“What? How did you find out?”
“It doesn’t matter. And you can’t say anything.”
“And what about her mother? What did Natasha’s father do to her mother?”
“I shouldn’t have said any of that. You can’t share it. It’s from the interviews.”
“But aren’t the interviews for an article?”
“Not that part. Some things should stay private.” Celia chuckled. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I can. You’re a journalist, but you’re still a good person.”
“That’s just it. I’m really not. I just seem that way to you because you don’t get it.”
Keith shook his head. “Now you’ve lost me again.”
“I understand Natasha. I get why she did what she did, how she thinks. I get it because we’re alike.”
“Alike? Celia, it’s one thing to see her point of view. But you’re not alike. You’ve never killed anyone. You don’t use and manipulate people.”
Celia’s short laugh was sharp. “Don’t I? You don’t know how I worked my way here. The way I played on people’s insecurities, manipulated circumstances to get a story. Hell, I used Bart knowing he had feelings, and then I dumped him when he was too much trouble. And honestly, I’d like to kill him.” She sighed. “He’s just not worth getting caught.”
“None of that means you’re like Natasha. You care about people. You have feelings.”
Celia stood and walked away from the couch. She spun around to look at Keith again. “I really don’t. I mean, I enjoy Marlene’s company, but her friendship benefitted me. The inside knowledge she had from working so closely with John helped me to get more stories and work my way up at The Journal. I don’t feel anything about her life or her baby. Not really.
“And Lucille,” Celia continued, beginning to pace. “If she didn’t check my mail and keep an eye on things, she’d just be an annoying old lady. Her cat? Jerry? He annoyed the crap out of me. I should have been horrified when I saw him in that box. But I was just pissed at Bart and what he’d done to my house.”
“Come on, Celia. The man has been terrorizing you. No wonder you didn’t mourn for a cat.”
“Then there’s you.” Celia stopped in front of him. “I’m kicking you out the night before Natasha’s execution because I don’t want you here. I don’t want you hovering. I don’t need you anymore because my head is fine. I don’t want to need you around.”
“Sit down,” Keith ordered. He sounded like a guard instead of a friend.
Celia was caught so off guard by his change in tone, she sank into a chair and stopped rambling.
“You’ve got walls. You’re tough. You don’t express feelings, and yeah, you look out for yourself first. Hell, maybe you would kill Bart if you thought you’d get away with it. But all this stuff about being exactly like a serial killer is bull.”
Celia started to protest.
“No, look at me and don’t talk. I don’t know what you’ve done or whether you feel guilty about any of it.”
“I don’t –“
“I said don’t talk. Yeah, you do what you have to. I get that. But you’re not a sociopath. Don’t make that face. It’s rude.”
“You don’t know what I am.”
“I know you’re my friend. I know you’re pushing me away so I won’t see how much this execution bothers you. I know you don’t do closeness and you don’t do relationships.” Keith looked at Celia until she had to look away from him. “But you’re not a sociopath. And even if you are, I don’t much care. I’m here.”
Idiot. Celia smiled. “I appreciate that. And as much as I can do friendship, you’re the closest I’ve got. I mean that. But I just can’t have you stay tonight.”
Keith sighed and lowered his head, and neither of them spoke. Finally, he slapped his knees, stood, and grabbed his bag. “Understood. I’ll go.”
“Thanks, Keith.”
“What time do you visit her tomorrow?”
“1:00.”
“I’ll be there. I’ll be there the whole day and night.”
“I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Keith left, Celia sat on the sofa for a long time. She thought about their conversation, she thought about letting Natasha’s secrets slip. She thought about all the things she knew about the actress’s life and William’s life. Am I helping her die by keeping her secrets? Would betraying her confidence save her? Probably, not, Celia thought. All her suspicions were just suspicions, and Natasha would never forgive her, even if it saved her from being executed. Celia’s phone pinged and interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m home. Try to sleep.” It was Keith.
Celia sighed and walked into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and put on some pajamas. The pain medication was sitting on her bedside table. She’d only taken a couple of them because they knocked her out, but now she thought that was exactly what she needed. Taking two of them, she swallowed, washed them down with water, and climbed into bed.
Chapter 33
Celia woke up at 6:00 am, fighting for breath. She sat up, pulling the wet pajama top off and looking around her dim room to get her bearings. She had sweated through her sheets, and she immediately started shivering, so she threw off the bedding and stumbled to the bathroom to turn on the shower. Resting her hands on the counter, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Even with a night of heavy sleep, she had circles under her eyes, and she looked like the drugs were still working, with puffy cheeks and disheveled hair. I look like death, fitting.
The hot spray felt like heaven. Celia wasn’t sure how long she stood under the steamy water, but she didn’t care. It was 6:00 am, and she didn’t need to be at the prison until after lunch. Even if she worked a couple of hours first, she had plenty of time. In the spirit of indulgence, Celia washed her hair twice, slathered on the fancy conditioner that cost more than
