Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Barrett
I’ve never considered myself averse to tears.
But I’m naked, semi-erect, holding a knife, and talking to a stranger who’s been sleeping in my bed.
I go with, “Please stop crying.”
That does not work. In fact, it only makes Goldie cry harder.
“Everything is so …fucked!” she cries. I find myself smirking at this because she doesn’t seem all that comfortable with curse words.
“I’m sorry everything is fucked,” I say.
She’s on a rant now. “Nothing was supposed to be like this. All three of us were supposed to leave together. But they switched the game on us. It’s like they’re working with a whole other playbook, and the hits just keep coming. None of us know what’s going to happen next. They keep changing the rules.”
Seems like there’s a story there. I should put on pants for this.
“Hang on,” I say, going to my closet, taking the knife with me. Just in case.
I can still hear her sniffling while I pull on a pair of sweatpants in the closet.It tears at my heart. Clearly, she’s going through something.
“All I’ve ever done was my best. They all pin everything on me. They always have. I’m the one they point to when people don’t follow the rules. I…I just can’t take it anymore, okay? I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“Okay,” I say evenly.
I leave the knife in a drawer in my closet. She really does seem inconsolable at the news about this man, and some other stuff. I’ve seen people lying about all kinds of shit, and she does not strike me as a liar. Not about the murder.
Goldie is definitely lying about being a renter because I don’t make a habit of renting out this place.
But she didn’t intentionally kill anybody; I know that for sure.
“What’d you need a break from?” I ask, sitting down on the bed.
“My husband!” she wails, her head thrown back as if she totally forgot until this very moment that she’s married.
I’m not going to lie; I feel more than a little disappointed that she’s not single.
“Oh,” I say dumbly.
Goldie sniffles. “Are you going to call the police on me?”
I chuckle. “For what? I believe you didn’t mean to kill anybody.”
“For running away from my husband.”
“Honey, that’s your business. I don’t know where you come from, but in the America that I know, it’s not illegal to do that.”
She nods, but her face is confused.
I have to ask, “He hit you?”
She shakes her head and sweeps the tears away from her face.
“What did he do to you?”
“He didn’t do anything, not directly.”
“What the fuck happened to you that you wanted to hurt your husband?”
Goldie inhales a wavering breath and says, “They made me marry him.”
I want to tell her that forced marriage is not a thing here, but she’s either not playing with a full deck or wherever she comes from is another planet.
“And then what happened? He forced himself on you?”
She laughs. “Hell no. I put root of snow-on-the-mountain in his spaghetti and meatballs.”
The surprised laughter that bursts out of me is uncontrollable. “What the hell? You did not!”
Goldie sits up straight in defiance. “I sure did! I didn’t think it would work so well it would turn him into a popsicle!”
“No, darling. Someone shot him.”
“Shot him! Who?”
“I guess we’re going with the story that it wasn’t you.”
“It wasn’t me!”
I lean in and study her closely. There’s no attempt to escape my gaze; she meets me head-on. She’s not changing the details of her story or trying to over-explain things. On top of that, I don’t detect any actual malice in her. A killer is different, and I’ve interviewed plenty in my day.
“Listen to me, Goldie. You need to relax. You can’t kill a man with that shit, but you probably did give him a bad stomachache.”
Her brows come together in deeper confusion, but she’s calming down now and listening.
“And as much as I don’t buy the story that someone pointed a gun to your head and forced you to marry somebody, that’s a pretty good yarn you’re spinning.”
“It’s not?—”
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. I’m not going to kick you out, and I’m not calling the cops. What I am going to do is take a shower and get something to eat. So if you’re planning on robbing me blind, go right ahead. But if you want to stay, that’s fine too. I could use the entertainment. Ain’t fuck all on TV these days anyway.”
I step over the busted door, head to the bathroom, and turn on the news while I shower.
If she’s still here when I’m finished getting clean, okay. If not, that’s okay, too.
But a part of me really hopes she stays.