Page 26

26

FLORENCE

When he says my name and stops me in my tracks, I hold my hands up like I’m being arrested and turn, slowly, to look at him.

“Evan,” I say flatly, with forced calm. “I thought you were out tonight.”

“What brings you by, Florence?”

“I was just wanting to chat. When nobody answered I let myself in because it’s so cold.”

“Chat. Oh,” he says, and then he smiles at me, looking like he’ll lunge toward me at any second. I casually put my hand into my coat pocket and start to press buttons on my phone, hoping to call for help. The last number that called me was Mack, asking if Shelby was at the Oleander’s. That was earlier today, so it’s the first number my finger finds to press the call button on, and he doesn’t notice until I hear her pick up and I pull the phone out and start yelling into it as quickly as I can: “Help. He caught me. Please help. The address is—” and then Evan has me in his grip. He snatches the phone and pushes me into the horrifying shrine room with one easy sweep, locking me inside.

I sit on the edge of the bed to catch my breath. The bed is covered in rose petals. He was planning to have somebody here tonight. Does he have Shelby already? Is that why I couldn’t reach her? Oh God. What have I done? I was trying to help, and now I’m in here and can’t do a damn thing. I made a mistake coming here. I should have called the police. No. I stop myself. No, I would be some crazy bat making accusations, just like they think Shelby is. They would never have even asked Evan a question. This needed to happen. I can still fix this.

It seems like a very long time that I’m sitting in that room alone, trying not to look at all the photos on the wall, trying not to cry. I do take my blood pressure medicine and open a warm Pepsi sitting on top of the dresser to swallow it with, and then I hear something. A door opens and he yells, “Hey!” and then he runs outside. I can feel the blast of frigid air even from back here. There is silence for a long time, and then he’s back. I can hear him humming right outside in the kitchen, and I smell grilled cheese on the stove. He’s just going about his business like I’m not even here. I try to run through all of the reasons he would do something like this. What does he want?

Then I hear his voice outside the door. It sounds like he has slid down the wall and is sitting on the opposite side.

“Oh, Florence,” he sighs.

“I’m here,” I say. “I know I shouldn’t have let myself in, Evan, but what’s going on? I won’t tell anyone, Evan. We’re friends,” I say, and I don’t know what my strategy is, but maybe if I can get him to talk I can figure out my angle and talk my way out of this.

“How did you figure it out?” he asks.

“Figure what out?” I still play dumb, but it’s clearly not working.

“Can we just cut the shit? I don’t want to have to kill you.”

“No,” I say. “I wouldn’t like that either.”

“So I ask you again…how’d you figure out it was me?”

After some moments of silence, I make myself speak. “Blacklock. The avatar name you used playing video games with Herb. You signed into the hospital logs with that name. It had to be you.”

“No shit? I better fix that.” I hear him pull out his phone and tap the screen. “Glad you mentioned that. I deleted it so nobody else would find that. Good catch. Thanks. I knew you were catching on, but I kind of thought you were into it, ya know…”

Oh my God, it’s all rushing in—it’s all becoming clear that he’s actually a sociopath and I am in grave danger of dying in this house and, from his track record, him getting away with it.

“You killed Otis?” I say, my voice cracking, but I try to clear it and stay level. I have so many questions. What happened to Leo, Bernie; where is Shelby? How is it all connected? Why are you doing this? But I’m trapped by a monster, and I don’t know what approach to take to make him think I’m not a threat.

“I’m so disappointed, Flor. I liked you. I thought you’d be excited to find out about all this. I thought we could plan our next move together, but you’re on their side. I can tell.”

“What?” I say. “Excited?” I stutter in disbelief, not understanding what he’s saying.

“Sure. Catching on that Otis was murdered, finding Bernie’s pendant, all of it—it was thrilling for you. You were getting off on all of it.”

“No, Evan. I was certainly not,” I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice, but there is silence on the other end. Then I hear him get up and walk away.

It feels like a long time before I hear footsteps come back near the door, and I’m waiting, shakily behind it for him to come in. When he finally opens the bedroom door, I shove the Taser at him with all my strength and press the button until he’s convulsing on the floor. For a minute, I think I killed him.

“Oh God! Oh no,” I say, not stopping to check on him but instead stepping over him to retrieve the handgun that dropped from his grip and slipped across the kitchen floor, mercifully not going off.

He moans and starts to collect himself, muttering “bitch” under his breath, and when he finally pushes himself up to sit, he’s met with the end of his own gun, which I’m aiming at him. He gives a weak laugh.

