Chapter 38
Cora
"The more I think about it," Chris says as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The more it makes sense."
"What makes sense?" I ask, thinking he's going to take the next exit off the highway since he mentioned getting cleaned up and getting a burner phone so I can call Alice at the office and get the phone number I need.
"William being responsible for all of this," he says, his voice now void of any emotion. "He always needed to be the center of attention."
"What?" I say, confusion hitting me in a weird way.
It's as if I'm existing in this moment,but also like I'm watching my life happen rather than actually participating in it, and it makes me wonder if I'm suffering some level of shock.
I pull in a deep breath trying to relax, by focusing my attention on my toes, flexing them in my shoes before moving upward to the next set of muscles. I need to make sure everything still works, and I fully grasp just how insane that is at a moment like this but I keep getting flashes of poor Faye and the way her eyes were open but unseeing. I shake my head again, Chris's voice making its way back into my mind.
"Remember the time he called Dad for help when he was running for president?"
"He never ran for president,"I say, growing even more confused .
"In high school. For his class? Dad missed my awards program to go help him," he says, sounding more like a bitter brother than one concerned that his older brother has had the ability to hurt people. "He never could stand not to be the center of attention."
"Were we going to stop to get a phone?"
"With you looking like that?" he says, his jaw clenching as if just hearing my voice annoys him.
"Chris," I whisper.
"Always the center of attention," he repeats. "I bet he killed Faye and had Sadie killed."
His words snap me right back into my current reality.
"Sadie overdosed," I say, my heart kicking up ten levels.
That's what they were told. Chris and William should think nothing else happened unless they knew better.
"Right," Chris says, but I know he knows what I know when he gives me a quick glance. "I bet he made it look that way."
As if watching CGI in a movie, his face transforms to someone I don't recognize at all.
The sadness is gone. The irritation he was portraying about William, all of it fades away. I swear he looks demonic, sinister in a way that had he looked like this all the time, I would've known the minute I opened the front porch that I should've run instead of asking him for help.
"Oh Chris," I say, tears already streaming down my face.
So many things make sense, and it's as if knowing he was involved and not William makes everything crystal clear.
"I know I sound horrible, but William has caused so many problems for our family," he says, the mask back in place.
I can't tell if he's actually aware of what I've discovered or not. What I do know is I should keep my mouth shut, but I just can't wrap my head around my baby brother doing something so heinous.
"You came through the front door," I say. "Where was your car?"
"I parked it in the garage," he says, eyes on the road. "Like always."
I glance at his hands when he shifts them on the steering wheel, just now noticing the small abrasions on the back of his left hand.
Did he wipe blood on his face that was transferred from me or did he already have blood on him and I was just too crazed after finding Faye to notice?
I dig deep into my memory, but I just can't pull up the image of him at the front door very clearly.
He didn't act anything but upset when the officer came to the house and gave us the bad news.
But didn'tFaye say he threw stuff away out of spitefulness? Did I get confused on her timeline and think she was the one confused?
I shake my head because clear as I thought things were, more thoughts only lead to more unanswered questions.
I recall the way William acted on the porch after he left, and the sincerity I felt in his emotions after being told about Sadie's death.
But Chris didn't act surprised or confused about the alternative explanation either.
Am I making it up in my head? Am I grasping at straws to make this all make sense? Am I losing my mind completely?
Tears continue to fall, and I know I'm in trouble when a sob bubbles out and he turns to look at me like I'm the most disgusting thing he's ever laid eyes on.
"What's wrong, mother hen? Having trouble putting two and two together? "
"Wh-who are you?" I manage, covering my mouth when another sob escapes. "You killed Faye? Had Sadie killed?"
"Sadie died of a drug overdose," he mimics, an attempt at the exact same tone I used earlier. "You probably don't have any idea what it was like having to grow up in William's shadow. I bet Sadie knew what it was like growing up in yours. The first daughter, the oldest. I can only imagine how many times she heard, your sister would never do that or you should be more like Cora."
I look at the dash, seeing that we're going over seventy-five. There's no way I could survive if I caused an accident, and I also have to worry about the others on the highway with us. Putting anyone else in danger isn't an option.
"Will was always the one expected to reach for the stars," Chris continues. "He was the one meant for greatness. Why would Dad waste any energy on me? I gave him a chance."
"Who?" I whisper.
"Dad. We were supposed to have a good day for my birthday. I gave him a chance to redeem himself, to make up for all the times I was cast aside for William, but of course our perfect brother needed his help."
