31
Westport, Connecticut
Every cell in my body stops doing whatever it does.
It’s her. The red hair—auburn, she would insist—the blue eyes, the ones that were always the tiniest bit lighter than mine.
The pale skin and barely there sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheekbones that she hated and kept covered with concealer.
Then I note the changes. A few threads of gray have invaded her hair. The scar on her left cheek. The two fingers on her right hand that are not quite straight. She is so very thin. Her jeans hang on her bony hips. A pale-blue sweater sags against her skeletal torso.
I moisten my lips, force myself to take a breath. “Julia. I wish I could say it’s good to see you, but it’s not.”
She sits down on the sofa. Her hireling joins her there while I remain bound to the dining-room chair that was dragged into the room for that express purpose.
What do I say to the best friend I haven’t seen in so many years? To the one who left me to an unimaginable fate.
Why beat around the bush? I’ll just get right to the point.
“What do you want?” I stare at the two, waiting to see who’s going to have the balls to just say it.
I’m dead—that’s the end game. I get that part. But I need to know what else is on the agenda before the big finale. There are numerous other steps necessary first. I’ve considered this at length.
Julia laughs softly. “Just one thing, and it’s damned sure not some fictionalized memoir.”
Evidently she watched the podcast. Maybe she’s one of the many who left nasty comments. I mentally roll my eyes and wait on the edge of my seat for the rest. The seconds tick off like little bombs in a minefield. I resist the urge to sigh. She needs to spit it out.
“I want my life back.”
Of course she does. “I’m afraid that one might be a little tricky.”
“You heard her,” Acacia or whatever her name is—oh yeah, Alicia—demands. “You are living her life, and she wants it back.”
I imagine it’s more about the trust fund than anything else. Oh and this house. I doubt Julia is interested in Phillip or my child.
I force all the emotion out of my head and press my lower back against the chair so I can feel the security of the gun I tucked there. Thankfully they didn’t find it. I doubt they even checked. More of that overconfidence.
Forcing more strength and courage than I feel into my voice, I ask, “So what took you so long?”
Julia glares at me. “You know the answer. It’s a miracle I survived what you did to me.”
Okay, so this is one of those little secrets that I could never allow anyone to know. But obviously I have to reconsider if I hope to buy some time.
At any rate, I can’t deny her charge. I was well acquainted with her keeper. A real piece of work. “You escaped in late April last year, right?”
“That’s right.” Her words are bitter, her expression suspicious. “I escaped the beast you gave me to.”
Like me, she has aged far more than the almost ten years since I last saw her. Also like me, there are reasons. Except mine was shitty luck. Hers, well, hers was the result of my revenge, pure and simple. She deserved it and more.
“You escaped because I took care of him so that you could get away,” I explain. She couldn’t possibly know that part until now. No one did.
The two stare at each other in disbelief before turning back to me. “I don’t believe you.” Julia practically spits the words at me. “You’re the one who gave me to him.”
“If you want to know the truth, phones need to be turned off and put on the coffee table.” No way I’m going down this path with potential recording devices handy.
Alicia makes a put-upon face but complies. Julia does the same.
“April twenty-second. It was a Thursday. The Monster—that’s what his circle of friends called him—suffered a heart attack after being tortured for a period of time.
The house was left unsecured, so a number of vagrants and thieves plundered the place.
The evidence the police were able to dig out of the rubble was all corrupted and unusable due to the number of people who poked around before the murder was discovered.
The only thing they eventually surmised was that the victim had either made a very bad enemy or the murder was part of a robbery gone wrong.
This was more of a we-have-nothing-else-so-we’re-going-with-it decision. ”
When they both appear speechless, I add, “Although I called out to you, you must have been hiding. It may have taken you a day or two to notice the door to your downstairs prison was unlocked. The keepers all chose homes with a level below ground for the purpose of housing their slaves. It’s the modern way.
Even the little wives—if there are wives—never have to know.
Well.” I shrug with my good shoulder. “They might know, but they never have to see. A rich husband who showers them with everything they want is difficult to set aside, even if he is a monster.”
Julia cannot conceal the way the pieces are coming together in her head. Still, she argues, “Don’t try to pretend it was you. If not for Brian, I would likely have died there before the police arrived. I couldn’t stand, much less walk.”
“Brian?” I query as if I don’t know. He’s the boyfriend—Alicia’s boyfriend. The murderer. Thirty, dark hair, tall. Ugly rap sheet.
“My boyfriend,” Alicia confirms. “He just happened to be walking by and saw people going in and out of the brownstone. Not the sort who would live at the address, so he went in to check it out.”
To see what he could grab for himself, no doubt.
That’s the thing about the big city. Neighbors just don’t stick their noses in places they don’t belong.
They try not to look too closely. Are too busy doing their own thing.
