39. Be Good
Be Good
The past two days passed much like that, lingering and holding onto Gideon, and him being unabashedly pleased to watch me panic every time he leaves the room.
Which is why this morning, as I got dressed for my shift at the alterations shop with shaky palms and Gideon suggesting it be my last, it was easy to agree.
The cab of my dad's truck is cold, my fingers red and numb against the steering wheel. I hadn’t bothered with the heat as I sit in the parking lot, half debating turning around and going home, the remaining bits aware the Johnsons deserve more from me.
I reach for the handle to the cab when the phantom feeling of Gideon’s lips on my neck sends a shiver up my spine, his words echoing in my head.
“Be good for me today, Audrey.”
My grip falters and goes limp on the handle.
“Gonna sit out there all day?” Mr. Johnson's voice booms from around the side of the store, making my head snap up.
I force out a breathless laugh that sounds weird and foreign to my ears as I scramble from the cab, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
“No daydreaming when you should be day-working,” he huffs, closing the door until I reach the back steps leading up to it and swinging it open just in time to let me in.
There’s not much to do today, aside from dry cleaning the groomsmen’s suits from the Kessler wedding. It feels odd to be in this space with everything I know. Everything I’ve seen like I’m a robot piloting an Audrey suit, my own movements uniform but off-kilter.
Everything is happening to someone else.
But that someone is me.
The day passes and I do my best to avoid Mrs. Johnson’s probing questions and worried glances, not even the deafening lull of Mr. Johnson and his coffee buddies taking the edge off my anxiety.
I flinch as the bells to the shop sound, making my hand slip off the steamer, letting it clatter loudly to the tile floor in the backroom.
I stare at it for a moment. My breath coming in a little quicker than it should.
What is Gideon doing right now?
Mrs. Johnson quickly lays her own steamer down, getting to her feet faster than a woman of her age should. “Audrey, what is wrong, sweetheart?”
I laugh it off, but my hands are shaking as I suddenly jerk to pick it up. No sooner than I straighten, she takes the steamer from my palms. Her cold, weathered hands gripping my face and forcing it up to hers. “I’m okay,” I breathe out, unable to meet her eyes.
Cringing at the idea of her knowing… what I know. How much everyone would hate us both, how much disappointment she’d feel if she knew I wasn’t going to do the right thing. That I can’t, that I would rather die than—
“Audrey! Come out here,” Mr. Johnson booms, and the timing couldn’t be better as I let her give me a few extra pats.
Her wrinkled lips cool as he presses a motherly kiss to the top of my head, so soft it makes my chest ache, a deep-seated shame hitting me center mast. I’m a bad person. Sick and bad like Gideon.
The second I brush through the curtain, that feeling manages to expand, doubling in on itself. It swarms and bubbles with a punch of ripe, aching fear.
“Miss Fisher! I was hoping to have a word with you.”
My eyes fall on Detective Altman’s snakeskin boots, taking a step back toward the safety of the curtain when I flinch, bumping into Mrs. Johnson. “I actually, I don’t have a lot of time today.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Johnson haggles, setting his cup back down on the table. The eyes of his friends, men I’ve spent the past few years laughing with, suddenly grating.
“I promise to only take a moment of your time,” Altman offers, and I swallow hard, snagging my coat off the rack as I head toward him at the front of the shop.
All I can see as he opens up the door leading me around the side are those women, their terrified faces, the awful sound of Gideon's drill, Bryan’s letterman jacket, and Jessica’s eyebrow piercing, glinting in the artificial basement lighting.
I see his mom's black, frizzy hair. How he killed her, then made her pretty again so the town could say their goodbyes.
I’m so lost to my own terror, blinding and bitter, I jump when he speaks again. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I offer, maybe a hair too quickly.
I need Gideon.
I need him to come here.
I need to call him.
To let him know.
Why are you talking to me?
I haven’t said anything. I’d never—
“Do you remember much about Mrs. Bell?”
My rambling thoughts stop short. “What?”
“Gideon’s mom. I’ve had a lot of spare time, going through old case files, and I’d seen the name pop out. I’d never known his mom had taken her life, a horrible thing for a young man to see.”
I nod numbly, my heart pounding so hard it makes my chest throb.
She died because of me. My eyes seem to be screaming. Gideon killed her.
“You were with him that night, the night she took her life.”
I nod again, scrambling to remember why I’d said that. I wasn’t. I was out in our grove, waiting while he—
My stomach swirls; absently, I place my hands there, feeling sick.
“Where were you two that night?” he asks, but my skin feels clammy.
Can he see I’m shaking?
“Um, his house. Er, no, mine. Sorry, it’s been years and I’m not feeling great today.”
He stares at me, his dark green eyes peeling apart my insides. “Hmm,” is all he offers as he pulls the binder he’s had tucked under his arm free. “Do you recognize any of these women?”
I blanch as he flips it open to one of the girls. Each flick through another smiling face makes hot, wet, disgusting saliva fill my mouth. “No,” I choke out.
He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He knows.
He knows, he fucking knows.
He pivots hard, and I’m not ready. “They kind of look like you, don’t you think?”
I can’t help it, god, I can’t help it. I fucking gag.
He lurches back at that. “Miss Fisher, are you alright?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “That was a horrible thing to say. I need to get back to work.”
“Of course,” he offers simply. “My apologies. I hadn’t meant to upset you.”
But I’m already around the building, back inside, smiling, and forcing a laugh at something someone says before I make it to the bathroom to vomit.