“He’s not worth it, Laurie,” Frank says as he takes off. “None of them are.”
I am on the verge of tears as we leave the base—tears of anger and frustration. I feel like I am Lunatic Laurie, like that crazy person from movies that no one wants to be seen with. And I wonder if any of this has been worth it. Was risking my life in Duke’s house worth it? It’s not like he’s really alive anyway. As a tear escape my eye and rolls down my cheek, I think about the life I used to have. Before Ryan was deployed, back when things were simple, and no one thought I was crazy. Back when we had a bunch of friends and a vibrant social life. How could life change so drastically? Did I let this happen? Is it my fault?
I think about all that, but most of all, I wonder how it will ever be good again. Is there a way back from this?
Chapter 41
I am worried. I keep checking the news for stories of another suicide on base. I am concerned I might soon see George’s name and be told that he decided to end it, that he was known to have been depressed after his divorce. But so far, after three days, there has been nothing. I haven’t heard from Ryan or the police. I don’t know if they ever had that chat with him, but at least he is staying away. I wake up several times at night, gasping, thinking I hear something, worried it is him coming back. During the day, I fear he’ll come to Damian’s school or show up at Isabella’s physical therapy. There was so much rage in those eyes when he left; I fear he isn’t giving up just yet.
If ever.
I stare at my desk and the many photos I have hung up on the wall, then at the small yellow sticky notes and the piles of printouts I have made. I know this looks like a crazy person’s, an obsessed person’s work, but it’s what I have been up to. I have been trying to get myself an overview, trying to find anything that could help me get to the bottom of this. I don’t know what I am looking for exactly or what I am hoping to get out of it, but it feels important, and I can’t let it go. I guess you could call me obsessive since I think about it all hours of the day and even at night when I am supposed to sleep. Is there a pattern I have missed? A connection that could help me figure out when he’ll strike next? Is it on certain dates? Why did he choose to kill them in this order? Why Sandra first? How long till he strikes next? I try to figure these things out but have no success. Every day, I consider going back to warn George again. I have already called him twice, then hung up when losing my courage. Then I write him an email. I tell him that I believe he’s in danger, then delete it again. Then I start all over, starting out telling him I know I am the last person he wants to hear from, but he should listen anyway.
I delete that too, then lean back in my chair.
You already told him this. If he chooses not to listen, it’s his fault.
I sip my white wine and stare at the wall when my phone vibrates. I grab it from the table and look at the display, then stop breathing.
It’s that number again, the one that texted me when I woke up in my car at Duke’s house. He has sent me another text. With heart hammering in my chest, I open it.
It says: BACK OFF NOW IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU.
I stare at the message, the phone shaking in my hand. I feel sweaty, and I can hardly breathe. Then I text back: NEVER
I send it, then stare at the phone, hearing the pulse pumping in my ears. A couple of minutes pass, and when I don’t get an answer, I text again: I AM ON TO YOU. YOU’RE GOING DOWN.
I look at it, waiting for him to answer, but nothing comes. I want to keep him texting me. I want to know if he really is the killer. Is it Ryan, trying to be clever by hiding behind another number?
Still, no answer. The silence scares me slightly. I stare at the screen, wondering if I should call the number again. It’ll probably just go to voicemail like last time. If he wants to talk to me, he’ll call me himself.
I stare at the screen, then decide I have lost him. I am about to put the phone back on the desk when it rings. I gasp slightly, then look at the screen.
It’s him. He’s Facetiming me.
My finger is shaking so badly I can barely swipe it across the screen to accept the call. It slips a couple of times before I finally manage to take it. There is scrambling on the other end; the camera is blurry. My heart is beating so fast that it’s hard for me to hear what is going on.
Am I about to see him? Will I see his face and find out if it is really Ryan?
“Hello?” I say. I try to make out what it is I am looking at on the screen. It’s defocused and pixelated at first. I squint my eyes to see better.
“Hello?” I say again. “Who is this?”
There is no answer. The camera is moving toward something. “Ryan, is this you? Hello? Are you there? What am I looking at here?”
Finally, the camera stands still, and soon the picture becomes clear. I am looking at someone’s face, but it’s definitely not Ryan. It’s not a man either. It’s a woman, and she’s crying.
Oh, dear God, no!
As the realization sinks in, my heart drops. I can feel the blood leaving my face.
“M-MOM?”
I am almost screaming now. The camera moves again, and I am looking at another person.
“DAD?”
“Please,” my dad’s voice pleads. “Please, don’t hurt us.”
I realize they’re on the ground, both of them are lying on the floor of their condo. I recognize the tiles in the kitchen.
“Dad? What’s happening?” I scream.
The camera moves back to my mom. She has a gun pressed against her skin. Her makeup is smeared; she’s been crying. She also has a bruise on her cheek.
“Please,” she says. “Laurie. Just do what he tells you to. Please.”
“Mo-om?” I can hear the desperation in my own voice. It gets shrill and ugly. I can’t breathe. “What are you doing to them, you bastard?” I scream at him while I sink to my knees. “Don’t you dare hurt them!”
The camera goes closer to my mom’s face, where the gun is being pressed against her cheek, hard. I can hear her whimper. It completely paralyzes me.
“Please, don’t,” I say. “Please, don’t harm them. Please.”
I stare at the screen through my tears, and I can hear my mother crying out in distress. She’s terrified. It’s the worst sound in the world.
Not my mom. Not my dad. I need them, God, please.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I can’t stop screaming into the phone. “You sick bastard. You sick, sick bastard!”
I hear him cock the gun, and then my mother screams as he grabs her hair and pulls it back, then places the barrel of the gun against her temple. My mom closes her eyes and screams, just as the phone goes dead.
Chapter 42
I can’t breathe. I look at the screen, then press it, trying to call the number back, but nothing happens. My kids have heard me scream and have come out of their rooms, Damian rubbing his eyes.
“What’s going on, Mom?” Isabella asks, visibly worried.
“Take care of your brother, will you?” I ask and rise to my feet. The way I say it makes it sound like I’ll never see them again. I don’t know how I am even standing now, where I’m getting the strength to stay upright. I am fueled by nothing but fear and anger now.