"Wh-what are you saying?" I ask, cold dread crawling inside of me like a spreading virus.
I should've kept my mouth shut. I should've just let him keep talking because maybe he would've skipped over the details.
"You know succinylcholine is gone from someone's system before the autopsy is performed?"
I don't have a clue about the drug he just mentioned, but I know what it means.
"Dad?" I sob, my hand covering my mouth in shock and disgust.
He shrugs.
"You were fourteen. "
"That day," he says with a sinister smile. "Best birthday gift I ever had."
He's a true psycho, having played the part of the grieving son every birthday since, as if he was so sad to have lost his father that he didn't even want to celebrate his birthday. I can't count the times I cried and was angry with Dad for dying on such an important day. I suffered along with Chris, thinking his birthday was tainted for the rest of his life.
"Petal?" I ask.
His smile grows wider before his eyes narrow when he glances over at me.
"I always hated that fucking cat. I was pissed that the cops came and fucking lied about Sadie's death. I wanted the sympathy card from the public, having lost a sister so brutally. Her overdosing only brought more speculation to the family, and more unwanted opinions about the Prestons' inability to keep things under control. How could I ever be president and control an entire country if I couldn't keep my own sister out of trouble? That's why people needed to know that she'd been murdered."
I shake my head.
"You've planned this for years?"
"Had a lot of time on my hands while in the shadows," he says as if what is happening right now is all part of his plan.
"What happens to me? To William? Where are we?"
He remains silent as he pulls down a road, one that seems would be impossible to find in the darkness.
"My cabin," he says. "I have loads of secrets."
I'm trembling, any control I managed while he drove is once again lost when he places the car in park and turns off the ignition.
"What happens to me, Christopher?"
His smile is slow before he speaks. "Right this minute? You'll get out of the car and go into the cabin."
I cross my arms over my chest, knowing it's a risk, but I've always had a great relationship with him. He's always been so grateful for my help, so pleasant. Is he truly that much of a sociopath that I was blind to who he really is? I can't think like that. My sweet little brother had to be in that head of his somewhere, right?
"Cora," he says, a level of warning in his tone that tells me not to argue with him. I can't get him to see reason if he's angry, so I open my door and step out.
As if he thinks I'll run away, he rushes out of his side of the car and comes around to meet me.
"Go," he says as if his word is enough, and honestly it is.
I saw what he did to Faye. I know what he had hired out to be done to Sadie.
Guilt blankets me like smoke as I climb the steps of the tiny cabin. I feel guilty for thinking William was capable of this. I feel guilty for being so disassociated from my family members that I didn't see this coming. I feel guilty for thinking that Faye was losing her mind. She spoke of bad things that Chris was doing and I automatically thought she was living in long-forgotten memories.
What could I have done differently to keep this all from happening? Was there anything that could've been done?
"What happens to me, Chris?" I ask again after he unlocks the front door and shoves it open.
"Right now, you're going to be bait. I need William to come to your rescue. I can't really annihilate my entire family if I leave William alive, now can I?"
"Wh-Why?" I stammer.
"Sit the fuck down," he snaps, shoving me until I fall onto the small sofa just inside the front door.
The place looks fully furnished, but it's smaller than the tiny studio apartment that Eddie was working out of in DC.
As my sobs continue, a battle begins to take place in my head. I have no idea how to react. Do I beg? Do I plead? Do I tell him that they all deserved to die and play to that side of him? Playing into his delusion seems like the worst thing in the world, and would I really let William die just so I could live long enough to escape?
"Hands behind your back," he says as he approaches with long zip ties in his hands.
"Chris," I sob again. "You don't have to do this."
"Don't I?" he asks, "Put your hands behind your fucking back!"
I do as he says, knowing it leaves me in an even more vulnerable position, but I can't think of any other way to overpower him or get the upper hand. I can't think of a way that this ends where there's no more bloodshed. I'm not trained for these types of situations, and I don't know many people who would be.
As a woman, I've always considered it possible that someone could try to hurt me, but I never once imagined it would be someone I cared for, someone I loved and was supposed to love me back.
"How do you see this ending?" I ask when he's done tying my hands behind my back.
I wince when I try to readjust and they bite into my wrists.
"He'll die and then you die. I'll be a victim also, of course," he says as if he can see it all play out right in front of his eyes. "I'll be the lone survivor. I'll have the ear of every person in the nation. They'll watch me overcome adversity and support my transformation all the way to the White House."
"That's not what makes a good politician," I counter.
"If you think there's ever been a president in office without blood on their hands, then you're even more delusional than I thought."