40. Remy
Chapter forty
Remy
“Remington!” The fast series of raps on the door turns heavy with impatience, and I pull the pillow tight over my face.
Everybody wants something from me right now… everybody except for her.
They all need me to fix things for them, to assure them, to tell them what to do. It’s maddening, especially because my attempts to shut them all out are largely futile, and not for lack of trying. Rhea fucking swindled the receptionist into a copy of the key and burst in here of her own volition.
I gathered from the slammed door across the apartment suite that things didn’t go well when she tried to talk to Claire, and a vicious, pathetic part of me was mildly pleased. I wanted her to be able to pull Claire out of her funk, but a very tiny part of me would have been wounded if Rhea had succeeded where I failed.
That didn’t stop me from having the senator visit, though I forbid him from saying anything to her about her mother or Addie or the fact that he was almost indisputably her father.
No, indisputably now. The results of the second test, the one I personally witnessed the doctor collect his hair for, came back positive. It’s probably why he’s beating down my door right now.
I idly consider the gun on my bedside table. Maybe a warning shot would get it through his thick skull that I don’t fucking care about him right now. But as his speed increases, and I assume he’s taken to beating the door with both fists, I sit up, throwing the pillow at the door, growling my irritation as I stalk to the door .
His fist nearly knocks right into my face when I rip the door open, and he loses his balance, tumbling toward me. I step aside just enough to let him go careening toward the bed, which catches his shins before he can faceplant on top of it.
Victor spins wildly, looking around for me. When he finds me, I don’t know whether to laugh or call the fucking looney bin. His hair is disheveled, and he’s wearing the same suit he was wearing when I saw him yesterday. Judging by the way he sways, I’m guessing he’s dressed in yesterday’s clothes because he went on a binge. And he smells like he slept in an alley.
“Not a good look for you, Senator.” I tell him calmly. “You think this is gonna win the people’s favor? Really trying to humble yourself by walking around smelling like piss and frying grease.”
“F-fuck you.” He slurs, pointing at me. “What was I supposed to do? Go home and fuck my wife? Knowing what she did?” He laughs a little, though there’s obviously nothing funny about his predicament.
“You could have got a room.” I suggest. We’re in a hotel, after all. “You could have figured out what your play is.”
“My play?” He teeters a bit, looking bewildered. “I have no proof. Even with friends in the D.A.’s office, all we have is a th-theory.”
“I don’t care.” I sigh. “Call the police or don’t. Go put another fucking kid in her. Tie her to the cross at the local church and let the congregates throw holy water on her. I don’t fucking care about any of it… any of you.”
His eyes grow wider, the blown pupils taking over the dark blue of his irises. Claire definitely got those eyes from him, no matter what people say about how much she looks like her mother.
“She—she’s a killer… or she kept my father’s secret at least. What k-” he hiccups, presses the back of his hand to his mouth, and then swallows heavily. “What kind of woman lets a girl be taken like that? ”
I only blink at him. He was with me to witness the mistress I killed, to see that women can be just as vile as the rest of us. Instead, I hit him where it hurts. “What kind of woman turns her back on a child being abused when she’s responsible for putting her there?”
His brow crinkles a bit, and though he knows what I’m talking about, he doesn’t know the full extent. It’s not my right to tell him, and really it isn’t his right to know, but I am not protecting his idea of the whore he shares his bed with.
“Claire recognized Addie because she was the person who moved her along from house to house. She posed as a social worker, or if she was one, she did a shit job. The only time Claire saw her was when she was moving her from one place to another… she didn’t show up when the police took her to the station… didn’t ask why a teenager would try to pull a knife on her foster father.”
Victor’s brow scrunches more as his confusion deepens. “She did what?”
“Oh, but she was there when your daughter woke up in the hospital after she tried to kill herself, so kudos, I guess.” I roll my eyes, just in case his drunk brain hasn’t been able to detect the sarcasm.
“She tried to k—” he shakes his head again, abandoning that line of thought. “What happened?”
