The Good Kind of Bad (37 page)

‘What were you doing at the police station? Were you there to tell them about Joe?
Have
you told them?’

‘I know who you are, Evan. Who you
really
are. My friend is dead. Don’t you understand that? My friend is dead! He killed her because of you. Because you told him to. Mickey shot her, Mickey Delacro, and I saw him do it.’

His face contorted into one of pained confusion. Forced, of course.

‘Evan, don’t pretend. You’re telling me you’ve never heard that name before?’

‘No. I’ve never heard that name before.’

‘How about Victor then?’

‘No! I don’t know any Victor. What’s this all about?’

I almost laughed. He was good. If I didn’t know the truth I’d almost have believed him. Catching my reflection in the window glass, I could’ve sworn another face peered out from over my shoulder. It looked like Joe, grinning in exuberance, Charlie to his lips before I was shot a mischievous wink. I gasped, though the image had faded, leaving me only with the deafening sound of Evan’s pleas.

‘Honey, you’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking? Have you taken something?’

‘Nina called me after the movies, she told me who you were. I went down to her apartment and saw what Mickey did to her! Look a little more surprised and I might believe you. I’ve just told you my friend was murdered! Come on, Evan, I thought lying was your forte.’

‘I’m not lying!’

‘He killed her in front of me, my friend! You’re acting like I told you I had a bad day at work. I don’t want the excuses anymore. You don’t scare me. Tell it to your captain, ’cause I’m going to the police.’

‘Will you stop?’

He reached for my hand but I snatched it away. ‘Don’t touch me, you pig.’

‘Listen to me,’ he ordered in a low voice. ‘I don’t know what you saw, what you think you saw or what went on tonight, but I don’t know any one called Mickey, I haven’t killed Nina and my name isn’t Victor.’

‘Of course you’d say that.’

‘My name is Evan Thomasz, I’m a second grade detective with the Chicago Metropolitan Police and I live at Apartment 29, 314 West Superior Avenue, Chicago. That’s it.’

‘Evan
Victor
Thomasz,’ I corrected.

‘This is insane. Please, come home with me. Let me look after you. I’m sure your friend Nina is fine. It must’ve been something else you saw, someone else. This isn’t the movies. Real life isn’t that
real
. Come on, we need to get out of here before the cops show. They’ll have traced the call. They don’t know it’s a false alarm.’

It’s not a false alarm.

Mopping Guy shuffled over. ‘I’m right about closing up now, folks.’

‘Come on, honey, the car’s right outside. Come home and I’ll make you some soup.’

‘He’s not hassling you, is he?’ Mopping guy was skinnier than his mop. I could do Evan more damage myself.

‘No, I’m not hassling her, man. I’m her husband. I need to get her home. She has these episodes.’

‘Well then, darling, you better go with him.’

‘No. He’s lying.’ I scowled at Evan. ‘He’s not my husband.’

Evan pointed to the back of my chair. ‘Come on. Get your coat on, honey, and we’ll go.’

‘Don’t believe him! Look at my hand. Look at his. We’re not wearing wedding rings.’

Raising my shaking left hand, for a moment he seemed to believe me, but then Evan stood from the table. Looking like he was about to make a grab for my arm, I launched out of my seat.

‘Shit. Honey, come back!’

I dodged through the bolted-down tables before flinging open the door and making it out onto the street, though I got all of ten steps before a forearm hooked around my neck.

‘No!’ I screamed, elbowing him in the chest.

‘You need to calm down. You need to come home. You’re delirious.’

I fought against Evan like I had between the cornfields, though this time I wasn’t guided carefully back to the car; I was dragged to it.

‘I didn’t want to do it this way, but you’ve left me no choice. Get in the car. Get in . . . now.’

This was it. It was time to die a beautiful death.

Slumping over the cool leather of Evan’s car seat, I knew there was no point fighting him. There was no point kicking at a locked door. Evan was too clever to let me escape now I knew the truth.

Five long minutes had passed since we’d screeched away from the café, en route to my fate: the cornfields, the black figures along Highway 88 and the wood in Kane County. I’d soon be in that soil, side by side with Joe. Mr and Mrs ’Til Death Us Do Part. Twenty-six. I’d reached twenty-six and all I had to show for my life was a dead husband and a multi-million dollar bank account I’d never see the fruits of.

The money. I could offer Evan the money. I was worth a couple of million, give or take, and could plead for my life in exchange for cold hard cash. As Evan curved his mouth into an ever-so-subtle grin, his poise oozing control and subordination, I knew who this man was, not to mention all the vile things he’d orchestrated. I cursed myself for even thinking it. My Star Lounge coffee must’ve been drugged. I was never giving Evan a penny.

As I searched my vicinity for things to fashion into a weapon, our short journey through the city was uneventful ‒ mundane, even. Stop, start, red light, green light. Checking our progress from the window, we crossed the junction with Clarke Street. We were going the wrong way for the woods. We were heading back
toward
the lake.

I looked to the seat behind, expecting to see traces of soil, but it was clean. No shovel, no dirt, nothing.

And then we were back in the underground garage of West Superior, where I was bundled into the lift, pushed up the stairs and escorted through the front door.

Now back in the muted guest bedroom, locked in after Evan wedged a chair behind my door to stop me doing anything ‘stupid’, from between the sheets and lying above the briefcase, I stared out into the nothingness, blinking away the vision of the bullet entering Nina’s head while I waited for something I didn’t yet understand.

Then there was a rustle at the door before it creaked open and Evan entered the bedroom, accompanied by a halo of light. Carrying a tray containing a bowl of soup and hunk of crusty bread, he placed it on the dresser before perching on the end of the bed.

