Plush (29 page)

SLAM!
– was that the front door?!

Carter. Please be Carter. Please come back. Please protect me and my kids. Oh, fuck. Are those boots running down the stairs? My hands grab at my torn up shorts. They clench into fists. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be paranoid, Hayley. There’s no time to think, just act. Find a weapon.

I make tip-toe down the hall. Blackness all around. Blackness, blackness, and cold air hits my lungs… “Carter?…. Carter?” I try not to breathe heavily. My heart is going a million miles an hour. I’m slinking down the hall, staying in the shadows, then….

I hear footsteps again…

Why didn’t we get one of those security systems with sensors on every window? What did we save – $1500? I look at the security monitor in the hall: the camera is pointed at our big gate. Nothing. Everything is still – except my insides that fall below the rocks at the bottom of the core of the earth and out the other side. I look at the camera pointed at the studio door: nothing. But, wait… Is that bush moving? Or is that the wind? I don’t know. I can’t tell what’s real anymore. I look in the kitchen. Nothing. Should I turn on the lights? No. I don’t want anybody to find me. I grab a knife as the sweat on my forehead drips down my cheek. It’s cold, so cold, and I’m shaking so hard, burning in my head and my skin.

I hear Cody yelling, “YOU’VE BEEN BAD!” from somewhere behind me.
MY KID?! Does someone have him?

I flip around, feet landing in a twist, and turn the light on in Carter’s office. “I’m gonna eat you up!” Benjy’s yelling now.

WHAT IS IT?! Who has Cody? Benjy? I search all around. “Boys?.”

It’s coming from under the desk. I crouch down, tiger-low.

“You’re gonna die.” I grasp in the dark under the table and pull out – FUCK! -It’s that stupid, fucking, puppet recorded-voice doll playing the kid’s voices. I pick it up and throw it against the wall; its head flies off and lands on the desk. I look around. Carter’s office has changed. Usually the walls are covered in photos of murder victims and case info for all the stories he writes – but now? On the far wall are photos of Enzo and me on tour, photos from fans in the audience of us singing together, arms around each other, any photo a paparazzi took of us leaving a hotel room, giving each other way too many meaningful glances. FUCK! I lost Annie today, but I also lost Carter.

On his desk… are more baskets from the creeper fan. Stacks of heavy-paper letters with blood-red wax seals broken open. I told Carter to hide this shit from me, but I guess I just thought it had stopped. My head’s spinning, my hands epileptic-shake as I pick up one of the notes: “You
can’t hide from the truth”
My underwear from tour is taped to it. Holy fuck. Was this fan in my room? What the fuck is happening? I think I’m going to throw up. And here Carter is reading all of these, protecting me from them. My rock. Then I see… red wax…. a calligraphy pen… wait?! What the fuck? Did Carter write these? No, it can’t be. It couldn’t have been Carter. He’s just researching the stalker. I’m falling down a rabbit hole.

Something is very wrong. I feel death looming all around me. I look out the window and see Carter in his hoodie digging in the garden. I need to fix this. Now.

I run outside. Black trees loom against the blacker and blacker sky, speckled with white shaking stars. He’s digging a new hole for the fig tree. There is a big-ass, techno, boy-toy flashlight on the ground aimed into the hole. I want things to be right. I want things to go back to how they were before Enzo.

“I have to tell you something.” I swoop my tiny arms around him. He throws them off. I can see by his bloodshot eyes that he is drunk and falling apart like me. It’s so cold out here and even colder between us.

He speaks super low and controlled as he shovels dirt:

“You know how many hot women I work with? Brilliant, gorgeous editors? Women I interview? Trophy wives willing to do anything to influence my story? And we’re alone together in bars and hotels and they all try to fuck me. You know that, right?”

How could I forget about this. He is ridiculously hot, like billboards-on-Sun-set-Blvd, Armani-suits, shirtless-Calvin-Klein-ads hot. I fucked him the first night I met him, and I had high standards by that time. I was so obsessed with his body, so obsessed with everything he was.

And then – then he yells that my body is pregnant with another man’s child. And then he yells that I’m bringing violence into the lives of my children. And now I am trembling all over. My fear is sick-deep. I’ve never seen him like this. And I drove him to it.

Then he drops the question that axes my heart: “How many times, Hayley? How many times do you think I cheated on you?”

I can’t answer. He knows everything. I can see he is all I have left. Jack is dead. Annie is dead. Enzo is a murderer?

