Chapter 6 Ryker
SIX
RYKER
“How long are you staying?” my mother asks me as she sets the snacks and beer on the coffee table.
She looks as put together as ever, with her graying hair pulled back into a bun and the slightly too bright make-up depriving her of elegance.
I shrug. “Just a day or two. I’ve got a job lined up in Charleston next week.”
My father grunts and grabs another beer. He doesn’t even acknowledge my mother, his eyes glued to the football game.
I don’t know why I bother visiting home anymore.
“Oh,” she says. “You should come home for longer.”
I know she’s lonely. She has friends, I’m sure, but she spends more time at home pandering to my father than anything else. But I don’t know what she expects me to do to entertain her when I’m in town.
“I stay as long as I can,” I lie. “But work is work.”
My father grunts. “Don’t pester the boy, Sharon. He’s too good for us, you know that.”
I internally roll my eyes. I’m ‘too good’ for them because I don’t live here anymore, and I chose not to join him in working at the dying coal mine.
Her lips set in a thin line. “He doesn’t think he’s too good for us. He likes to travel. Isn’t that right, Ryker?”
“Yeah.” I take some chips, then shake my head. “How are Phil and Madison and the kids?”
“Very good. Nancy joined the swim team. Isn’t that wonderful? And Kaitlyn made honor roll. We’re still trying to find an activity for Maverick to join, but I’m sure he’ll find something soon.” She lingers just at the side of the couch. “Do you need anything else, Ryker?”
“I’m good, Ma,” I say. “Read anything interesting? You joined that book club, right?”
I really don’t care about her book club, but watching her hover is excruciating.
I wonder if Liam’s parents are as tedious as mine. Would being rich make them more interesting? But being bored by your own parents is probably a universal experience.
“I did,” she replies with a nod, finally sitting down. “We’re reading this account of the Apple Orchard murder. It’s a bit grisly, but it’s fascinating, too.”
“Oh, where the woman killed her abusive husband,” I say.
“And buried him in the apple orchard,” my mother concludes. “Allegedly abusive, anyway. There was no evidence to it, and you know how people make up wild stories for their defense.”
My father grunts again. “If she didn’t like him, she could have left. And—” He suddenly stands up and cheers as the crowd on the TV goes wild.
I guess his team scored a touchdown.
“I can recommend a few podcasts, if you like the true crime stuff,” I say.
“Podcasts?” she repeats. “You mean those radio shows?”
“Yeah. Like audiobooks.” I pull my phone out and tab over to my podcasts.
There’s a notification for the social media app, letting me know that somebody I follow uploaded a new video. I ignore it and select one of my podcasts.
“You can listen to it while doing other things. Like driving or sewing,” I explain.
I press play, and the latest episode of Cereals & Serials begins to play.
“Turn that crap off,” my father says. “It’s—”
The doorbell rings three times, then the door opens without anyone going to get it.
My mother sighs. “Honestly, if I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times not to do that.”
“Ma! Pa!” my brother Phil calls out. “The kids wanted to come over.” He strides inside but freezes when he sees me. “Oh. Nobody said you’d be here.”
“I told Madison,” my mother says.
Madison brushes hair behind her ear. “I was so sure I’d told you, Phil,” she says.
“It’s fine. We don’t need to stay long. But honestly, don’t you want to see your brother?
” She smiles at me in that soft way she always does, like she thinks we’re sharing a moment that only exists in her imagination.
I wave to them, and then their kids follow inside. The oldest, Kaitlyn, is in ratty jeans and a t-shirt that is far, far too short for her. Probably on purpose. I think she’s thirteen now, which would be the right age to be wearing clothes that would attract the wrong attention.
I think that’s what the podcasts call victim blaming.
Nancy is the complete opposite, with a black hoodie that she has pulled over her head and her hands stuffed into her pockets. She’s only a year younger than her sister, because my brother probably bought into the myth that lactating women couldn’t get pregnant.
Then there’s nine-year-old Maverick, who immediately sits down on the couch next to my dad. He’s wearing a large jersey in the local team’s colors.
“Who’s winning?” he asks enthusiastically. “We don’t get all the good sports channels at home.”
“You can watch the game online,” Phil argues.
“Let me get more snacks for everyone,” my mother says.
I stand up and follow her. “I’ll help.”
“At least one of you does,” she says, but while snide, the words aren’t spoken loudly enough for anyone but the two of us to hear.