‘I brought soup. You need to eat something,’ he suggested.

‘Soup? Do you think I’m sick or something?’ I’d tucked myself into the covers so only my head and mass of extensions peeked out; my illusion of protection.

‘No, but I thought you might be hungry.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Okay. Fine. Don’t eat.’

Fine? Everything was from fine. ‘Why did you bring me home? Why haven’t you killed me yet?’

‘Kill you? Jesus, why would you say that?’

‘Evan . . . acting dumb doesn’t suit you. I thought we were going to the woods. I thought you were going to . . .’

He shook his head. ‘
What
woods?’

‘
The
woods. Joe’s woods.’ I watched his faux ignorance grow. Exactly how long was he going to keep this up?

Then his eyebrows rose at an alarming speed as a hand shot to his cheek. He was actually beginning to look worried. ‘Something is seriously wrong with you. What
have
you taken? Drugs, pills? First you accuse me of being someone else, and now you think I want to kill you? Look, whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve swallowed, you need to sleep it off. Please, just eat something first. We can get you a doctor tomorrow.’

Doctor? No. No doctors.
Once Evan knew about the clinic, he’d dump me in an institution before I could say hallucination.

Collecting the soup tray from the dresser, he placed it in front of me on the bed. Why was he doing this? Why deny it all and pretend like he cared?

‘Get some rest,’ Evan whispered, slipping back into the hallway before he jammed the chair back against the door handle.

Evan was right. I had been taking something, though only in tiny doses, and only since the fight with Nina on Monday. I’d hidden my pills in the bedside drawer, my old supply retained for emergencies. I’d needed them to cope. It was easier that way. If anything, after tonight I’d have to
up
the dose.

Attempting and succeeding one measly mouthful of soup, I pushed the tray aside. Reaching to the bedside drawer, I pulled the tub of Andlixcen from its hiding place within an old perfume box, and headed to the adjoining bathroom. Staring myself out in the mirror, daring myself to do it, I popped one pink pill to the back of my throat before my greedy gulps of water washed it into my gullet, eager for the unrivalled peace of unconsciousness.

Heading back to bed, I never made it to the covers. I breathed into the darkness after hearing the bang, paralysed with fear before looking to the door, frightened to face what lingered behind.

In the dressing table mirror, my dead husband slouched at the foot of the bed. The scream stopped in my throat. His teeth were like daggers in the dark, evil and unreal as with a finger to his lips, he smiled his crescent moon for me before the shadows swallowed him whole. As I climbed back between the covers, I waited for him to reappear, for the voices of the dead to narrate my dreams.

Shafts of light meandered their way through the curtains, and even with the mirage of Joe now absent, I awoke with a bilious foreboding. I craved to sleep forever. Shivering between the sheets, my head pounded like I’d been punched in the face. I checked the clock. If Evan hadn’t left for work already, then he was imminently departing. I had time to collect my thoughts and run through my takedown plan before the continued interrogation and suggestions of doctors. I had time. I had time to mourn Nina.

As my tongue travelled the roof of my mouth, the skin was so dry and parched it nearly stuck fast. I crawled from my pit in search of water, travelling the floor as if on a tightrope. Padding over to the door, I hesitated. About to kick the door open, I decided to try the handle, just in case. I found no barricades or bolts, latches or locks, and no chairs wedged against it. The door opened freely.

I could escape, run and tell the police he’d kidnapped me, but that was too easy. Why had he taken away the chair? So I
could
run and call the cops? It didn’t make sense, unless it was a test. Unless he wanted to see what I did. After bearing the brunt of Evan’s scheming, it was time I devised a plan of my own.

By the kitchen table I sipped hot coffee from Evan’s
Visit Albuquerque!
mug. Even if I had tried to leave, the worst headache of my life creeping its way over my cranium and what felt like the beginnings of flu meant I wasn’t running anywhere. But that wasn’t the only reason I sat casually drinking coffee.

‘Morning.’ Evan plodded in, walking to the sink and retrieving a cup off the drainer.

I felt myself stiffen.

He fired up the kettle after shaking it at me. I hadn’t boiled enough water for two. Evan wasn’t at work, he was home; his hair damp from the shower and his shirt only half buttoned. It exposed his now ironic tattoo, the badge of the Chicago Metropolitan Police engraved over his heart.

‘Sleep well?’ he asked, rubbing his hair with the towel draped around his neck. He almost sounded chipper.

‘I didn’t sleep at all,’ I croaked, grasping the side of my head.

‘Right. Stupid question.’ He considered me with a sideways glance, like Joe used to before raising his fist. ‘You look terrible.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

‘Come on. What did you think you’d look like? Don’t you remember what happened last night? The things you accused me of?’

‘I remember you locked me in the bedroom.’

He joined me at the table, scraping back the chair. ‘It was the best option, honey.’

‘For who?’

‘For both of us. I sure as hell didn’t feel safe. You called the cops, you thought I was going to kill you . . . You were like a wild banshee, a crazy woman.’

How apt.
Stupid girl
had become
crazy girl
.

‘Last night you were delirious, I mean, you were weird. I shouldn’t have locked you in, I know, but you were talking nonsense, you were about to blow us wide open. What was I supposed to do?’

‘
Not
lock me in?’

He was still denying it. I knew the truth and he was laying it on thicker than ever.
I
was the crazy one here,
I
was the one on drugs,
I
couldn’t possibly have seen what I’d seen because Evan was now Mr Holier Than Thou.

He began buttoning up his shirt. ‘I have to go to work. Will you be all right here by yourself or do I need to take precautions?’

‘Locking-me-in-the-bedroom precautions?’