Chapter Fifteen
My ex was always a golden god. Muscular, with a classically handsome face.
People would watch as he walked by. He just exuded confidence and swagger.
His short hair isn’t as blonde as it used to be.
Guess he’s been seeing less of the sun these days.
And his muscle mass has gone from lean and mean to overboard.
Working out was apparently right up there with therapy and finding religion while he was incarcerated.
What a reach it was to hope he’d take up a craft. Watercolors, or something low-key.
His prison uniform has been swapped for a pair of jeans and a striped henley with a pair of designer tennis shoes.
He always loved brand names. A gray ball cap sits on the coffee table.
There’s a fresh scratch on his cheek, along with a sheen of sweat on his face.
Strangling someone to death takes a good amount of effort.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “How have you been?”
“Fine. You know…a few ups and downs.”
“Can’t believe you used the date of your mom’s passing as your security code. And they say I am obsessed with dead things.”
“That was a mistake,” I agree. “Are we just going to ignore your latest victim here?”
He sets his ankle on the opposite knee. Great that he’s so comfortable. “She served her purpose. It was time for her to go.”
Watching Dianne die had left me numb. She had just attempted to kill me, after all, in the name of a man I truly, deeply hated.
But having this woman’s body displayed in my living room is making my skin crawl.
That could of course also be due to the company I’m keeping.
This is my home. My safe space. And he has invaded and contaminated it.
“She thought you loved her, didn’t she?” I ask. “Her husband’s going to be heartbroken.”
He just grunts. And the disinterest is wild.
“So, where’s Laura?”
“Sidney,” he chides. “There’s no need for you to be jealous. Just think of Laura as my PR person. Lots of money in death these days.”
I don’t know what to say.
“This is nice. Just you and me. A relief to finally be able to talk to you without worrying about anyone listening or reading what I wrote,” he says with a happy sigh. “I had to be so fucking careful while I was in there.”
“Don’t worry. I understood all of your implied threats to me over the years just fine.”
He laughs. But same as always, the mirth doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s a stone statue going through the motions and pretending to be human.
This situation is chillingly similar to my recurring nightmare.
Stuck in the house with him, and there’s no way to escape.
Even with my self-defense training, his size and strength pose a challenge, not to mention his penchant for psychotic rage.
Though he hasn’t started hunting me…not yet.
Nothing within my reach would be helpful protection.
Of all the times for the dining room table to be clean.
My short baseball bat is on the other side of the room by the door.
And there are knives in the kitchen. Eight or nine feet from me.
How far could I get before he’d be on me?
Judging by the way he’s watching me I doubt I’d get far.
My heart is beating double time. I try to slow my breathing and keep a clear head so I can remember my training. But my brain flashes back to him strangling me, and I can’t quite shove down by body’s panicked response.
Having him here is strange, though I can’t say that I’m shocked to see him. There was a certain sense of inevitability to all of this. He and I facing off after all these years. The detective was right to think I might lure him in. He never could stay out of my life.
Months would go by with no word. No sign that he gave me a thought. Then, when I believed I might finally be free of him, a letter would arrive to remind me. He was still watching, still paying attention.
I am a toy he picks up and plays with now and then. And Ryan doesn’t like to share his toys. But he sure does enjoy breaking them.
“Tell me about your boyfriend,” he says. “Who is this Noah Allard I’ve been hearing so much about?”
“How do you know his name?”
“Come on, Sidney. I have other sources apart from Laura. And several of the articles about my mother’s death mentioned his presence at the scene. Of course I know his name.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me about him,” he says. Like this is just a friendly chat we’re having. “Or I could just meet him. Your choice.”
“We broke up.”
He snorts. “Sidney…”
“It’s the truth.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes.” I put as much venom into the word as possible. “And it’s your fault. He dumped me because he couldn’t handle the constant fucking pressure. From the police and the media…all because of you.”
For a moment he stares at me. Then his slow, creepy, horror movie smile reappears.
“Hmm. Can’t say I am sorry or surprised to hear it.
