Page 1 of These White Lies

1

ELIZABETH

Frozen in place, I cock my head to get a better look at my ex-husband. At first, I thought I was hallucinating… that my brain was playing tricks on me after a very long and stressful day.

But, no, Keith isactuallysitting in my living room, on my brand-new cream sofa.

He’s more bloated than the last time I saw him… and pasty.

I bet he’s drinking too much again.

How did he even get in?

My stomach flips unpleasantly, and the buzzing in my ears joins the weird, floaty feeling that’s taken over my head. The stem of my wine glass trembles so hard the merlot sloshes up over the rim onto the cuff of my silk blouse.

I stare at the crimson stain for a second before, almost as if pulled by a magnet, my gaze rises again to Keith’s unblinking stare. It drifts lower to the torn piece of paper pinned to his shirt.

Thick rust-colored smears make up the three-word phrase.

GIVE IT BACK

My heart is in my throat, and I can’t seem to draw a full breath. A full body shiver rolls over me as goosebumps cover my skin.

On autopilot, my legs carry me back to the kitchen, where I set the wine glass on the stone counter with a quiet clink. My chest is rising and falling way too fast, I pivot back to my ex-husband.

Everything is fine. This will be just one more mess he’s brought into my life.

I curl my tingling fingers into fists.

I can fix this.

It’s what I do. No matter how bad it looks, I can find a reasonable way to control the outcome.

It’s what my clients pay me so much for.

But this…

Keith stares silently at me from the living room.

Hereallydoesn’t look good.

Probably because he’s dead.

In my house.

A giggle escapes, and I immediately clamp my lips together at the hysterical sound.

I mean, the obvious bullet holes in the middle of his otherwise pristine white dress shirt are a dead giveaway.

Dead giveaway.

I snort.

That’s terrible.

As if my brain and body have finally linked up again, simultaneous waves of heat and ice wash over my body, making me stumble forward. I catch myself on the back of the armchair opposite Keith.

Do I still call him by his name? That implies something of Keith is left. This waxen figure looks like it belongs on one of my director clients’ sets.