I sat in the home I’d shared with Jackson for the past few years and looked around, waiting for happy memories to flood me, fully expecting to feel guilty for what I was about to do. But that didn’t happen.
I remembered the nights I’d spent alone while he was out at the bar. I remembered the mornings I’d spent cleaning up spilled alcohol. I couldn’t forget the cold-hearted words he’d spewed at me or the names he resorted to calling me. I thought about how hard things had been for me when the murders had started, and how scared I’d been and how he mocked my fear.
Those were the things I remembered, and none of them were happy. None of them caused me to feel guilty. But they did make me angry. Angry at Jackson for who we had become. And angry at myself for allowing it to go on for so long.
The unknown was scary.
I didn’t want to stay with Sara for too long, but at this point, I was scared to be alone in my own place. I knew Duane would come after me if he was still out on the loose. So I had no other choice but to keep my guard up until he was caught. I’d made a promise to myself to go to the police department and tell them everything, regardless of the consequences. And I knew I planned on keeping that promise, even if it meant I would pay for my own crimes. And even if I was completely wrong, at least I tried.
Tomorrow. I would tell the police everything tomorrow.
One hurdle at a time.
The sound of Jackson’s truck in the driveway pulled me from my thoughts. The night sky shadowed the room, so I flipped the tableside lamp on, my childhood fear of the dark sneaking up on me. My nerves took over, and my body began to tremble from the inside out. I’d rehearsed what I would say at least a hundred times, but now that I heard his footsteps draw close to the front door, my mind was blank. I couldn’t remember the speech I’d recited in my mind until I’d perfected it.
The knob turned, and I watched in silence as he walked through the doorway, placing his keys in the bowl on the entry table.
“Hey.” He gave me a nod and stared at the floor before moving his feet into the living room where I sat.
“Hey,” I repeated.
“Listen. I’ve had a really hard day, and I don’t think I can handle the bad news that I know is coming.” He stopped directly in front of me, and my stomach turned at the faint stench of liquor coming from his breath.
“Jackson…” I started to interrupt, not wanting to delay this any longer than necessary. I had to get it over with.
“Rach, please,” he whispered, placing both of his hands over his face before running them through his hair, anguish marring his expression.
“I need to do this.” I stood and moved closer to him.
“Rachel, Danny’s dead, and I can’t do this. Not today. Please.”
I’d never seen the look on his face that he currently wore. I couldn’t read his expression. He almost seemed like a different person. It was eerie. But his words slammed into my chest.
“What? Who’s Danny?” I touched his forearm—out of habit more than emotion.
“He was the new landscaper I hired a couple of weeks ago.” I watched his body language as he folded and unfolded his arms three times and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
“What happened?” I already knew, but I needed him to say it.
“He was murdered. Like the others.” He stared past me, his eyes locking on the wall.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I couldn’t be cold to him, not now.
“No. And then the cops came and interviewed everyone.”
Fold.
Unfold.
Fold.
Unfold.
Shift.
I stared in silence. Watching. Waiting.
“I told them everything. How Duane is awake, what we saw, what we think.”
We?
“You told them? Everything?”
Fear washed over me along with confusion, but now wasn’t the time to question his word choice.
“Yeah, I had to. We aren’t in trouble. At least now they think they have a lead. They asked for your information. They might call you.” He walked closer to me and placed both of his arms on my shoulders, but the smell of alcohol overwhelmed the air as he got closer.
“Okay.” I crossed my own arms, feeling the need to protect myself, but from what, I wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. But I do now. I believe you,” he whispered and pulled me to him until I was pressed against his sweaty body.
I felt suffocated, unable to catch my breath. I needed distance. I needed air.
“Okay. Okay,” I choked out, taking a step back and trying to pull in a deep breath.
“Please don’t leave again. At least not tonight,” he begged, another move that caught me by surprise.
I’d known Jackson over half of my life, and he’d never begged. Ever.
I didn’t want to be in this house right now. I suddenly felt like it was choking the life out of me. I wanted to escape. But I didn’t want to be the kind of person who kicked him when he was down. I didn’t feel like I owed Jackson the rest of my life, but I could at least give him a few hours.
“Okay. I can’t tell you that I’m staying, though. But I’ll stay tonight.” I tried to be honest with him without being heartless.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling me against him once more.
I placed my arms around him, trying to give him just a little comfort. I could do that, at least. Even though I didn’t feel it in my heart.
A few hours later, I lay my head on the pillow and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Jackson had been in the bathroom for a while now, and I’d hoped I would drift off to sleep before he reappeared—although, I realized there was no chance of that.
I listened closely over the running shower and heard his voice faintly. I’d heard him talk to himself a couple of times before, but this just made me uncomfortable. I squeezed my eyes closed and begged my body to fall asleep.
A few minutes later, the water shut off, and I waited for Jackson to appear. When the door opened, the usual scent of shampoo or soap didn’t accompany him. He was in his boxers, but the only smell that filled the room was liquor. I pressed my eyes shut, refusing to fight over this.
Tonight would be over soon enough, and so would this part of my life.
I felt the mattress dip as Jackson crawled into bed, and his heavy breathing echoed in the quiet room. I turned on my side, hoping to escape the smell of whiskey.
When his damp body touched my back, I stiffened. I didn’t want this. He hadn’t touched me in months, and I couldn’t do this. Not now.
He began to run his rough hand down my side, over my T-shirt and pajama pants. I clenched my thighs together tightly, and my toes curled from the pressure of my muscles. When he pressed his lips to my neck, the smell of hot liquor caused my body to shutter. I tried to control my disgust and remained completely still, hoping he’d give up and go to sleep.
Instead, he gripped my shoulder and rolled me onto my back, pressing his body on top of mine.
I couldn’t speak.
I wanted to run.
He gripped the waistline of my pajamas and panties in his fist and started to yank them down.
“Jackson, no,” I demanded, although my pleas were ignored.
He continued to lower my panties quickly and roughly.
I didn’t want this. I wanted him to stop.
“Jackson, stop. Stop!” I said louder, my teeth clenched as I tried to push his weight off me.
“Hush,” he scolded, grabbing my breast in his hand and squeezing hard. His heavy body was too much for me to control. I couldn’t move him.
Hush.
“No, get off me.” I pushed against his chest, straining to gain control.
“Hush. Shut your fucking mouth,” he whispered angrily, and my body began to shake.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape.