Chapter 20
LILIANA
“You look happy,” my mother says, popping a French fry into her mouth. “I thought for sure I would be showing up in the city and checking you into therapy.”
“Wow,” I snort, shaking my head. “That’s not subtle at all.” I take in the sight of my mom, sitting across from me in a black designer sweater, her blonde hair perfectly fashioned in waves. She did nothing but bloom after my father was put away.
And I’m happy for her. She might’ve been cursed by marriage but didn’t get any of his genetics like me.
Mom clears her throat. “Have they solved the case?”
“Not that I know of,” I pick up a fry, pretending like the conversation doesn’t bother me at all. It mostly doesn’t. I haven’t seen or heard from Detective Shaw since the day I’m pretty sure he was tailing me. Ever since then…
It’s been radio silent.
“You know, I looked into it…”
I tilt my head at her, taking a bite of the potato, soaked in grease. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she sighs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You do know that Victor Blueson was Jonathan Newsom’s business partner? Right?”
It takes me a second to process what she’s saying, but when I do…
“Holy shit…”
“Yeah,” Mom mutters. “I just… I think maybe you should be really mindful of what you’re up to—not that you’re up to anything bad…”
I bite down on my lower lip. “I’m not up to anything nefarious.” Unless having violent sex with a random stranger to combat my murderous fantasy counts as nefarious.
“Okay, okay.” Mom reaches for her soda, sipping on it. “I just… You’ve always been a little different, and while you were growing up, I thought it was so cute you were eccentric like your father,” she pauses, and I feel the weight of her words. “I just… I just want to double check…”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” I say flatly. “Or I guess if I did, I must’ve blacked out.”
Her eyes widen. “Did you?”
“Black out? No.” I laugh, but my humor falls flat. “Also, no to murdering anyone, too. I promise,” I reach across the table and squeeze her hands. “I’m fine.”
“Then you at least have something to protect yourself? There’s a killer out here.”
I reach into my purse, pulling out the pepper spray Detective Shaw gave me the night of the alley. “See?” I hold it out to her, noticing the initials on the can once again. “All is well.”
“You know how to use it?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good,” Mom gives me a slight smile—the kind that tells me she’s still going to be losing sleep over it. However, she goes back to her lunch, and consequently, my phone starts ringing. I glance down at it, seeing Jen, who’s been very hands-off lately, calling.
“I have to take this,” I say to my mom, sliding out of the booth as I hit the answer button. “Hey, I was wondering how you were doing?”
“Fine,” she clears her throat. “I was just trying to get into the gallery, but it’s locked, and I forgot my keys at home. I figured it’d be open.”
I shake my head. “Marissa was supposed to come in at ten…”
“She’s not here. No one appears to be here.”
“I don’t understand,” I let out a frustrated sigh. “Why would she not be there?”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer’s voice is clipped, clearly frustrated. “I was just here to do a quick inspection, and then I was going to move along to the next building.”
“I understand. I’ll be there in just a second. I’m just a few blocks down the street.” I run a hand over my face as she hangs up the phone. I send my mom a quick text letting her know I have to run back to the gallery, and then take off down the street at a jog.
Where the hell are you, Marissa? My mind burns with frustration as I pick up my pace, my lungs starting to burn as I gulp oxygen. My Converse slap the pavement, but I don’t stop until I catch sight of Jen, arms folded across her chest outside the front door.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, digging through my purse to get the keys. I grab them and quickly unlock the door.
“You know,” Jen sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for being a bitch to you about this. It’s just… I can’t stand to be here after what happened. I don’t know how you manage it.”
“Well, I guess…” I hold her gaze, seeing a scared little girl in her brown irises. “I guess it could be traumatizing.”
“It was,” she grimaces, and then steps inside. “I’ll be quick, and then you can get back to whatever it is that you were doing down the street.”
I nod, standing just inside the door as Jen starts her sweep. My eyes cast across the street, searching for Marissa’s car. It’s nowhere to be found. I pull out my phone and then scroll to her number, dialing it.
It rings multiple times.
But then goes to voicemail.
I hang up and then try her again. When it goes to voicemail a second time, I leave a message, which is something I hate doing.
“Hey Marissa, this is Liliana. I need to know why you are not at work today. I understand that things have been difficult for you lately, but I need to know why you are not here. We have a policy. Please abide by it.” I hang up, shaking my head at how fucking stupid I sound.
I was not made for voicemails.
But whatever. I drop my arm to my side and wait, checking my watch. I know my mother is going to be irritated with me. I know she will.
And I can’t even blame her for it.
“I see you put in new flooring,” Jen’s voice echoes from inside. “I guess the stain didn’t clean up all that well?”
“No,” I call back to her. “It never does.”
“What?” She sounds shocked.
Shit. “I just mean stains are difficult to hide on white flooring.” As the words leave my lips, my phone begins to vibrate in my hand, and I pick it up, answering before I look at the caller ID.
“This is Global Telmate. You have a prepaid call from Richard Longley, an incarcerated individual at the North Willard Penitentiary. To accept this call, dial five.” An obnoxious beep resounds in my ear, and my heart rate skyrockets, thumping in the side of my head.
“Why the fuck are you calling me?” I breathe out, panic starting to settle deep in my chest. I swallow the bile rising and pull the phone away from my ear.
But I can’t bring myself to hang up.
I press fucking five, instead.
“Lily,” my father’s voice hums in my ear as soon as the call connects. “I can’t believe you answered.” His tone is one of awe, as if he just won the lottery.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demand, my own voice straining as I try to keep myself from having a mental breakdown right there at the front of my gallery—a place I’m supposed to be able to escape the shitshow of my past, not confront it.
“I heard through the grapevine I’ve got a couple of detectives coming to visit me tomorrow. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
My stomach knots up. “What?”
“Yeah, apparently they’re coming from your side of town.
” His voice comes out calm and collected.
“I’ve been so proud of your gallery, you know.
You’re being successful, and I’m proud of you.
I’m watching out for you, always. You’re the only thing I have, and my protégé is perfect.
I tell my friends here about you all the time. ”
I feel like I could seriously pass out.
“How do you even know? How do you know what I do?”
“Because I keep up with you, kiddo.” He laughs cheerfully, like he’s not dropping a fucking bomb on me. “You always were special. I knew it from the time you were a little kid. You made art like me.”
“No,” I counter, moisture rimming my eyes unwantedly.
“You know, it’s a biological thing,” he continues, and I don’t know why I don’t just hang the fuck up. But maybe it’s the blast of childhood memories, of sitting with my father in the basement and drawing pictures alongside of him.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Have the fantasies started?” My father’s voice comes across low. “Have they turned into anything? Have you felt the rush of adrenaline and arousal?”
My head spins. I can’t fucking get enough air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t… I’d never… I’m not…”
“You are,” my father’s voice softens, though it’s still just as unsettling as ever. “You are just like me. I knew it from the time you were little. I bet your mother told you that, didn’t she? I bet she told you all the ways that you remind her of me.”
“Stop,” I force the words. “She doesn’t even talk to you anymore.”
“No, but she doesn’t have to. I know that she won’t ever forget me when she looks at you.
Did you do it, babygirl?” He chuckles, his tone sick and wicked.
“Did you kill the attorney? You got the Longley gene. I know you could’ve done it…
You like blood, you like sex, you like doing things that others think—”
I hang up, my phone slipping from my hands and shattering against the tile. I shake my head, the fantasy, the blood play, the knife use—all of it comes crashing down on me in one big wave.
Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m just like him.
My head grows light as I hyperventilate, the world spinning around me like I’m on some sort of fucked up amusement ride.
And I want off it. Now.
“Honey?” Mom’s voice comes from nowhere, and I feel the warmth of her touch as she wraps her arm around my waist. “I’ve got you. Everything is okay, just breathe.”
But I can’t breathe.
I can’t even think clearly.
A sob breaks loose from my chest, as the past comes back in a big nasty blur—the body of my best friend in the cellar, the hours of interviews, and the way my mom cried for hours when she thought I was sleeping.
I never want to put anyone through that kind of pain. I can’t be like my father. I can’t be like him.
But what if I am?
“Everything is okay,” Mom keeps trying to steady me, her fingers now wiping away the tears slipping down my cheeks. “No matter what happened, we’ll deal with it. We’ll face it. I’m here for you.”
But I didn’t kill anyone. I just…
I just want to.