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FLORENCE

We watch from a distance the next morning, me and Herb, as the police enter Evan’s house, and after about thirty minutes inside, we watch them exit, giving Evan a handshake and back pat. They all laugh together about something, and then the police leave and Evan goes back inside.

Herb and I brought sandwiches for our stakeout. We told the gang he was doing a kindness, taking me antiquing today to cheer me up after all I went through in the hospital, and that ensured nobody else would ask to come. They only know I fell and broke my wrist. The rest of it we keep close to our vest, so now here we are with a thermos of coffee and some cheese sandwiches, hoping Evan leaves the house today. We’ll try as many days as it takes because as long as our eyes are on him, he can’t be up to no good.

Late last night, I found a couple of small oleander plants around the rec room and in a resident’s room who is no longer with us. Everyone gives them to us as a little joke for our namesake so there were plenty to choose from—plants that wouldn’t be missed because I don’t want noticeable cuts to the one in Evan’s house…if he even kept it. Not that it’s something Riley would catch if his life depended on it, but one can’t be too careful. The plants I found were abandoned and some of the leaves had dried right up, so I was able to grind the leaves into a powder using a coffee grinder under the sink in the rec room, but of course I washed that and then threw it in the dumpster because, again, one can’t be too careful. Now the ground leaves are in a Tupperware container in the center console of the van that I handle with rubber gloves. It all feels very wrong, but we’ve set the plan into motion. No turning back now.

A couple of hours go by, and we’re not feeling very hopeful. Maybe he is keeping off the radar for a while. Herb changes the station on the radio and tries to find some music to pass the time, but neither one of us is listening. He stares out the side window and I close my eyes and mentally rehearse my plans A through C, considering every scenario. Then I feel Herb take my hand and hold it.

“You sure about this?” he asks, still looking out the window and not at me. I squeeze his hand back.

“You’re a good friend,” I say in response. And then we see movement. Evan’s garage opens and his car backs out. He pulls onto the street, and then he’s gone. We give it a few minutes, afraid he forgot something and will come back or just making sure he didn’t see us and could creep back around, but after ten more minutes, we decide the coast is clear.

The weather has calmed this morning and the fresh snow is light and glistens in the sunshine. Sun we haven’t seen in weeks, and it feels so happy and so incongruous with what we’re doing. We park in the cluster of trees to the side of the house. A path has been shoveled in the front and a makeshift path has been cleared on the side of the house that leads from the kitchen door to the detached garage. We walk hastily toward the side door which doesn’t lock and let ourselves in. I pause inside the doorway and I shudder being back in this house. Herb places his hand on my back.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Let’s hurry.”

The plan is to find his scotch bottle while Herb looks for his laptop. Herb was much closer to Evan and tells me he’s a scotch guy, and I do find three different bottles on the countertop next to a rusted-out toaster oven. I carry them to the kitchen table. The sun streams in through the window above the sink, and I sit down and carefully get to work, pouring more than is necessary into the bottles. You don’t want to take a shot like this and miss, even though it takes very little to be fatal. The more that’s ingested, the faster the whole ugly process will be over.

Herb comes out with Evan’s laptop after a few minutes. He found it twisted in the blankets on his bed, so I instruct him to open a document and write.

I tell him what to say, revealing the details he disclosed to me but that the police wouldn’t even hear. I make sure that the money trail and secret bank account are mentioned, and even though I don’t have numbers or names, with Evan gone they will finally investigate what they would never touch with him alive and a good ole boy like them—one of their own.

All of the “zero evidence” to justify harassing this man, as the police said, and hidden records will be blown wide open. I do hesitate a few times though—wondering if I can really do this. Is this who I am? But I know that I am doing the world a kindness. I know this will save more lives than not and I rest on that, keeping my trembling hands steady as I twist the tops back onto the scotch bottles and we finish up writing the final apology note to the world from Evan Carmichael.

The laptop needs to go back in the bed where we found it so it doesn’t raise suspicion when Evan comes in, if he might even notice such a thing. And we need to get back into the van before we overstay our welcome and Evan returns.

We sit in the van another hour and a half before we see first the garage door open and then Evan’s car coming around the corner and pulling into it. The garage closes, and I look at Herb.

“I’ll wait for the phone and then I’ll be listening,” I say and he understands. Taking a deep breath, he calls me and I answer. Then he slips his phone in his pocket with our call still connected so I can hear everything going on in the house. He picks up the bag he brought and exits the van. I see him pause, but then he walks up to Evan’s front door. I can’t see him once he turns the corner of the house, but I can hear everything.

“Herb?” Evan’s voice says, surprised.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a few days. I tried calling so I thought I would stop by because Final Fantasy 7 came out this week. I borrowed my grandson’s copy,” he says, keeping his voice light and friendly, and I hear him rustling around to pull the game out.

“Oh, no shit. Wow.”

“So I brought it over, thought you might want to play. I mean, no worries if you’re busy, I can head to the VFW for a beer if you have plans,” he says. Way to play it cool, Herb.

“Oh, uh. I guess I thought—isn’t Florence injured? I thought I…I thought you’d be…” I can hear it in Evan’s voice. He’s confused, of course, as to why Herb is so clueless, even though Herb is often clueless, and I mean that in a loving way. He must be sure I told everyone I was held by a serial killer—who wouldn’t?—so he needs to know Herb hasn’t heard yet, and maybe he even thinks he already won since the cops left with a handshake. And maybe he thinks I won’t tell anyone, because some victims start to shrink with every new person who doesn’t believe them.

Nevertheless, Evan is going to get a show from Herb.

“I got a call she was still in the hospital—that she broke a wrist. She’ll be okay, don’t worry about her. I’ll stop by to see her with some tacos later,” Herb says.

“Oh. Glad she’s recovering. She didn’t say what happened?”

“Uh. No,” Herb says. “But I haven’t talked to her directly.”

Evan seems to perk up at this. “Okay, well, come on in. I have a little time,” he says.

Yes. We’re in.

“I was gonna bring you the scotch my son got me for Christmas. It’s just a mini bottle—stocking stuffer—good stuff, though. You’d appreciate it more than me, but I totally forgot. Next time,” Herb says, and he’s sounding a bit shaky.

“Well, if it’s scotch you want, I have some great stuff,” Evan says. Good, get right to it, I think, but I also know this approach is a risk. If Evan tells him to try it first or waits, expecting Herb to sip it and react, this could blow up.

“Great,” Herb says in reply. Then I hear liquid being poured into glasses.

“Cheers!” Herb says, and I hear two glasses clink so I assume they take a drink—Herb will fake it, but will this fly? Will Evan notice? He only needs a sip or two to do the job, but the next step is for Herb to get his phone. Not only can we not have him call for help in time to save him, Herb can’t just toss it out into the snow or something. We need to secure it, keep it away from Evan, and then replace it neatly before we leave. Untouched.

“Xbox is this way,” Evan says, and I hear footsteps. Okay, he couldn’t tell Herb didn’t drink. This is good. I know there are wires and gaming gadgets in the living room because that is where he kept me the second time, after the shrine room, so that must be where they are headed to play. I feel a wave of nausea as I think about being trapped in that room with a broken wrist, in searing pain from a blow to the head. I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment and keep listening. Evan is still fishing to make sure Herb is as clueless as he seems.

“Mack called last night looking for Shelby. I hope she’s okay. Anyone get in contact with her?” he asks.

Pathetic , I think. He doesn’t know if she died out there. He’s just waiting for a news story to show her frozen to death or possibly another call from the cops with more, fresh accusations he has to answer to…and then subsequently get away with.

“Oh, I hadn’t heard that. She called this morning to say she’d be at her mom’s for a few days with the girls, so someone must have heard from her. She’s fine.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. I didn’t get a chance to return Mack’s call.”

“Check this out,” Herb says, and I hear trilling video game sounds. He’s expertly changing the subject. “You only have one chance to get Pandora’s Box in this one,” Herb says, and I guess he’s talking about the game. “In the whole thing, just one chance. Brutal, right?”

“Love it. I like a challenge,” Evan says, and I wonder if they are sitting down to play yet. I feel a surge of adrenaline thinking about Herb’s safety and what will happen when Evan starts to feel the oleander take effect.

“You okay?” Herb asks. Holy crap, I think. It must be working.

“Yeah, just a little…” Evan trails off. “Fine.”

“Cheers,” Herb says again, I guess encouraging Evan to drink so he can be done with this horror show and get the hell out of there. Get the phone, Herb. Get the goddamn phone.

“They almost cut Yuffie and Vincent out of this one,” Herb says, and I know he was memorizing facts to discuss in case he got nervous so I guess this means he’s already using them and is pretty freaked out right now.

“Oh, no shit? That would have been a mistake,” Evan says, and he doesn’t sound right. “Excuse me just a moment,” and I hear footsteps and a door close. Evan must have rushed to the bathroom. Okay, shit. This is feeling real.

“The phone is on the coffee table. I’m coming out with it now,” Herb whispers, and I leap from the van and run up to the kitchen door where Evan’s phone is placed on the window ledge where the snow is scraped off. I snatch it and rush back to the van. Then there are a few silent minutes. I hear the sounds of video game music repeating, like the game is on pause, and then a door slams open.

“Fuck, Herb. I’m sick. I’m sorry man. We gotta…” Then he stops talking and I hear the sound of vomiting and heaving. It’s horrifying. I hold my heart. Get out of there, Herb.

“Oh Jesus.”

“Oh God, should we call for help? Are you okay?”

“Get help,” Evan wails.

“Holy shit, buddy. Okay, I’m calling now,” Herb says, and Evan sounds like he’s stumbling because I hear some shuffling and a bump into a wall and then more vomiting noises. Then I hear a scream and moaning so wretched I put my hands over my ears, tears streaming down my face. What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

“What did you do?” I hear Evan scream to Herb, figuring it out, putting it together. I jump from the van and rush inside to see Herb standing in the hallway off the kitchen and Evan on the floor. It looks like he’s having some sort of seizure.

“Oh God. Oh my God,” Herb says, tears in his eyes. “We have to call for help. This was… I can’t do this!” Herb cries.

“Okay. Yes. No. I don’t know,” I say and then Evan’s writhing body is still. I run to Herb and hold on to his arm and we stand frozen a moment, and then Evan sits straight up and I see the blood vessels in his eyes are all broken and there is blood seeping from his mouth, and he looks like every monster you might see in your nightmares. And he is.

He screams a terrifying, guttural scream and reaches out to us.

“What did you do? Help me!” I hold my chest—I can barely breathe. “You fucking bitch!” And then he falls again, this time his head hits the floor with a hard crack and he is motionless. Lifeless.

Herb and I stand still, paralyzed in guilt, in fear, in relief. We don’t even look at one another. We can’t bear to. After a few minutes, Herb silently moves to Evan’s body and takes his pulse. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t say anything, just gets on with the rest of the plan quickly. We collect the scotch and the two glasses along with the video game and push it all into a grocery bag that I pull out of my purse.

Then we place Evan’s phone on the kitchen table. Herb gets his laptop from the bed, opens it to the document we created earlier and leaves it open on the table. And then we swiftly move out the side kitchen door, back to the van, and Herb pulls out as quickly as he can. In minutes we are on the main road and headed back to the Oleander’s like nothing at all happened. Nothing, except that our lives are forever changed and the horror of what we just witnessed will never leave us alone.