Forty-Four Grace
My dad was a firm believer in the second amendment.
He always carried a gun and always had one in the house.
We grew up with a healthy respect and knowledge of guns.
He made sure both Geny and I knew how dangerous they could be.
He made sure we knew how to shoot. Knew the different parts of the guns we owned.
Knew the number one rule: Always assume a gun is loaded and never point it at anyone or anything you don’t intend to shoot.
I never took any of it too seriously. Not until I was young, pregnant, and alone in the world. It seemed a lot more useful knowledge then. I send a silent thank-you up to him now as I load his nine-millimeter in Frank and Tina’s backyard.
I spent a long time planning out how I’d do this one day.
They were carefully laid plans that turned into more of fanfic writing I hid under my bed as the years went on.
Then Greer turned eighteen and went away to college.
And my dad died. That old anger that had mellowed out was reignited and I knew it was time to go home.
My backpack has everything I need tucked inside.
The chloroform, which was far too easy to get.
Rope. Tape. Taser. The most important part is the gun in my hand, which I tuck into my waistband as I start the same climb I did earlier tonight.
It’s infinitely easier this time, having done it before and being better dressed.
I move quietly, and in a few short minutes, I’m standing on their balcony. I take a minute to get what I need from my bag and then I’m sliding their door open.
I fight back my nerves with mental reminders of what Frank has done. It powers me forward. I’ve gone over how to do this more than a dozen times. Frank first. He’s stronger and will be harder to overpower if he wakes up. Better to incapacitate him right away and hope that Tina stays asleep.
I watch them sleeping next to each other. If only Tina knew the kind of monster she shares a bed with. I feel the familiar ache of guilt for the part I played. I don’t blame myself the way I once did, but the guilt still lingers.
Before I can overthink and back out, I move swiftly to Frank’s side of the bed and press the chloroform-soaked rag to his face.
His eyes shoot open and I see him recognize my face just before his eyes start to roll back.
He barely puts up a fight. Would he have been this easy to take down eighteen years ago when I saw him as this unstoppable force?
I don’t have time to think about it. A voice from the other side of the bed sends spikes of absolute fear through my whole body.
“Geny? Is that you? Grace? What are you doing?”
I fling myself over Frank and Tina screams. She scrambles to get away from me, but she gets caught in the sheets, falling onto the floor. She screams louder and I want to cry as I launch myself off the side of the bed and onto her back.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say, as I fight to get the rag over her mouth and nose.
Tina whips her head back and forth so I can’t quite get her to fully inhale the chemical. She’s stronger than I would have guessed. But maybe I’m not trying as hard as I could be because I don’t want to hurt her. I just need her asleep and out of the way.
She bucks me off her back. I grab onto her nightgown to keep from losing her completely. She rolls onto me and slams her head back, cracking into my mouth. The pain is blinding, but I’m able to wrap my legs around her and hold her in place.
I shove the rag over her face. She claws at my arms and somehow manages to get beneath my shirt sleeve.
I can’t see, but I can almost guarantee she’s drawn blood.
So much for a clean crime scene. But then her struggle weakens.
She whimpers something I can’t make out through the cloth on her mouth, then goes completely limp.
I hold the rag in place for a few more seconds just to make sure before letting my arms fall away.
My chest aches with emotion that I then shove down.
I don’t have time to feel any of it. I’ll have plenty of time later.
I roll Tina off me as carefully as I can and pull her back to the bed.
I quickly tie her hands and feet with knots I learned from YouTube tutorials.
I finish by securing her to her headboard.
“Stay put,” I say.
I push her hair away from her face and do my best to smooth it down. Then I pull the blanket over her to cover her exposed legs.
Now for Frank.
He’s much heavier. Especially as deadweight.
I drag him out of the bedroom, mostly so I don’t wake Tina or force her to watch me kill her husband.
She doesn’t deserve any of that. I decided earlier to bring him into the kitchen downstairs.
I almost make a change of plans when I’m faced with getting Frank down the stairs, but I can’t go off script now.
I fully expect to pay for my crimes, but I don’t want to slip up too soon and jeopardize my chances of finishing out my plans tonight.
And so I get Frank down the stairs. I don’t try to be gentle. With one good shove he rolls down, nearly to the bottom. When he lands, I wait at the top of the steps, my hand on the gun in my waistband. He won’t catch me off guard if he starts to come to.
But he doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t move at all. If his chest wasn’t clearly rising and falling I’d be nervous he was dead. He will die tonight, but not yet.
I’m drenched in sweat by the time I get him tied to one of his kitchen chairs. My hands tremble at the image of him sitting slumped over and bound. It doesn’t matter how hot my anger is or how bad I want him to pay for what he’s done, I’m not a hardened killer or a psychopath.
I’m in over my head and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
I raise my arms over my head like I do after a hard run. I know how to get my breathing under control. But I don’t know how to continue with what I’m doing. What am I doing? Questioning my abuser? Killing him? Jesus. What have I gotten myself into?
A groan comes from the kitchen that makes my pulse skyrocket.
Shit. He’s waking up and I’m still mid-meltdown.
I need to pull myself together. I have a plan, I remind myself.
I can do this. For Morgan. Brooke. My dad.
For me. For my daughter who has never met her family and will never know her grandparents.