I have to fix this. Carter gets even louder: “HOW MANY TIMES HAYLEY? Do you know?” I don’t want to know the answer because I already know. I will never be as good as him or deserve his love. I shake my head ‘no.’ I’m scared; I’ve never seen him this angry.

He plows his shovel deeper into the ground again, and again. “ZERO TIMES, HAYLEY. ZERO! I loved you even as crazy as you are. You self-obsessed narcisist! I loved you even when you did not love yourself. And I trusted you on tour. Every hotel room. Every groupie or rock-star that threw himself at you. And for some fucked-up reason, I had this idea about you. That you loved me as much I loved you. And I was a fool.”

He’s right. He’s right about everything. I wish he’d kill me. I wish lightning would strike me now. I wish something would kill this pain.

Carter won’t stop. “Why would you bring him into our home?! Let him play with our kids?! Who are you?! “

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know how I’m standing here, on the stand, accused and guilty. I need to stay and fix this. I know he loves me still; if I can just reach him…

“Carter… I was wolves-torn-apart without Jack and soul-ripped-apart by the bad reviews of my art. And you – you were so preoccupied you couldn’t see me. I – I was so weak. I fucked up so bad… I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.”

I gasp. Make it alright. I really pray right now like never have before: Universe, just put us back together without all the cracks, without all the cracks I made. I just want us back without all the cracks. Please make us good again.

His voice sprays cold and bitter: “I bet you guys were laughing at me the whole time. I’m supposed to be a big-time crime writer. Re-examining evidence, reopening old cases with my brilliant insight. And how did I miss this? How could I not see the signs? How did every ill feeling I had get squashed? I
wanted
to believe in you, in us, in this life with our kids, that this was enough for your insatiable appetite. Oh, I was warned. By everybody. But I chose to fall in love with a lie.”

He throws more dirt behind him, almost hitting me. How do I save us? “Carter! Carter! I love you. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, please. I will stay home for a while. I’ll be the wife you want me to be, the woman you loved. I can be her again.” I have never felt as desperate as this.

Carter is coughing so loud it hurts my ears. I wipe some dirt off my shirt. Carter plunges the shovel hard-straight-pain into the ground an inch from my foot as he yells, “GET OUT OF THE WAY NOW! I have to be done with this.”

This? Why does he have to finish this ditch in the middle of the night? Then I notice it. This hole looks like a fucking grave… Where did he go after dinner? Where? All of this crime-writing, creepy, fucking shit that he reads and writes everyday – is he now acting on it? He has to understand the mind of a serial killer to write about it… I mean, he lives in a world of darkness way darker than my bondage games. There’s something in the corner of the hole and I can’t see what it is. He killed him. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Is that Enzo down there, dead?

I start to back away, my eyes locked on Carter.

I step back – please don’t let it be true.

Step – Please don’t make my last savior into a murderer.

Step – “Carter… You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

Suddenly Carter’s voice is roaring like a starving lion in a zoo: “You’re more worried about him than your own family?!” No. Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant. I wanted to preserve your soul, your pure, fucking soul. Carter raging-bull-raises his shovel, staggering, and follows me – is he going to kill me?

“Get away from me
.
I can’t control myself.”
I obey him. I run. I see my neighbors’ light on so my feet, without thinking, just go. Run towards the light, Hayley. Run faster than ever. Run from Carter. Run from Enzo. Run from sadness. Run from anything good.

Where’s the gate? Where’s the gate? Fuck. I’m feeling in the dark for a way out. My fingers are numb. I’m reaching…

I look back and see Carter’s body-shape staggering, and it looks like he’s stumbling… Hurry, Hayley! Where’s the gate… Ah! There’s the latch. I lift and slip through and away. I run up the hill, as my heart speeds. I feel like I’m on an 8-ball, adrenaline, fear, heart-thundering, insanity trip, without rhythm, and without knowledge.

67

I go tripping over stones and pound on the neighbors’ door.
BAM, BAM, BAM!

No one answers.

BAM, BAM, BAM
. I press the intercom: “EVIE? CARL?! PLEASE LET ME IN!” I pound even harder, so hard that my fists bruise in pain. My mouth is dry and I press the buzzer again: “IT’S ME. It’s Hayley. It’s an emergency. CAN I USE THE PHONE?”

