make him understand. I need him to. I need Dove’s blessing. Even Blue’s—one day. They’re my brothers. Without Breck…

  I swallow, tossing my phone into the passenger’s seat as the Jeep climbs Gwenna’s driveway.

  I smile as I park behind the garage, anticipating her reaction to the new wheels—and the gifts. She’s going to be surprised.

  I wonder what she’s been doing. She must be really caught up in bear-keeping, because I haven’t heard from her.

  I slip my keys into my pocket, turning around for a second, walking backward as I smile at my new ride. The garage is shut, so I half-jog to the porch and try the front door. Locked. I feel a tug low in my stomach.

  So she’s with the bears. That’s okay. I don’t want to go in, though, so I should call her. I start back to the car and something glints in the grass. My heart clenches. I freeze in place, my diaphragm locked up, waiting for flames, a burst of sound, but whatever it is just shines in the sunlight.

  You’re here, not there… New person, Barrett.

  I take a slow breath and reach down for what I now see is a key. It must have fallen off Pig’s key ring. I turn it over. Looks like her house key. I slip it in my pocket, and for reasons I can’t articulate, even in my own mind, I turn toward the enclosure. I can jump up on the damn thing and peek inside without disturbing Bearville. I just want to see her—now.

  With every step I take toward the gate, my mind feels hazier, my chest feels tighter. I don’t know what’s getting to me…

  God, the dread rolls through in waves. I have to stop before I reach the gate. I think of Breck and try to shut my mind down, but I realize that’s what Doc says not to do. I inhale deeply and try to relax, just let what happens, happen. I can see Breck, just a blurry, second-long view of his contorted face; I can almost hear low voices shouting in the Bradley.

  I can feel the abject shock, the fucking horror, as I look at him and see he’s already half gone. My whole body screams out at the memory of holding Breck and looking down at him. Panic. Ago
ny. Remorse. Shame. Blame. Rage. Desperation.

  My throat locks up and I can’t seem to get it working right. I step to the gate on weak legs, my hands cold, my head spinning. I just need to get to Gwen.

  Gwen…

  Gwen…

  I watched her so much from up on the hill before I bought the house, I know her password. I pull the door open and for once, the turmoil in my body matches the vision out in front of me.

  FOURTEEN

  BARRETT

  The bolt of terror that rips through me is so bright, it whites me out. Awareness returns and I’m on the ground beside her, clutching her limp shoulders, fumbling for her jugular.

  My fingers shake… I press down…

  Heartbeat.

  There’s a heartbeat. Okay…

  “Gwen?” My hand cups her cheek, fingertips feeling for thick, sticky liquid. “Gwennie, can you hear me?”

  When she doesn’t move, my hands fly up and down her spine, over her neck, the base of her skull. When I feel nothing wrong there, I wrap one hand around the back of her head and roll her onto her side, my gut clenched, anticipating…

  “Ohh.” My throat constricts and I’m worried that I’m going to be sick but, “It’s okay.” There’s nothing. No blood or…

  “Okay.” Christ, I’m panting. I slide my arms beneath her, lift her up onto my lap. I can barely hold onto her, have to clench my hands around her.

  “Gwen?”

  Her lashes flutter and my stomach clenches hard. “Gwennie… Look at me. Open your eyes.”

  She does. They roll, so all I see is white. My gaze tears up and down her, seeing no wounds.

  “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” I stand up with her, stumbling toward the enclosure gate. I’m still well trained enough to comb the ground for footprints—and I see some. Maybe one.

  I swallow hard and look down at her. “Pig, it’s Barrett. Look up at me. Let me see those pretty eyes I love so much.”

  My heart clenches, because again, she does. They roll a little, but she holds on. I can see her eyes, all iris, pinpoint pupils. Fuck— “What happened, Gwennie?”

  Her face crumples as she starts to cry.

  I hold her tighter as my heart pounds. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

  She clutches my shirt, shaking her head. “I don’t know.” Her mouth twists, and her eyelids flutter. “I can’t see.”

  My heart stops. My legs do, too. “What do you mean?” I rasp.

  “Your face is blurry…”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “He pushed me. That…man…” She presses her face against my chest, pulls on my shirt, and shudders, this full-body shiver that makes me hold her closer.

  “What man?” Fuck, I need to use a lighter tone. I hold her close and drop my head down, nuzzling her forehead with my chin. I take a deep breath. “I’ve got you, Piglet. No one’s going to hurt you. Who did this?”

  I look down into her confused face as tears drip down her cheeks and she explains, in halting, half-slurred words, that someone with a mask showed up and said he wanted to talk to her. When she ran, he jumped the enclosure fence and tackled her.

  “I think he cut my neck…” Her eyes roll slightly as she fumbles for her neck. “Bear…”

  Her tears start to flow again, and I’m torn between rage and sorrow.

  “Gwennie… I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry.” My words catch in my throat. I feel like I’m being strangled.

  My fault!

  “Let’s go inside. I’m taking you inside. You’re safe now. We’ll call the police.”

  “I don’t feel well,” she whimpers.

  I crouch in the dirt and hold her up while she gets sick: a side-effect of what he shot into her neck.

  I clean her off with my shirt and take her to the bath. I have to get in, too. She can’t stay upright. Not with those drugs in her system.

  My chest aches as I hold her and wash her gently, as she cries and cries and cries and asks if we can leave.

