Buddy washed me, not gently but thoroughly. He stared at me as he did so, and I saw the same hope that Edward has always had when he did bad things to me.
“Pain?” I asked as he dried me afterwards. “I am used to it, and last time—”
“No.” He held my gaze and took my hand. “No. I just want . . . not being in control. I trust you. I shouldn’t. He’s going to kill me when he finds out.”
“Then I’d better be worth it.”
He handed me his phone. It was already recording.
I looked into it. “I love you, Edward. Buddy does too, but I asked him for this. I need him to do this. I want you to understand that. I want you to forgive him.”
I felt bolder than I’d felt in years. I propped the phone up so it was aimed at the action.
Then I led my husband’s son-brother to a cheap motel bed.
Afterwards, I turned off the recording.
“He’ll kill me if I stay,” I told Buddy as I rolled over to look at him. I admitted the truth aloud as I’d never dared, even to myself. “I need cash so I can get out. No trail. Then I need a ride to the bus station.”
“How much?”
“A few grand so I can get settled.”
He said nothing for several moments, and I was glad that the recording was over. This was something far scarier than infidelity.
“It’ll take a few weeks.”
I cried. I couldn’t decide if it was relief or sorrow or fear. Maybe it was everything at once.
After a few moments of Buddy holding me, he said, “I could come with you.”
I needed his help, but a future with a man who raped me and was loyal to my husband was a horrible plan. He wasn’t anything but a pawn—to Edward, to me--but I needed him to believe he mattered to me.
“Let me go first,” I said. “Then I’ll send you a message, and if you still want to come, you can. If we go together, Edward will look for us.”
“He’ll look for you anyhow.”
I nodded. “He’ll find me eventually, too.”
There was never any doubt that I would get caught. There was no chance of freedom. For a few years, I could try to live. I could avoid bleeding. That was more than I would have if I stayed. Edward loved me. I never doubted that, but being loved by Edward was going to kill me. The only other choice was his death, and I didn’t think I could do that. Not even to save myself. Not even to save the pretty things.
I was too weak to kill my husband, even though I dreamed of it the way a younger me had dreamed of freedom from my mother.
38
Juliana
We walk up to a little house not unlike the rest of those that line various streets of the city. It’s a double shotgun, painted a shade of pink that is oddly common here. The porch creaks a little, not in a dangerous way but in the way of houses with history. It makes Andrew smile.
“She would hear anyone out here walking.” There’s a pride in his voice that I don’t quite know what to do with right now. He’s still the man I’ve gone to for my own needs over the last year, but there’s an entire aspect to his personality that I didn’t know existed until today.
“I’m sorry, Jules. This was never a thing that I wanted to come between us.” He reaches out for my hand. “I wish I handled it better.”
“Just knock.”
He raps on the door with his other hand.
I’m not sure how I feel about going into a strange house, but despite the fact that Andrew has lied to me, I still trust him enough to go with him—or maybe I just don’t feel like I have a lot of choices. He takes my hand in his, and the familiarity of it comforts my nerves.
“Tess? Are you in there?”
He knocks again. No one answers, and Andrew suddenly seems tense. “I’ll call you later. You can meet her, but I think you need to go.”
He opens the door and walks into the house.
I hesitate. I don’t believe he’ll really call. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse to go in with him, but I don’t have a better idea. I can’t call Henry. I can’t stand here pointlessly either. After several moments of indecision, I open the door and go inside after Andrew.
Inside, the house is barren. There is no indication of personality, of permanence. The furniture is nondescript. The floors are hardwood. The walls are unadorned. The most striking thing in the room is a vase of fresh flowers. They seem out of place, more of a gift bouquet than one a person buys for herself.
A small two-person table in the kitchen stands in for a dining room. In the shadows, Andrew is staring at something. I wonder if Teresa is there, injured, dead. Have we come all this way for nothing?
And then Andrew looks at me, and whatever I thought before I walked in the house, I was wrong. “Go, Jules. Get—”
“Enough, little brother.”
Andrew steps in front of me, and I know. Without hearing another word, I know who’s in the room. And as the words spoken sink in, I know more than I ever wanted to know.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispers.
“She was your sister-in-law. Teresa was your sister-in-law.”
My words are as much question as statement. I pray that I’m wrong. If I’m not, if the horrible truth settling in on me is true, I’ve been sleeping with the brother of the man who’s been mutilating women.
The man standing in the living room, a slightly older version of Andrew, is handsome. It isn’t shocking. A lot of serial killers are attractive. They lure in victims. Either looks or charisma is a part of their arsenal. The 9mm gun atop the back cushions of the ugly floral sofa beside him is more shocking than the look of the man.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” The happiness in the Carolina Creeper’s voice makes my skin crawl.
“Then I can leave.” I take two steps backwards.
He laughs and lifts the gun from the back of the sofa. “You know me, Juliana. No lies. Not with us. My little brother is the liar here. Not you. Not me.”
“Let her go, Reid,” Andrew pleads. “I’m here. I’ll stay and—”
“Shut up.” The Creeper, Reid, is no longer sounding the least bit happy. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t figure out that you stole her?”
“I saved her.”
“She’s. My. Wife.” Reid punches Andrew.
The force of it makes Andrew stumble, but he rights himself quickly. “Tess would be dead by now if I hadn’t helped her back then. She wasn't going to survive being your wife. You were killing her . . . like the others, just slower."
Reid smiles, and I know that we’re not going to get away. Every nightmare I’ve had about the Creeper pales in comparison to the fear flooding my system.
“You’d be surprised what people can survive, little brother.” Reid looks past him to meet my eyes. “You know, though, don’t you? You ran those hands over my pretty things. You felt what I did to them. Did you think of me? In that room? In your room? I thought of you, Juliana.”
Andrew steps backwards, closer to me, as if he can block his brother from touching me.