“Little, sweet Flor. You don’t know how to use it. Let’s not do this,” he says and starts to stand. I hesitate for just a second, then I squeeze the trigger at the ceiling and I shoot. The noise is deafening and the force pushes me back, but I have shot a gun before. Me and Millie took trap shooting lessons, and I was very good.

“Please sit in that chair,” I say, nodding to the kitchen chair at the small table next to the stove. He holds his hands up and does so, but still has a smirk on his face that I would very much like to shoot right off of him, but of course I don’t do that. I can’t.

“Tell me where Shelby is,” I say. He smiles at me, and there is a silence that is cut only by the sound of my own ragged breath as I wait for him to respond, wondering if I need to use the Taser again…if I’m capable.

“Pour me a drink,” he says back, flatly. I stare at him, my nostrils flaring and my heart racing, and then I pour some scotch that’s already on the table into a lowball glass and slide it over to him. He sits and I take a couple of steps back, afraid he could move swiftly and swipe the gun from my hand. I collect the Taser from the floor and back up against the counter where I place it, keeping it close. He watches me. I have multiple ways to hurt or kill him, and I have questions, so he’s trapped.

“I don’t know where she is. Don’t you see the lovely room I made for her? Don’t you think we’d be together in there right now if I had any control over what the fuck Shelby does with her life?” He takes a sip of his drink, and it’s like I’m looking at another person than the one I thought I knew. His eyes are dark and his face is contorted, and if I hadn’t already seen what he’s capable of I would think it’s just little Evan Carmichael playing a character in a school play. None of it seems real, or possible, but here he is. A completely changed man.

“Then why did you change your name on the hospital log? Why were you visiting Otis?”

“He used to be a business partner. He owed me.”

“Owed you?”

“Yeah. I don’t mind telling you, Florence, because I can’t emphasize enough how thoroughly every last detail was attended to. You can go to the police right now and tell them I killed Otis or Leo, and they will not find one shred of evidence. Absolutely nothing,” he says, and I remember that he was a cop for a long time, and if he planned all this to the letter, what if he’s right?

“So why do you have Leo’s ID? Why would you kill him?”

“I didn’t,” he says, and I swallow hard and force myself to cock the gun again.

Evan rolls his eyes. “He had a heart attack. I mean, I did—well, I don’t know the right word—kidnap sounds weird for an adult. I captured him. And I demanded the money I was owed. We were partners all those years ago and he cut me out of the deal, and now look. Look at all the money him and Otis made—look at the lives they got to have!”

“So that night last October, you were waiting for him at his house and kidnapped him the way the police said?” I’m astonished—to think, Detective Chipped Beef got something right after all.

“I didn’t mean for the bastard to die. It was a happy accident. I didn’t know about his heart condition. I just went to the cafe and got all of his financials—and got what was mine. I think it’s only fair, really. I got a shitty life, living in a studio apartment in the city with a fiancée who was kind of a bitch anyway, because you don’t attract good girls when you fail to make lots of money and get shot in the line of duty. They leave, and then you watch these motherfuckers just living the high life with all the money that should have been mine. So no, I didn’t feel bad,” he says, and I don’t know what to do or say.

“You went to the cafe to steal his financial files, and you saw Shelby.”

Evan smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hadn’t seen her in years. It all came rushing back—the way she rejected me back in school, how much I loved her back then, and she married fucking Clay ? Clay, with the fucking receding hairline and dad jokes and the stupid polo shirts? What a joke. I almost finally had my way with her then, but I had a plan, and time was ticking. I had the files and needed the money first, so I had to choose.”

“And if you can’t have her, no one can. Is that why you tried to kill her?”

“You know, Florence, I always knew you were smarter than the rest of them, but you get in your own way. It’s been nice having someone to talk to about all this, finally, but I’m done. I know you won’t shoot me and you’ll only look like a fool when you tell the police all of this. You’ll look just as desperate and delusional as everyone is starting to realize Shelby is,” Evan chuckles.

“You don’t think the police will see that room you have when I tell them about this and arrest you on the spot?” I ask incredulously.

Evan shakes his head slowly, mockingly. “Oh, sweet, naive Florence. You don’t think I have a plan for everything? It’ll be like it was never there before they could ever even get here. And they can’t search my place on your word, can they? Plenty of time.” I can’t believe what he’s saying—how calculated he’s been. All this time, and the truth had been hiding right in plain sight.

I have to find my phone to call the police and have them come while I have him cornered and they can see the room, Leo’s ID, everything for themselves, but I don’t know where he’s hidden it, and I can’t leave or turn my back for a second. I look around, scanning the room for my phone, and then I see it in his pocket, sticking out just a hair.