“I’ll help too,” Madison says, following us into the kitchen. “So Ryker, how’s work treating you? It’s been a while since you were around last. I was so happy when your mother told me you’d be in town.”
Yeah, she would be.
It’s strange, knowing somebody is interested in you but you have no intention of giving them anything.
She’d had a crush on me back in high school, too. I’d pretended not to notice, because I didn’t and still don’t have any intention of coming out to my family. She’d ended up sleeping with Phil instead and of course had gotten knocked up.
Both her parents and mine forced Phil and Madison to get married before the baby arrived.
What a fucking family.
I did hope that after three kids, she’d have given up on me.
“Work’s fine,” I say casually. “I was in New Bristol before this upcoming job.”
My mother shakes her head in disapproval. “I wish you didn’t have to go there. You’re going to get robbed and murdered there one of these days, you know. All that crime!”
She starts preparing a new snack tray. I’d help, but I know she’d slap me away for doing it wrong.
“I think I’ll be fine,” I answer with amusement. “The most dangerous person I met was a spoiled, rich brat.”
Madison’s hackles instantly rise. “I hope she didn’t bother you too much.”
“The sort of women who live in New Bristol are trollops,” my mother agrees. Her eyes briefly flick to Madison, who pretends not to notice.
“Nah, it was a man,” I say. I drum my fingers along the cluttered kitchen counter. “He got a bit in my face, insisting I owed him for… I don’t even know. Stepping into his shadow.”
Liam’s condo is probably three times as large as this house. I wouldn’t be surprised if this kitchen could fit into his closet.
Maybe next time, I should tie him up there.
Except there won’t be a next time, no matter how many videos he posts attempting to provoke me.
Madison clucks her tongue. “Some people,” she says in what is probably meant to be sympathy but only comes out judgmental.
“Well, spoiled and rich or not, he could’ve had a knife,” my mother says, rearranging the crackers on the tray.
I get the feeling that she’s stalling, though I’m not sure why until she says, “If you stayed in town for more than a few days, there are a few women who’d love to meet you, Ryker.
Don’t you want to bring someone home for the holidays? ”
“What holidays?” Madison asks mulishly. “We’re nowhere close to the holiday season, Ma.”
“And what if the person I bring home is Jewish?” I ask, mostly as a joke. “Would you set out Hanukkah candles?”
It wasn’t hard to deduce that Liam is Jewish. He’d posted pictures from a bat mitzvah with his blue-haired friend.
Not that I intend to invite him to anything.
“I would expect whoever you brought home to respect our traditions,” my mother says sharply.
“I think Rosh Hashanah is the bigger holiday, anyway,” I add.
I’m a little shit too, sometimes.
“Don’t start with me, Ryker,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “There are plenty of good girls here.”
“Maybe he’s holding out for a special woman,” Madison says.
I don’t think she could be more over the top if she tried.
“I’m not holding out for anyone.” I pull my phone out and finally check the social media notification.
Of course it’s another vid from Liam, the only person I follow. It’s a review of a true crime documentary this time. Apparently, he’s turning this into his brand, alongside all the party images.
That seems far more interesting than navigating the tense air between Madison and my mother.
“I need to take this,” I say, like I received a call. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t wait for their response. I head outside and get into my SUV, pop in my earbuds, and watch the video. The patchy internet out here means it buffers for a lot longer than it would have in any actual city.
“Hey everybody! I’ve got another fun one for you!” Liam says to the camera.
The bright circle reflected in his eyes tells me he has those special lights all the internet people use.
I think this is his third video like this. The first one, his enthusiastic review of the Cereals & Serials podcast, had made me want to laugh and throw my phone at the same time.
What a fucking brat. And an idiot.
If he gets himself caught, that’s his own problem.
I do wonder when he’ll strike again. I haven’t quite pieced together what his previous kills were. I’ve got a few contenders. Two that I like more than the others, but it’s still too large of a list. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have done more than one or two, not without getting caught.
The video ends up being a fairly tame review and Liam’s thoughts about the writing of the book itself. He offers some platitudes about how much it must hurt to be the victim’s family, but I can tell the brat doesn’t mean a single word.
I scroll to the comments. A bunch of people saying they’re adding the book to their “Tbr,” a few telling him he looks hot, and the usual comment his blue-haired friend leaves.
