Deceit

Perry smiled. “Next time, no excuse.” He stepped outside.

I closed the door and locked it.

On someone else’s legs I walked down the hall, into my room. I didn’t even take my clothes off. Just fell onto the bed. Vaguely I registered the time on my nightstand clock. Seven-forty in the morning. I’d been up for forty- eight hours.

As much as I needed sleep, my rebellious body fought it. Maybe it just didn’t remember how to rest.

I lay on my back, eyes closed, thinking of Melissa and Linda and Baxter. Wondering how all this would play out. Finding Melissa. The hearings, the trial.

So…

very…

much…

to…

The quicksand pit opened up, inviting. I stepped into it. And sank…

Sank…

As it opened its mouth to swallow me, Billy Bass started to sing.

FIFTY-SIX

AUGUST 2004

Melissa couldn’t move. She stared at Linda’s body, the blood leaking from the wound in her back. Linda lay on her side, fighting to breathe. Her eyes were at half-mast, her twitching hands outstretched. The butcher knife lay on the floor near her fingers.

Did I do that? Did I really stab her?

Baxter pulled himself upright, eyes wide. He gaped at Linda, all color draining from his face. Twice he blinked, as if to erase the nightmare before him. “No. No.”

He fell on his knees beside his wife. One of his hands knocked the butcher knife away. It scudded across the floor. Shaking, Baxter reached for Linda’s shoulder. “Linda, can you hear me? Linda!”

Her mouth yawed open, creaking in air.

“She’s not breathing enough. I have to give her CPR!” Baxter started to roll Linda on her back, but the knife still stuck out of her, angled high and to the left of her spine.

Had it gone all the way to her heart?

Baxter ogled the knife, helpless.

Linda wheezed and gasped. The horrifying sounds shot right through Melissa. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to think.

“Can you do it while she’s lying on her side?”

“No!”

“Try it.”

“It won’t work!”

“Try it!”

“Melissa, it won’t work.” Panic gripped Baxter’s face. “We have to breathe hard. If her heart stops we’ll have to pump it.”

“Then take out the knife.”

Baxter’s mouth worked, as if the mere thought made him sick. “I—can’t. What if it hurts her more?”

Something hard and heavy settled within Melissa. Her mind cleared. “Hold her steady. I’ll do it.”

“I don’t—”

“Baxter, just do it!”

Air rattled in and out of Linda’s throat. Her eyes were now wide open and fixed, her skin beige.

Baxter crawled on the other side of Linda, facing her. One bracing hand slid behind her shoulder, the other at her lower back. He turned his head to the side, squeezed his eyes shut.

Melissa sank to her knees and grasped the knife handle with both hands. She pulled hard. It slid out with a nauseating, sucking sound.

Linda convulsed. Her throat rattled as if it were her last breath.

Melissa jumped to her feet and out of the way. Baxter eased Linda onto her back. The rattling intensified, then turned to a gurgle.

Melissa still clutched the knife. She edged to the sink and dropped it in. From behind her came the frantic sound of Baxter’s CPR. She turned to see his mouth pressed on Linda’s, puffing hard breaths. His fingers pinched her nose.

Her hands shot up, desperately clawing the air as if to scrape oxygen from it. Her eyes were wide with terror, the eyes of a dying woman.

Baxter pulled back, chest heaving. Blood bubbled from Linda’s mouth.

“No!” He wiped it away with his palm. Surged down and covered her lips again. This time her chest would barely rise, as if the air seeped out of her very pores. Baxter blew like a madman.

Sudden jealousy and anguish surged through Melissa. This was wrong. With all of Baxter’s shoving Linda around, what right did he have to act like this? Not to mention the man had been in her bed just ten minutes ago. Linda had tried to kill him. Melissa had just saved Baxter’s life, and now look at him. Look at him.

Huff, huff. Baxter continued his forced breathing. Melissa wanted to kick him. To scream, Stop it! She wanted to cut you open. She wanted to ruin you.

Melissa laced her fingers hard until her skin turned white. This wasn’t the first time in her life she’d had to pull herself in tight to protect her own sanity. She closed her eyes and pounded her anger. Beat it down, down into fine sand granules.

In her mind she saw herself sweep the granules away.

She opened her eyes, her jaw set.

Linda’s clawing arms slowed…sank to the floor.

Baxter jerked up again, frantically searching her face. Blood smeared his cheeks. “Linda? Come on.”

Her windpipe gurgled and choked. One more rasp—and the awful sound cut off. Linda’s facial muscles flattened. Her body relaxed.

Her eyes set in a cold, dead glaze.

Melissa’s mouth opened, her throat cinched tight.

“Nnnno!” Baxter grabbed his wife’s shoulders and shook her until her body bounced off the floor. “Linda. Linda!”

Curses and prayers spewed from his mouth. He slapped both hands against her chest and pumped her heart with fury. He stopped for a second, checked for a reaction. Nothing. Baxter tried again, harder.

Melissa watched him with growing dread. Linda was gone. She wasn’t coming back. It was Melissa and Baxter now, and once he gave up trying to revive Linda, who knew what he might do? Silently Melissa screamed to herself that everything would be fine. Not because it looked that way, far from it. Because it had to be.

She reached deep within herself once more and crushed the fear into dust. A pale and chilling wind kicked up in her stomach, blew the dust away

Baxter rocked back on his heels, begging for a breath, a flutter in Linda’s chest. She didn’t move. He moaned, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Started pumping again.

Melissa turned away. The knife lay red and bloodied against the white porcelain sink. Mechanically, she picked it up. Washed and dried it. Slid it back into the butcher’s block.

Behind her Baxter was crying. Grunting. Pumping.

Melissa examined her hands, beneath her fingernails, looking for blood. They were unstained.

She rinsed out the sink. Wiped it out with a paper towel. Buffed over the nearby area of granite countertop.

Baxter’s weeping increased, his prayers turning off-key and mumbling. Melissa faced him, palms together and pressed against her mouth. His cheeks were splotchy red, tear tracks through the smeared blood.