Chapter Forty-Eight
Forty-Eight
Gwen
The irony of it all was that none of this would have happened if I had stayed Marin Haggerty. I never would have met Natalie, and maybe more important, she never would have met me.
She stood outside her motel room, staring at me but not moving.
I took a deep breath and ran my tongue along my bottom teeth.
I closed my eyes and let myself go back to Cody.
I didn’t remember much from before I attacked him, but I remembered everything about it once I’d started.
The first hit had satiated my need. I’d been feeling helpless and then I suddenly wasn’t.
But I didn’t stop. The second hit against his skull elevated me to powerful.
The third hit was to convince myself I was in control.
Each hit after that proved the opposite; I had lost control.
I was staring down at Cody’s still body, tugging at his shirt, slapping his face, unable to garner a reaction.
There was no power there, no control; it was true helplessness.
It was nothing like my father had promised me it would be.
I slipped the knife into the large front pocket of my hooded sweatshirt—a wardrobe choice I had made specifically for that reason. It’s difficult to conceal a long, sharp knife with no sheath, but I was going to have more than a rock at my disposal this time.
I stepped out of the car and closed the door. I was standing, but that’s about all that changed. She didn’t move. After everything that had happened, she was still waiting for me to tell her what to do, timid all of a sudden, like she hadn’t already taken matters into her own hands.
I started to walk in her direction, fast at first but then slowing down so she understood she should come and meet me in the parking lot. I wasn’t looking to be trapped inside an enclosed space with her.
Her face was blank. It was a face I’d seen many times before.
I had always been so intrigued by the way Natalie’s brain worked.
It was as if it had an energy-saver mode.
When she wasn’t thinking about something specific, it was just…
off. Only, how could she not be thinking about something in this moment? Seemed like a pretty big deal to me.
I came to a stop, making sure I was more than arm’s reach away.
She stopped when I did.
“Hi, Natalie,” I said for lack of anything wittier.
“Hi,” she said.
The interaction was anything but verbose so far, but it came with the weight of the world.
I had seen her in that video, but this was different.
Her dyed-blonde hair was frizzy, she wore no makeup, her shirt was oversized and worn.
She looked at me almost doe-eyed, but I knew there was nothing innocent behind her gaze.
“How are you?” she asked, and I smiled, nervous but also because it was kind of a funny question given the situation.
“Um,” I stalled, “not doing really well. I think you know that.”
She nodded, processing, and I was struggling to understand why she had gone to so much trouble for this awkward conversation to be the point of it all.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, and her face contorted. Her brain was booting up.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You found out my real name, who my father is, okay…but I don’t understand. Why do all this? Just because I lied to you when we were kids?”
“What do you mean?” she repeated, and I was getting frustrated. I had forgotten how difficult it could be to communicate with Natalie. As interesting as her mental processing could be, sometimes I just wanted to slap her across the face to wake her up.
“Natalie!” I regretted raising my voice immediately. “You killed those people for what? I don’t understand. All I want to know is why. I know the last time we were together wasn’t great, but we were friends. Don’t you think we were friends?”
“Of course!” Natalie smiled as if I’d only said the last part.
“Then why?” I asked. “Why did you have to kill them?”
Her smile melted and a scowl grew. “I didn’t kill anyone…?”
I exhaled, exasperated, becoming jerkier in my body language than I would have liked. “James Calhoun? Oswald Shields? My mother?!”
“I didn’t kill them.” Natalie crossed her arms. “I would never hurt you.”
“Natalie!” I rolled my eyes and took a breath. I had assumed she wasn’t all there, but I hadn’t anticipated having to work so hard for answers. “We aren’t at some high school reunion. You’re going around pretending to be me.”
“We’re trying to help you!” Natalie snapped.
Who was we? The implication was that Natalie had an accomplice, only that seemed impossible.
Working with others had never been her strong suit.
I could hear her words, but I could also see what was happening in her head.
Her eyes were glazing over. Her fists were clenched.
She wasn’t mad; she was desperate for me to understand.
“I would never hurt you,” she repeated, her cheeks flushed.
“You were the only good thing I ever had in my whole life. I didn’t mean to do anything to you.
That night with the pillow was a mistake.
If they had let me come back, I never would have done that again.
I promise. It was just Declan and I was scared and—”
“Natalie…” I stopped her, starting to realize that she might not have an accomplice after all. She was telling the truth or…what she thought was the truth. Whatever was going on, Natalie was just a pawn.
I softened my face to try to calm her down. Her head dropped. “Breathe. Look at me. You need to reset. You don’t want to lose it. We’re just talking. I’m not upset.”
“I knew you were in trouble! I knew about those arms and the men who were killed! That’s why I did everything!
” She wasn’t hearing me, and when she looked back up, I saw her face—that dangerous look she’d get when whatever she was doing to stay in control wasn’t working.
I slid my hand into the front pocket of my sweatshirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “What’s in your pocket?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, ripping my hand back out like I’d been caught in the cookie jar. “Natalie, who is we? You said we’re trying to help you.”
She tilted her head at me for being so obtuse. “Wesley.”
“Who?”
“You know,” she said, “the reporter you’ve been talking to.”
I took a step back and looked away. I needed to process that for a hot second. Who was Wesley? And why did Natalie think I would know who the hell she was talking about?
“Why would a reporter come to you?” I asked. “How did he even find you? I haven’t seen you since we were teenagers.”
Natalie grimaced. I didn’t know those were minefield questions, but it was clear I had stepped into something there.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to keep her stable enough to get more out of her. I wasn’t sure how to explain that I had no idea who she was talking about in a way that didn’t discharge the fireworks. “And he’s trying to help me?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re trying to find the killer.”
I nodded, knowing I needed to allow for a quiet pause before my next words. Being reactionary wasn’t going to help keep a lid on her. “And you trust him?” I asked. I couldn’t tell her what to think. That wouldn’t work on her.
She looked at me funny. She was wondering why I would even ask that. I had to plant the seed of doubt before I tore up the lawn.
“I have to tell you…” I paused again. “I’ve never met anyone named Wesley. And I haven’t talked to any reporters.”
I watched her fingertips come together as I had so many times before. “He said he talked to you.” She studied my face. “Why would he lie about that?”
She was begging for an answer that made sense, but I knew the answer that made sense was going to upset her. “I’m just…” I hesitated to get it out. “Is it possible…maybe…that he’s…involved in some way with those murders?”
Trying to ask in a nonthreatening, borderline-cutesy way didn’t help. Her eyes narrowed as they reddened. Then she hung her head, rubbing her fingertips back and forth, and I knew her brain was in overdrive now. If only there were a button to put it back in sleep mode.
“Natalie…” I tried, flirting with the possibility of approaching her.
She glanced up and whispered, “I think I messed up again.”
I stepped toward her, but she lunged forward and shoved me in the chest. I stumbled over the parking barrier behind me and fell to the ground.
Then she was gone, sprinting away, out of sight before I could get back to my feet.
I knew that shove. I’d taught her that shove. It was her way of staying in control. She didn’t want to lose it; she didn’t want to hurt me either. Natalie wasn’t the mastermind behind all this, but whoever Wesley was might be. Some random guy I’d never even heard of. Great.