“Your wife happened. She fucking ruined lives. Now you get to decide what to do about it. Lucky you.”
He’s quiet as he works through something in his mind, though he still sways, unsteady. His eyes fill with tears so fast, it’s almost alarming. “I have a daughter.”
Poor fucker actually has two, but I don’t know if I’ll tell him that anytime soon. I think he took my admission at the hospital as a slip of the tongue, and I’ve not bothered to correct him. Violet is Wes’ problem. I’m done fixing everything for everyone, done trying.
My priority is Claire, whether she recognizes it or not. She’s been locked in her room, and I’ve let her have the space for now. But I won’t wait forever. If this isn’t a fluke, then she’ll be seen by the best therapists I can find. I’ll feed her lithium or antidepressants. I’ll do anything I can to save her, even if she doesn’t want to be saved.
And if I can’t?
Well, she doesn’t have to love me for me to keep her. But it would be a lot better for everyone if she did.
“Yeah, and you’re not going anywhere near her until you get your shit together. So, get your house in order and deal with the bitch, or get out of my way and accept that you’ll never have a relationship with Claire. I won’t allow it.”
Victor stumbles toward me, his eyes wide. He doesn’t just smell of desperation… he looks like it too. “Tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.” His voice breaks, turning to a low wail as he buries his face in his hands. I note the spot on his left hand, a pale ring where his wedding band should have been. Seems he’s already made up his mind, to some extent.
“You want to know what I think you should do?”
His emphatic nodding makes my head hurt, and I think he’s about two seconds away from dropping to his knees to beg me for an answer. “You know this stuff. I—I don’t know what to—”
“Gut the bitch.”
Victor’s spine goes straight at my words, or maybe the flat delivery. “Wh- what?”
“I don’t let monsters live, Victor.” I tell him, clapping him heavily on the shoulder. I don’t bother amending myself despite the thought that flashes through my mind that I’m supposed to be done with that. “So, if I were you, I’d take her away to a cabin in the woods for a romantic getaway… reconnect. And then fucking end her before she can ruin more lives.” I shrug as I step back, taking in his ghastly white pallor. “But that’s just me.”
“I— I’ve never—”
“You’ve never killed?” I guess. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right? You’re in it, now, senator. You know the truth about your friends… that place you found Claire, he was a friend right?”
He looks at me with surprise, and I can sense he’s getting ready to ask how I know that. “Claire’s buyer at the auction… Carrington Hardin is the name I found after Dimitri dug around. Only thing is, it was weird. Carrington seemed like a normal guy… quiet. Of course, anyone can put on a fa?ade, but it didn’t make sense to me that a man who lived in a glorified shack would have hundreds of thousands of dollars to spend on a woman he saw once in a sixty second video. Michael did some more digging after we recovered Claire, and I realized Carrington is the receptionist at Evan Ludlow’s office… the same one your wife works at. And he’s gay.”
Victor opens his mouth and closes it, looking something like a fish.
“Your wife didn’t make a one-time decision to help these monsters because she was jealous of your girlfriend. You’re married to a fucking pit viper. You can either chop her head off first or wait and hope the worst she does is strangle you in your sleep.”
I watch the denial, the anger and fear and grief flash all across his face in rapid succession. And then he looks at me, pleading. “Can you do it?”
My first instinct is to laugh, and I do. Here I am, telling myself and everyone else that I’m done dealing with their problems, and yet I haven’t chased him off yet. But killing his bitch for him? That’s not my prerogative. I’m opening my mouth to tell him as much when a thought occurs to me.
It could be madness or genius. I don’t know if it’s cruelness or kindness, and I don’t know if it will help. But I’m pretty sure it can’t hurt.
“You really want her gone?”
“Yes.” The senator’s voice is a whisper. “I have children… what if she puts them in danger? What if she gives them up to this life? I can’t let her get away with this, but without the evidence, I… ”
“Okay.” I nod.
His relief is half terror as he realizes what he just set into motion. The squeaky-clean senator, who’s got a reputation as a family man, just commissioned the murder of his wife.
“I know someone who can help.”