Okay, good. I mean, not good, but I can get one more bit of information I need from him, and then I’ll demand the phone. I can Tase his fucking neck until he hands it over. I can get out of this. But I need to know. “Tell me why Otis and Bernie, then. Why?” I raise my voice, and my body is trembling with anger and hatred.

He stands. He takes a step toward me and I hold the gun with both hands and reach it out farther, aiming at him. “I think we’re done here. Time for you to go.”

“Tell me! Why them—” is all I manage in a cracked voice. I clear my throat and try again. “What happened to him?”

But he doesn’t back down and he doesn’t answer, and he’s two steps from grabbing this gun from me, so I close my eyes and I pull the trigger, aiming the gun down. I hear a scream.

“Fuck! Are you fucking crazy!” He’s on the ground now, writhing in pain. The bullet went through his thigh. I cock the gun again, aiming it down at his head.

“Answer me! Why them?”

“Fuck! Otis was dying. Who cares? I told him what happened to Leo would happen to his wife if he didn’t give me the money I was owed from what they did to me all those years back—it’s their fault my life is a disaster. Fuck!” He holds his leg and moans, continuing when I don’t move.

“When I started coming back to town to visit my dad after he got sick I started seeing Otis and Leo around town—living the life, flashing all their money around. Look at this fucking place.” He gestures around the room. “It’s a hoarder’s dump, and this is all I got. They fucked me. He wouldn’t budge. He was scared when I told him about what really happened to Leo, but once I said it, once I used it, he had to go. But come on, it was only a matter of days. I did him a favor.”

“So what did they do to you that was so bad all those years ago? Bad enough for you to kill them?”

“Not kill, Florence!” Evan growls, clenching his teeth against the pain. “Let’s get shit straight. Leo had a heart attack! I just put him in the trunk and drove him out to Lumberjack’s Motel so we could discuss the money I was owed, and he dies all on his fucking own! He ended up in Shelby’s lake because fuck Shelby. She deserves to be a suspect. It’s all her fault any of this happened. She fucked me over!” Evan gasps, moans in pain. I don’t back off. “They all did, all those years ago. They gave no thought to me! And Otis was a service to him and his family. Bernie too, but he was depressed anyway. I did them both a favor. Just let it go. Nobody cares about these old guys.”

“What?” I gasp.

“Help me, goddamn it. Give me some towels, you fucking psychopath.”

“Bernie did nothing to you—to anyone. Ever,” I repeat.

“Just give me something to wrap this—fuck! To stop the bleeding and I’ll…”

“After you tell me what Bernie did to deserve this!”

“He walked into the front office the night before and saw me watching videos I took. Whatever. From the cameras I put in room 128 where Shelby stays the night sometimes—she was undressing and I told him someone from the tip line sent this video to me and we’ll take it to the cops, but I could tell he didn’t buy it…so he had to go. That’s it, now fucking help me!” he pleads.

I feel tears welling up in the backs of my eyes. Bernie. I feel sick. I feel lightheaded, like I could actually faint. The horror of what he’s telling me is too much to absorb. My heart feels like it will burst.

I remember, now, with all of these facts flying around me like shrapnel. I remember that he was actually shot in the head, and that he’s actually lost his mind. I’m not just dealing with someone who snapped or is inherently evil—he could be brain damaged and completely unhinged—literally a clinical psychopath with no empathy or remorse, and that’s very, very bad news for me.

I need a moment to think. Do I ask him for the phone and then shoot again if he doesn’t slide it to me? I can’t get too close. I don’t want to shoot him again. I don’t know if I can. He’s already down. I just need my phone. I grab a couple of towels from a rack next to the oven and take two steps toward him, the gun still pointed at him and ready to go if I need it, but he pulls me. Before I can release my grip on the towel, he yanks the end he grabbed so hard and pulls me toward him and I fall—I crash to the ground, and the gun hits the hardwood with a smack and skids under the table.

I howl in pain. I landed on my wrist, and I heard the snap of bone as I reached out to try to catch my fall, but I still try, in a moment of surging adrenaline, to reach for my phone which has fallen on the floor inches away. I know I can’t make it to the gun across the room before him, but maybe I can call for help. I manage to get the phone into my hand, but I’m trembling so violent that I can barely hold it. I steady my hand and tap in 911 and it rings and I hear a voice, but before I can say a thing, I feel a searing pain that steals my breath. There is a blow to the back of my head so hard I see an explosion of stars behind my eyes, and then the world goes black.