Before I can stop myself, I hit the like button.
Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I look up to see Madison approaching the car. She gives an awkward wave.
I sigh and get out.
“Sorry. I’m finishing up,” I say. “Worst part about being self-employed is that you can’t ever turn work off.”
She nods like she understands. “Oh, yeah, of course,” she says. “It’s no big deal. I just needed some fresh air…”
We stand there, and I’d call it an awkward silence if I had any real consideration for her feelings.
After another few moments of silence, Madison says, “Have you ever… I mean. Do you ever think about the past?”
I shrug. “Not really. Why?”
“I just wonder how things would’ve turned out if they hadn’t ended up like they did,” she says.
If she hadn’t fucked my brother and gotten pregnant, she means.
“But they did turn out like this,” I say. “What’s the use in wondering about what could have been? You just drive yourself crazy.”
“Maybe.” She fiddles with her long brown hair. “But some things could change, you know. If you wanted them to.”
“If I wanted them to?” I hedge.
Christ, I don’t need this. Maybe I should lie and say my schedule got changed and I need to leave sooner than expected.
“Yes,” she says. “I know they seem set in stone, but there are always ways.”
I give her a blank stare, like I don’t know what she’s talking about.
Any other person would take the hint and back down now, or at least chicken out.
Madison takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about leaving Phil,” she says.
“Yeah?” I make a noncommittal noise. “You need an attorney? I know a few.”
She lets out a sigh. “No. That’s not…”
Should I encourage her to divorce him? It would serve my asshole brother right. Even objectively, I know he’s not a good husband. On the other hand, while she’s married to Phil, I don’t need to worry about Madison getting too forward.
If she does leave him, that’d give me plenty of reason not to see her, though. Solidarity with my brother and all that.
Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.
I’d rather be listening to Liam mouth off at me than this.
“No one would think he’s exceptionally terrible,” Madison says. “And with your parents… I don’t know what I’d do if I did leave.” She chuckles, a strained sound. “I’d never wish ill on anyone, but it’d be so much easier if he was the one to bail.”
“Does he need to be terrible for you to leave?” I ask. My car is looking more and more tempting. “He’s not going to leave you. Ma wouldn’t let him abandon the kids.” I laugh. “She wouldn’t let him give up custody, either.”
Her shoulders slump. “I know.” She steps closer to me. “It’s… I don’t know. I watched some of those true crime things you love, and I sometimes wish that would happen to Phil.”
That’s the most interesting thing she’s said, ever.
I snort in amusement. “Careful. He’s still my brother.”
“But you wouldn’t miss him if he were gone,” Madison says, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
She’s got me there.
“One less reason to keep coming back, anyway.” I sigh. “Are you asking for permission or something, Madison? Get the divorce or don’t. It’s your life.”
“I don’t want to do it on my own,” she says, and while her voice is trembling, I realize she’s digging her feet in. “And I don’t know very many good men to help me out.”
“Funny. I don’t know any good men at all.
” I look her in the eyes, and there’s a split second where she looks so hopeful.
“Madison, whatever you want from me, it’s never happening.
I’m not sleeping with my brother’s wife, not even after you divorce, not even if he disappears or gets brutally murdered. ”
Her lips purse. “We could’ve had so much, Ryker.” She takes a step back, her cheeks flushing red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward. I’ll go.”
“Yeah.” I take my phone out again. “Tell Ma I’m sorry, but something came up. I’ll call her later.”
She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t leave because of this. Phil will be ready to go any minute since—”
Since I’m here.
“Anyway, we’re the ones intruding. You shouldn’t have to leave,” she finishes.
“It’s fine. I should get ahead on work anyway.” I wave to her and get back into my car.
Madison keeps staring, her lip quivering.
I start up the engine and roll down the window. “Get the fucking divorce, Madison. Your kids deserve better, at least. You don’t want them turning out like us.”
“You know I can’t,” she whispers, her voice tiny. “But yeah. Okay. Message received.” She turns and hurries back off toward the house.
I shake my head and pull out of the gravel driveway.
She wouldn’t be saying these things if she knew what I did in my free time.
Maybe the murder wouldn’t bother her, but I think the gay sex might.
No, the murder would bother her too. She only wants Phil gone. That’s a terrible way to start a crime spree. It’s so instantly connected to her that she’s the obvious suspect.
She’ll just have to take the more logical, sane approach on her own.