Or whatever. A neighbor could have been dead for weeks before anyone noticed.
I always counted on that during what I call my “revenge tour.” But that’s a topic for later. And only if necessary.
“Julia was crying for help, but she was so weak it’s a miracle he heard her,” Acacia goes on.
“She told him how she’d been kidnapped and needed help.
He brought her to our place, and we nursed her.
” She looks to Julia and makes a sad face.
“She was in a terrible condition. It took months before she could even walk again.”
“So where’s Brian now?” This would be a handy piece of information to have. Close by, I’m confident.
“He’ll be here soon.”
I’m sure the party will really get started then.
“How could you pretend to be the one to facilitate my escape,” Julia demands in a near snarl, “when you were too busy here living my life?”
“Remember,” I say, “you started this.”
Her face reddens. I might as well tell her. Someone should know. It’s all in my story for Olivia—the so-called memoir I’ve worked on since she was born. There are obviously parts that need to be deleted if it is ever published—assuming I’m alive when that time comes.
To be frank, in all those months since I took care of the Monster, there wasn’t a peep from Julia.
I began to think she actually was dead, but there was never any mention of a body found in the Monster’s home—other than his, of course.
It wasn’t until months later—after Eleanor’s death and my release from the hospital, I realized that something was off.
Since I was in no condition to do the legwork, I had no choice but to hire Archer.
I have used him on a number of occasions over the past decade. He is always efficient and thorough.
But it wasn’t Archer who confirmed my concerns about the source behind Alicia’s action.
It was the little things she said. A perfect example was during a discussion about universities.
She mentioned that she had hoped to go far away from home to college, but her parents urged her to stay close.
Like me—meaning Julia—she’d said. There was no way she could have known that bit of history unless Julia told her.
I certainly had not. There were other little comments as well.
Passing remarks made to perhaps see if I would stumble in my story—as if she were testing me.
Though it was hardly solid evidence, between that, my gut instinct, and Archer, it was enough. Basically, the fool outed herself.
More importantly, she confirmed that Julia was indeed alive and up to something. I preempted whatever the plan was by making a move on my own—the leak to the Times and the watcher with the message delivered to Helen. Now, here we are.
“Tell me,” Julia snaps, “how you supposedly did this.”
“The Monster was number seven,” I explain.
“The final one I could confirm was one of them—the group of men connected to the Judge. They called themselves keepers. I can give you the list of names and addresses to google.” I look from one to the other who only stare back at me, then I go on.
“With each strike, I added an extra step by leaving the house open for anyone to walk in and do what they would. There was always a lot of items missing and a big mess by the time neighbors reported the activity and the cops showed up. What they found in each instance was no usable evidence to identify the perpetrator amid the chaos. No witnesses. Of course there were no cameras on the property. None of the keepers had cameras. Too much of a potential liability.”
Julia’s skepticism is clear. “So I’m supposed to believe you’re some sort of superhero? That you were able to go after these evil men and take them down?” She shakes her head. “Please. You had it made, why would you take such a risk?”
I laugh. “Something happened that reminded me I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what I knew.”
She waits for me to continue.
“Olivia was born.” I think of my beautiful little girl. “I couldn’t sleep at night worrying about those bastards. Knowing they were getting away with the worst one human can do to another. So I took them out, one by one over the course of five years. Yours was the final one, last April.”
She’s right. It was a risk. But one I had to take.
Sure, I could have paid someone else to do it.
There are people on the dark web who will do anything for the right price.
But whenever another person is involved, that’s the real risk.
Dead men don’t tell tales. Live ones, however, can never be trusted not to use the knowledge for future gains.
I did what I had to do.
Julia’s expression remains stone cold. She turns to Alicia. “We need to talk privately.”
“Nothing she says changes things,” Alicia argues as she snatches up her phone. “She did this to you, and now she has to pay for it. Right? We agreed.”
Sounds as if sweet little Alicia likes the idea of doing something really bad to me. No surprise. After the first kill, it always gets easier. She may not have pushed Eleanor down those stairs, but she was involved in the planning and the aftermath.
“Nothing has changed,” Julia assures Alicia as she grabs her phone, then shoots a lethal glare at me. “She’s not walking away this time.”
My old friend always was a selfish, ungrateful bitch. Too bad I didn’t see it before it was too late.
On their way out of the room, I notice that Julia has a pronounced limp. The Monster did a number on her. A moment of regret trickles into the other churning emotions. I mentally block it. No time for that. Not that she deserves it, anyway.
All involved, including me, understand that only one Julia will walk away from this, and the plan is for it not to be me. Unless I come up with a really good strategy. Fast.
Once this Brian shows up, I’ll have a serious problem.
At the moment I turn my full attention to my bindings. I figure I have a few minutes to get loose and run before they come back.