I took a couple steps back, pretending I was off-balance.
The closer I can get to the saw the better …
“I used our printer at work to make the labels. If you’d been a little smarter, you would have realized they were fakes. I just covered up Robin’s labels with fake ones for Phillip Eagon.”
“But why? Why make me think Uncle Phil was out of prison?”
“Just having a little fun, I guess. Just like I did with the listening device I found on your computer. I had it in my pocket the whole time. Brought it with me!” she laughed harder, giggling through her nose like she used to when she was young. I used to find it endearing, but now I saw it for what it really was: sinister.
Philomena Nordstrom was a sociopath and always had been.
“And I needed to make sure you didn’t go to the cops. If you knew your identity was on the line and Phil was back, I was confident you wouldn’t do that. I wanted them to link Delaney to the crime all on their own, which brings me to that stupid boy. I paid him to pick on Delaney, not in money but favors, if you know what I mean …”
I tasted bile in the back of my throat. “Urgh.”
For the first time, I actually thought about how it might feel to carve up Pam’s face with that saw …
I think it’d feel pretty good now I know she orchestrated my daughter’s bullying and murdered two people, including another child she manipulated into doing her bidding …
“He didn’t even see it coming. I had him meet me out in the woods behind the school. It never even dawned on him that I was wearing gloves. You should have seen the look on his face when I stabbed him. I have to be honest, Ivy, killing again felt good. Like doling out my own kind of justice. Nobody will miss that preppy prick, or that slimy bastard, Robin. Just like nobody misses Tamara and Mandy. I know you know what I mean …”
She thinks we’re the same. She thinks I actually enjoyed killing Mandy. She can’t really believe that. I’m not like her, am I?
But I thought about the lifetime of lies. Would I be proud if Delaney knew the truth about me? No, I wouldn’t.
I stared down the barrel of the gun. If I died today, then it would be well deserved.
But I can’t do that. If I let her kill me, what would happen to Delaney?
“If you kill me, the cops will know it wasn’t Delaney. You can’t just group me in with the other bodies. Delaney’s in custody right now. And I talked to Samantha on the phone, remember? There’s a time stamp for everything … they’ll never buy it. It’ll fuck up your whole stupid plan,” I snarled.
“Bingo! And that’s why you have to kill yourself. Well, not actually, but I’m going to make it look that way. After all, it’s your gun. And after you got word of your daughter, you sent me a text message. That you knew she was a killer and you couldn’t live with yourself anymore.”
“No, I didn’t,” I whispered, horror rising. I already knew what was coming next.
“I sent it from your phone to mine while you were scrounging around in the basement, freaking out over Phantom Phil. And I took your gun. I mean, seriously, Ivy? You’re still using the same password for everything, including your gun safe? How fucking stupid can you be?”
Pretty fucking stupid apparently. Stupid for letting her talk me into the murders all those years ago. Stupid for trusting her ever since …
If I don’t do something quick, she’s going to kill me. How much longer can I keep her talking?
I took another chance and stepped backward. The saw was just a few feet away …
“Don’t move.” I froze, not because it was Pam’s warning, but another voice entirely.
Pam slowly turned around, looking at someone behind her in the hallway.
“Drop the gun.” I recognized that irritated voice.
Fran.
“No fucking chance, Granny.” Pam raised the gun.
There was a blast, the loudest noise I’d ever heard and, as though in slow motion, I watched Pam’s body fly and land with a thump by the bed.
Blood seeped out of a baseball sized wound.
Fran stepped through the doorway. She was holding a 12-gauge shot gun, smoke trickling from the end of the barrel.
“Oh my God, Fran!”
She dropped the gun and fell to her knees, clutching her arm in pain. Her cast was partially off.
“Oh, Fran.” She had obviously removed it herself in a hurry; I could see where she’d snipped the plaster off with snips, or some other tool.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I came to return that book and I heard talking. I just had a bad feeling. I have an instinct for these kinds of things. Now quit asking stupid questions and go make sure that psycho is dead. You don’t read enough books, do ya? They always pop up and try to go another round.”
Just to appease her, I went over and knelt on the floor by my friend.
She’s not your friend, Ivy. She never really was …
But seeing Pam there, blood seeping out from her mid-section like a wild river, eyes wide, mouth twisted in a painful O, I felt myself mourning her.
I mourned for the friend I thought she was, the friend and sister I’d always wanted, but never had.
“She’s dead, Fran,” I said, dully.
Fran was gritting her teeth, holding her injured arm tight to her side with her left arm.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” I said, taking out my phone.
When I looked back at Fran, her face was sheet white. She was staring at the bodies on the floor.
“Oh. I’ll explain those later,” I said, holding the phone to my ear.
***
When the police arrived, they took one long look at the three dead bodies and the injured old lady and they slammed me to the ground and cuffed me.
It was the best feeling in the world.
I was alive. Delaney was innocent. And there would never again be a reason to lie.
As the cops pulled into the station, sirens blaring, we were met with a crowd of reporters. For the first time in my life, I was glad to see them.
As they led me out of the police car and into the station, I was hammered with flashing lights and manic questions …
I don’t think they expected me to give a comment, but I looked straight into the first camera lens I saw, and said, “My name is Andrea Eagon. You may have heard that name before …”
Epilogue
1 year later
The prison doors clicked shut behind me, a welcoming sound I hoped never to hear again. As I stepped outside, my eyes burned, not used to the bright white sun and the chilly wind in my face.
It was October when they locked me up. Now it’s October again.
Almost like I didn’t miss a thing.
But, deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.
“Mom!” Delaney was running, dark hair flying behind her like the most gorgeous kite I’d ever seen. She fell into my arms, her full weight bearing down on me. I held on, staying strong and holding onto my baby, the way a mother must always do.
“Mom …” Delaney said again, tears in her eyes. Suddenly, she straightened up, fixing her hair, adjusting her demeanor as she realized there were reporters flashing pictures nearby.
Some things change, and some never do, I thought, cheerily.