  “I’m scared.”

  I keep telling her, “I’m here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

  Gwenna cries, “I’m scared for you, Bear!”

  “Don’t be scared for me, baby. I’m just fine.”

  “Someone’s going…to take you…”

  “No,” I whisper, carrying her to bed.

  “Don’t go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Overseas,” she sniffles.

  “No way. I’m not leaving. I would never leave you, baby.” I climb into bed with her and count her breaths to try to get a read on her oxygen saturation. I check her pulse, which seems to be okay. He dosed her lightly, I think.

  He must think that’s good. That it will dim my rage.

  Blue has no idea. That fucking prick has no fucking idea. When Gwenna drifts off, I call the police out to file a report and sit at Gwen’s computer. There I find him on the footage, just as I knew I would.

  Bluebell.

  No. Not Blue.

  Someone wearing ACE gear…but not Blue. Someone I’m pretty fucking sure he hired. Who else would be behind this, except his paranoid, self-important ass?

  This is bad news. Such bad news.

  Because this means I have to kill him.

  GWENNA

  The next morning, I wake up aglow in sunlight and have no idea where I am. Barrett’s there beside me, stroking my hair, his strong arms around my back, his hard, warm chest against my cheek.

  “It’s okay…”

  I squint and blink up at the rafters.

  Ouch. “My head…”

  “Open your mouth.”

  I do, and I feel three round, slick tablets pushed inside by Barrett’s careful fingers.

  “Let’s sit up…” He helps me up and brings a straw to my mouth. “Just Advil.” He’s got one arm around my back. The other hand is at my shoulder, holding, stroking. “How ya doing?”

  His face is a mask of sympathy and pain.

  I squint at him and wonder why the hell I feel so…dread-filled. Then it hits me: the slam of one domino into the next until I remember.

  “Oh my God...”

  The hand around my back comes to my other shoulder. His fingers stroke my shoulders as his eyes bore into mine. “You’re safe, Gwen. We’re upstairs at my house. Do you remember coming over here?”

  Tears fill my eyes. I shake my head. One falls.

  “That’s all right.” He scoots closer and tucks me up against him. “The police came, and a paramedic came inside and checked you over. You didn’t want to go to the hospital, so I told them ‘no.’”

  I nod slowly. I do have this hazy memory of a woman in a light blue shirt, saying something about the ER.

  “I don’t like the hospital.” My voice sounds small.

  Barrett’s body tenses, even as his hand rubs my back. “I know, babe. We don’t have to go.”

  I take a deep breath as a feeling— this black feeling rolls through me. It’s like a dark cloud. Tears stream down my cheeks. I start to cry. I can’t help it.

  I feel Barrett shift until I’m in his lap, lying between his legs and on his chest. He pulls the covers over us and gently cups my head with his big hand.

  “It’s what was in the dart. Those sedatives will throw you off the next day.”

  I hold my breath, then sniff softly. “They will?” I look into his gorgeous eyes; hard eyes.

  “They will.”

  He looks so…mad.

  “Barrett—are you mad at me?” I whimper.

  “Of course not.” I feel his cool palm on my forehead. “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Never mad at you, Piglet. You’re my heart,” I think I hear him say. It has an echo, though.

  I don’t remember falling asleep. I wake up to dark windows and an eerie sense of stillness in the little attic room.

  When I get down off the bed, my knees feel wobbly. A quick look at myself reveals I’m wearing a
huge flannel shirt. It’s rolled up nearly to my elbows—neat, square rolls by Barrett’s deft hands. It’s got navy blue, light blue, red, and white in the plaid pattern.

  I stand there with one hand on the mattress, listening to the silence. It feels big and heavy. I can feel it in my chest, my hair. I look at my hand on the bed. Over the knuckles, there are red scrapes.

  Tears tighten my throat. I can hardly even remember the man in the mask. That’s why he gave me the shot in my neck. So I would forget. Who was it? Who was it, and what did they want to talk about?

  I smell the snow. The road salt. I can feel the cruel, pervasive cold. I feel like I’m turning real to ghost and back again, as if I’m flickering as I stand here.

  He already killed you.

  I don’t even know where the words come from, but they make my chest feel tight, my body even less substantial. Suddenly, I just want Barrett. I need him.

  I’m worried about making it down the ladder, but I go anyway. I hurry from the second floor to the first and find Barrett sitting in an armchair in front of the fire. He’s shirtless, in a pair of loose, black sweats.

  As I near the bottom of the stairs, he springs up, lithe and gorgeous in the firelight, bounding over to me like…“a leopard,” I giggle.

  “What?” He tilts his head and smiles, taking my hands.

  “You remind me of a leopard.”

  He gives me another handsome smile and squeezes my hands. “You seem to be feeling a little better.”

  I nod, even though a mere moment ago, it wasn’t true. “I feel better when I’m with you.”

  He kisses my cheek and cups my shoulder with his hand. I look at his face and notice that the beard is longer. Even though he’s smiling, his eyes look…tired? Or red? I can’t tell in the dim light. I wrap myself around him and he holds me against him. We sit in the chair, and as happy as I felt a moment ago, now my eyes start leaking.

  “What did I miss?” I ask in a raspy voice.

  His hands rub circles on my back. “Not much.”

  I look around the room and notice a small glass on the table beside us, filled with amber liquid. I squint. Is that whiskey?