The door unlocks. I breathe deep, step in, and slam the door shut and lock it. I look around: “Evie? Carl? Where are you?” I hear their little dog bark upstairs. What am I going to tell them? Am I going to say, “My husband killed my lover and now’s he trying to kill me, and I’m such a great mother that I left my boys with him.”

“Is that your cute, little dog?” I ask. No answer…

“I’m sorry about that time my twins freaked him out. They were really small.” I scratch into my hand and open up the cut from the tree. I suck off the few drops of red. Why isn’t anyone answering? I look around the house. There’s a glittery banner hanging above one door that says,
“It’s a Boy.”
And above another door is one that says,
“It’s a Girl.”
Below it are a stroller and a playpen, both still wrapped in plastic. Maybe they had a baby shower? I thought they were too old to have kids. Maybe they are adopting. I mean, I don’t know them at all. I tip-toe forward and look up the stairs. “Evie? Carl?”

A shadow appears on the landing. A figure steps into the dim yellow glow of a distant light. My stomach kicks.

Am I just imagining things? I squint at the figure, lean and lanky. It’s him. It’s really him. In yellow-and-black-plaid PJ bottoms and a black wife-beater. Wait… He’s alive? Carter didn’t kill him? My whole world is flipped upside down. Reality is a shape-shifter. Any time I think I grasp the truth, that truth turns out to be a mirage, a puppet show, a lie. I don’t understand what the hell is going on.

Enzo rubs his nose, ruffles through his hair, and walks down the stairs. He looks so different without eyeliner and his hair just down, no gel. He looks innocent.

We’re both caught off guard, not knowing how to act or what to do or what to say. But wait a second, why is he at the neighbors? He stops one foot away from me, and my nails deepen into my hand. “What’re you doing here?”

Keep cool, Hayley. Keep cool. Don’t feel anything. Novocain your heart. “I rented this place so I could be closer to you and the baby.” His chest puffs up and he smiles and Vanna-White shows me the crib, walker, playpen, and the rest of the baby stuff.

Wait a minute… He bought all this stuff? Before I can catch myself or filter it out: “Um.. great, but where’s Carl and Evie?” I see he’s hesitating and debating whether to touch me or not… “They went on a big Asian vacay and put up their house as a rental! I couldn’t believe it when I saw the address on Craigslist.” I stop scratching my hands and put them at my side. I need to be ready for anything.

He whispers through cupped hands, “Our sacred fuck palace.” He leans so close I can feel him breathe on my neck. He’s so close that I can see how much his eyes are dilated. His eyes are inches from mine. Keep a poker face. I try to explain: I already have a life with a husband and kids. I can feel my mouth moving, but I’m not sure how it’s all flowing. I just need to make him understand.

He checks his black watch and smiles, “I’m gonna be daddy to your two kids now…” Huh? Count on me to fuck the psychos and fall in love. His head cocks to the side as he pulls it further from mine. “’Cause you don’t have a husband anymore..” What the fuck does he mean? Holy fuck – Carter was weird and coughing and stumbling – did he poison my husband?
AHHH!
Is he still alive? How much longer does he have until he dies?

Fuck, I have to get back to Carter. I have to call an ambulance. He’s a little slurry, like he’s on something hard. My hands start to shake, and I cross my fingers to make it stop. I need to appear calm. He’s too close. His mouth fangs: “I snuck over the fence late at night and I chop! chop! chop! chopped! all the fig tree roots to make the tree lean over and you know… Carter loves that fig tree.” His eyes get bigger and twitch… “I told him the drainage was all wrong there so he dug a new hole to move the tree…. Haha! He dug his own grave!” How calculating is he? My heart is sick. I want to puke. I gasp hard and take a tiny step back. Shit. I’m letting my cool go. Enzo grabs at the Bowie blade by his side – and to think that blade was once part of our sexcapades. Shit. Carter. What do I do? Be calm. I have to play along or he’ll try to kill me too.

Breathe. Poker face. I’m so twisted-sick-scared. Enzo looks over to me with concern. His eyes are big, black pools dilated like a full-harvest moon. “That man is dangerous.” He hisses, “I heard him yelling at you. And
NO ONE
fucks with
my Hayley
. My soul mate. My love. Mother of our future genius-child… Hayley, he doesn’t get you. You and I aren’t meant for people like that.” He towers over me, leaning in closer, gnashing his teeth. “People that don’t feel the way we feel. If you had just divorced him, it would have saved me a lot of trouble… but it’s too late to go back now.”