Repeating the reasons helps me regain my resolve. I inhale deeply and walk into the kitchen with my shoulders back and my face hopefully not looking terrified.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
His eyes are unfocused. He glances around, seemingly trying to make sense of where he is and what’s happening.
“I thought it was about time we had an honest discussion.”
He looks up at me, disgust thick on his face. That’s okay. I’m just as disgusted with him.
“You’re going to be in a lot of trouble for this,” he says.
I nod. “I know. But that’s a problem for the future.”
“What did you do to Tina?”
“Tina is fine. Safe upstairs. I’m not a monster like you are, Frank.”
He grunts.
“That’s a good place to start. Let’s talk about the people you’ve hurt. The people you’ve killed.”
“I’ve never killed anyone. You’ve lost your damn mind.”
I pull up a chair and sit across from him, trying to keep my anger in check. “Well now you’re just lying. You tried to have me killed, remember?”
“You have no proof of that. And I didn’t lay a hand on you.”
“Your hands were all over me!”
He flinches at my sudden outburst. I close my eyes and take a breath.
“Is that what this is about?” he asks.
I open my eyes. “This is about a lot of things. That being one of them, yes.”
I have only one light on in the living room, and it illuminates into the kitchen pretty well. I made sure all the blinds were closed too, but I still feel paranoid that someone is watching us.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what you think I’ve done,” Frank says.
What a great suggestion. I start counting on my fingers.
“You abused me. Tried to have me killed. Covered up my disappearance. Abused several other girls. Killed Morgan and covered it up.” I switch to my other hand and continue. “Killed Brooke to shut her up. Framed my dad with your filth. And killed him, making it look like a suicide.”
Frank laughs. “You really have lost your mind.”
I stand up and take a step toward him. He lifts his head to keep eye contact with me. I slap him hard across the face. His head whips to the side. My palm stings, but it feels good. I’m tired of his lies and the stupid smug look on his face.
I’m the one in control here and he needed a reminder of that.
He looks back up and there’s a small trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. His smirk is gone. He spits at my feet, and I move my shoe out of the way just in time.
“I don’t know where you got these insane ideas from, but you’re wrong. You think you have things figured out, but you don’t know half of what you think you know.”
“I know you’re a liar,” I say. “Everything points back to you, Frank. You and your penchant for younger girls. That’s what it all comes back to, doesn’t it?”
“You and I had a relationship,” he says. His voice is lower than it has been, likely afraid Tina will hear if she’s woken up. “Don’t try to make yourself a victim of something you’re not.”
The metal of the gun in my waistband burns my skin. My hands itch to grab it and shoot him in the kneecap. I want to hurt him. Make him scream in pain. Gone are my hesitations and doubts. The more he talks, the more I feel ready to pull the trigger.
“Was Morgan the first girl you got rid of?” I ask.
“I had nothing to do with Morgan O’Neil’s death. Or her sister’s.”
“Right, right. And what about my dad? Why’d you put your pictures on his computer and then turn him in?”
“They weren’t my pictures.”
I hit him again. Closed hand this time. He breathes hard and glares at me. I ignore the pain in my hand and turn to my backpack in the corner of the kitchen.
“That’s funny,” I say. “So then why were these in a box beneath your bed? You kept them close by, didn’t you?”
I hold the box of photos out for him to see, and his face drains of color. That’s what I thought.
“How did you get those?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that you’re a liar. Like I said earlier. So tell me why you did it.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything.”
I slip the gun from its spot in my jeans and point it at him. He finally looks afraid and the feeling is intoxicating.
“Stop. Lying.”
Frank’s eyes start to water. “I swear,” he says, his voice strangled. “I wouldn’t do that to Ken. He was my friend.”
“You kissed your friend’s daughter when she was sixteen years old. You manipulated and abused your friend’s daughter. You tried to have her killed and then lied to your friend’s face and told him his daughter was dead in a casket. You clearly have no qualms when it comes to betraying your friends.”
He hangs his head and his shoulders begin to shake. I start to think he’s going to sit there and cry. I’m about to hit him again when he finally picks his head up.
“He found out about it. The girls.” His voice is a whisper.
“How?”
“A girl went to him and told him everything.”
“Who?” I ask, confused. “Someone from the pictures?”
“No. Her name is Hannah. I swear I hadn’t touched a girl since I thought you died. This was the first time in forever.”
My stomach rolls. There’s shame clear in his voice, but it doesn’t matter. Clearly not enough shame to stop him. The only way to stop him is with a bullet.
“So my dad found out about Hannah. And what? He confronted you?”
My voice quivers. I don’t want to sound weak. I try to get my emotions under control.
“Yes. I told him I was sorry, that I had a problem and I needed help.”
He cries in earnest. All I want to do is hit him and not stop until I physically can’t hit him anymore. Instead, I let him continue because I wanted answers and I’m finally getting them.
“He brought Don over and had me talk to him. I told Don everything, but Ken overheard.”
“Don Jennings? The pastor?”
Frank nods. “Ken heard me talking, and he burst into the room yelling at me, asking me what I did to you, but I didn’t do anything!”
It’s actually incredible to see his level of denial play out in front of my eyes.
“Did you kill him, Frank?” I’m afraid to hear the answer even though I know he probably won’t tell me the truth.
He looks up but his eyes go behind me. I spin around to see what he’s looking at and stare straight at my reflection.
“What are you doing here, Geny?”