And don’t be in such a rush to put it all on me.
You know full well you can be a difficult person to be around.
Is it any wonder I had to find an outlet for my frustrations? ”
“Are you seriously blaming being a serial killer on me?”
“I’m just saying you had a role to play in all of this. Not that I expect you to admit it. The capacity you have for denial…”
“You actually believe that, don’t you? That I’m one of the reasons you chose to kill people.”
“Like I said…you’re not ready to be totally honest with yourself yet. I think your grandmother went way too easy on you when you were growing up. Treating you like such a poor little orphan.”
“Fuck you, Ryan.”
He taps his fingers on the top of the sofa. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re still not ready to leave behind the victim mentality and embrace the possibilities of what you could be.”
“Are you serious?” I ask with all the wonder. “How about you? Are you mad about Mommy?”
“Can you believe how badly she fucked up killing your cousin?” He shakes his head.
“How hard is it to frame someone for murder? I mean, seriously. What a clusterfuck. Not watching long enough to make sure you were alone. Then being stupid enough to leave a cell phone data trail that led straight back to her.”
“But you’re not upset about how she died?”
“She wanted to go out with a bang, I guess.” He cocks his head. “Did you expect me to cry?”
“No.”
He grunts again.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, nodding to the scratch on his cheek.
He frowns and reaches for a tissue from the box on the coffee table.
Then he carefully dabs at his face. My ex always had an ego.
How he appeared mattered, and that hasn’t changed.
I am glad Maggie marked him, and I hope he’s left with a scar.
Even though the woman made some bad choices, she didn’t deserve this.
Perhaps I can empathize more easily with her since we were in similar situations.
Both of us believing, for a time at least, in the pretty lies he told us. Which reminds me.
“You told me once that the scratches on your arms were from me during sex.”
“And you believed me.”
I cross my arms over my chest and hold on tight. “I was an idiot.”
“Yeah. Those were the good old days.” He looks me over. “Still can’t believe you cut your hair.”
“Why are you here, Ryan?”
He stands and I take a quick step back. One of the dining table chairs nudges me in the butt. His slow smile spreading across his face is the worst thing I’ve ever seen. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sidney. But I will if you make a move.”
“You don’t want to hurt me?” I ask with disbelief.
“No. I don’t.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
He just shrugs.
“So the night you got arrested when you tried to strangle me…that was just an accident? You slipped and your hands just somehow wound up wrapped around my throat?”
The manic grin returns. “I’d forgotten how funny you are.”
“Great.”
“This is going to be embarrassing to admit, but I panicked when they broke down the door. The idea that they were going to separate us was upsetting. That they would take you away from me.”
“You make it sound like you own me.”
“Don’t I?” he asks, voice oh so sincere. “I like to think it’s a mutual sort of thing. Don’t you think we’re perfect for each other?”
“No. Just no.”
As soon as he gets close enough, I’m going to attack.
Target his vulnerable spots: eyes, nose, throat, temples, jaw, solar plexus, groin, and knees.
Doubtless he’s thinking the same thing about me.
How he wants to end me. But he seems so relaxed.
His arms hang loose at his sides and the creepy-ass smile stays on his face.
There’s no need for him to wield a weapon.
Two strong hands have worked for him just fine in the past.
“Let’s see this study your cousin was talking about.
I’ve been so curious about this.” He nods in the study’s direction.
“Open the door and then step inside. Don’t do anything stupid.
Just because I don’t want to hurt you doesn’t mean I won’t.
Trust me when I tell you having your fingers broken one by one is not something you’d enjoy. ”
I walk slowly around the dining room table to the study door. And he follows a step or so behind me.
I turn the door handle and push it open.
And he grabs a fistful of hair from the back of my head and holds on.
His grip is good and tight, and it hurts.
I consider reaching behind me to grab his wrist and then pivoting around to strike him, but that would mean it’s game on.
And I’m not sure this is the right moment to launch into an attack.
Because I don’t just mean to hurt the man. I want to kill him.