86. Ambrose—present day #2
“Shup up!” This guy’s so fucking hammered he can’t even talk.
The stupid fucker hasn’t noticed the rope around his throat either.
“One hit, Shane. I’ll allow one hit. Because I fucked her in ways you couldn’t, filled her in ways you never will.”
His fist swings out, sending my head snapping to the left. Blood drips from my nose to my lips, then my chin, and I wipe it with the tissue I already had in my hand.
“Thank you.”I smile over the expected hit.
Rising to my feet, I’m quick behind him. My hands again in his hair, I slam his head forward, harder this time. A bone in his nose cracks, breaking on impact.
He screams out.
“Oh, did that hurt?”
“You’ll be heading back to fucking prison.” He tries to stand, one hand cupping his nose, the other pushing himself up from the table.
“No, buddy, I won’t. I’ll be here with my girl, cuddling, watching horror movies, or Dancing with the Stars. That’s still on, right?”
“It’s still fucking on.” This clown has the audacity to answer my hypothetical question while choking on his own blood.
“And you, you’ll either be in hiding or buried in some pauper’s grave. From what I hear, Mommy and Daddy are tight with money. It’s always the ones who have it that act like that.”
“We both know that if you were gonna kill me, Ambrose, you’d have done it by now. You’re not a murderer.”
“Oh, you underestimate me, Shane. You have no idea what I’d do for Dollie. What I have done for Dollie.”
“I can guess. I could tell someone.”
“You could, if you survive the day. But no one will ever believe you. You’re not sure you even believe you. If you did, why the fuck are you shaking so much?”
I squeeze his shoulders and move to stand opposite him. “Let me show you that I’m done playing around.” I shove the tissue into my pocket, freeing my hands, and I stretch, giving the ceiling fan a shove and finally awakening Shane to the harsh reality that he’s in.
His fingers claw at the rope, but the tight knots and his own shaking fingers prevent him from loosening it even slightly.
“Do you know how many people have died in this house, Shane? Forty-three people. Thirty-six children, seven adults, including my parents. One of the nuns who used to run this place had a breakdown. She took the lives of her sisters and each child in one night. Then she hung herself. Like you will.”
“I won’t.”
“You will. Write the note.”
“If I write the note, you’ll leave me alone?”
“You’ll never see me again.”
“Fine. What the fuck do you want me to say?”
“I told you already. I want you to apologize to Dollie. And tell her that you won’t be around her in the future. And fucking mean it.”
I sink into the chair opposite, as he slides the notebook through the blood and picks up the pen. I steal his phone from the table without him noticing.
You’d think a cheater would have a PIN, but lo and behold, he doesn’t.
I’m in his messages when he slides the note book across to me for approval on his words.
Dollie,
I’m sorry you got hurt again. I didn’t mean it.
I just don’t know how to deal with life without you being there every time I want you.
I know I haven’t treated you right. I know it’s too late.
Part of me hates myself for what I do to you, but it could all just stop if you’d believe me.
I’m sorry you found out about the cheating.
I’m sorry you reacted, and I broke your stuff.
I’m sorry for hitting you when you found photos and videos of girls on my phone.
I wish you’d never looked. You were probably right when you said we wouldn’t work.
I can’t see it working, either. You won’t ever hear from me again.
Shane
“Happy?” he asks.
“Happy isn’t how I feel. Dollie is in the hospital, suffering the effects of delayed strangulation. Wrapping my hands around your throat until all the bones pop would make me happy. But that wouldn’t look like you did it yourself, would it?”
With Dollie’s backpack on my back, I’m sure I don’t look intimidating, and yet this man still shrinks in on himself.
Tossing his phone on the table face up, I allow him to read the three messages from his mother.
Three.
That very lucky number. This will work.
Mom:
SHANE.
Shane don’t be ridiculous. She probably drove you to it!
Don’t make up stuff like that over that worthless tramp.
Miranda’s grammar hasn’t improved since those hateful messages to Dollie. All her messages in response to the one I’d sent, pretending to be Shane, are poorly written and staring at us both.
I scroll, allowing Shane to see the one he’d sent.
Shane:
I’ve hurt Dollie. She’s in the hospital. I had a fight with her brother. I think he told the police. They are looking for me. I can’t live like this. I can’t go to jail. I’m gonna end it. I’m really gonna fucking end it.
“Your mother is very lucky I have somewhere to be.”
Shane’s teary eyes meet mine, tears in mine too, because I already feel guilty for what I’m doing. It’s unwanted and brought forward the intrusive thoughts I can’t escape, but it’s there, telling me I’ll regret this. Telling me I shouldn’t have broken his nose.
But holding on to the back of his chair, I ignore that voice for the last time, and I yank the chair away, watching Shane’s body fall to the floor.
He fights death’s call... but the man can’t even stand up.
I don’t wait to see what fate decides. I walk to the front door, pull off my gloves, and stuff them into my pocket along with the tissue, ready to dispose of them both at the hospital, where these kinds of things are commonly found.
And I take a pair of Dollie’s shoes and my keys, and I head to the car.