Becca
Chapter 9
Becca
38 Days till Death
Come outside.
I consider ignoring Nate’s text, but I don’t want to give him a reason to come back in here.
What for? It’s fr eezing.
Now. This is not the time to test me. Get the hell outside, Murphy.
Tossing my phone on my bed I reluctantly comply with Nate’s request. I know that nothing he’d ask of me could be painless, but I hold onto the hope that it’s quick.
With a monumental effort—my mind sluggishly stitching itself back together with my body—I pull on my purple university sweatshirt and a pair of striped pajama shorts before slipping on some sneakers. Wiping my hands up and down my face, I force myself to mentally come back to the present, leaving behind the comforting memory with my mom that I’d escaped to. The house isn’t huge, but the walk to the front door is a trek, my used body stiff and revolting. My knees creak on rusty hinges with each step across the street.
“What?” A plume of breathy air races ahead of me as I approach.
“Be fucking quiet,” Nate hisses, latching his hand around my wrist and tugging me closer so that I’m right up against his car. I twist my head to glare at him and my stomach drops when I see the cut on his neck and then the reddened indent of teeth in his cheek.
“What happened to you?” The question is barely out of my mouth before his other hand smothers it. It takes great restraint to resist the urge to bite down and give him a matching wound; that will only make things worse. “I mean it, Becca. Don’t make a fucking sound. Do you hear me?” He waits for me to nod. “You’re going to be calm, cool, and collected, and you’re going to help me deal with this.” There’s no other option but to nod again. His hand doesn’t move as he turns us toward the car.
There’s another woman in his car. Has she been waiting here the whole time? Does she know why he came? One second, I’m fighting the urge to yell at her to stay far the hell away from him and the next I’m second-guessing everything, silently trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Her posture’s slumped and awkward and her hair’s covering her face in a messy nest. My gut twists. My eyes dart between her and Nate, then back again to study the woman more carefully, tracing her slightly upturned nose, the blush tint of her hair, and the familiar tattoos on her thighs. Piece by piece I see the horrific picture come together.
“Nate,” I catch my breath, “Tell me she’s sleeping.”
He’s silent at my side, his fingers shifting tighter against my face.
Icy panic seizes me. “Nate, no!” It would be a shrill scream, but it’s muffled by his firm grip.
“Shut the fuck up,” Nate growls against my ear, each word punctuated by his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Keep it the fuck together unless you want to end up just like her.”
Her, as in I don’t know her name. Her, as in the siren in the night who came to tempt me away from the safe route I’ve mapped for an easy life. Her , as in the livewire who came into my life and rebooted a long-lost part of myself.
The more time that passes as we stand here, the more I hope that this is some sick prank. Another round of psychological warfare. But she remains unconscious, and Nate doesn’t laugh or loosen his hold.
Tears spill over my lashes, dripping down his hand, then my chin. “You have ten seconds to cut that shit out, then I’m going to remove my hand and we’re going to deal with this.”
Refuse. Scream. Do something. The truest part of me protests.
My teeth chatter with how hard I’m shivering, my body revolting against my complacency. “She can’t be—” I fight to speak against the short breaths that tear through me. “We can’t just—” I suck in another gasp of air and tug at the handle frantically, but it’s locked. My wrist is pinned beneath me as he crushes my body against the driver’s side door. I squirm, but my muscles go rigid at the first prick of the knife to my side.
“It’s not my fault your little girlfriend decided to come over and play hero.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Well, she definitely isn’t anymore.”
I scoff in disgust at his sick joke.
“Look Murphy, this is getting done one way or another. Either you’re going to get your act together and be helpful or you’re going to get a new scar for every time you resist me.”
My sob of ‘okay’ is swallowed up by his hand, but he can see me nodding.
“Atta girl.” He guides me around the car, with his fingers laced through my limp ones, then opens the door like the chivalrous gentleman he’ll never be. He looks left, then right, scanning the area to make sure no neighbors are out and about—an extra step of precaution, nobody is ever out after nine unless it’s me or Aiden. Too bad he’s out of town this weekend. “Okay. You’ll grab her legs. I’ll carry her top half.”
My limbs buzz with the need to run, but I force my body to cooperate; it’s the only way to survive. “Where are we taking her?” I whisper.
“We’re going to bury her in your backyard.” My grip slackens with shock and her legs slip several inches in my grip.
“We can’t do that.” Despite my objections I keep moving; standing in the middle of the street with her isn’t an alternative.
“Yes. We. Can.” He slows so I can step back onto the curb. “That wasn’t a request. Your parents are out of town; no one will ever know if we cover it up well.”
“What about her car? Who knows who’s seen her?” The words are fast and harsh as they battle for space between my rapid breaths.
“I’m going to deal with her car. Your neighborhood is quiet as fuck; you and I both know all these people have been safely tucked in their beds for hours by now.” He drones on, but my attention catches on the ends of her gorgeous hair dragging through the dirty street. My fingers twitch with the need to sweep it over her shoulder, but I don’t dare ask him to stop. My wrists scream with tension and my legs are on fire as we waddle awkwardly through the grass. The entire time, both our heads are whipping around checking for any sign of being watched—a light flicking on, the scuffle of feet, even a gasp—but somehow, we make it behind the house and into the privacy of the backyard without incident. I buckle with relief, but Nate isn’t ready for it, and her body hits the ground with a resounding thud that immediately sends the little food I’m able to get down these days right back up.
“Get it the fuck together. You’re disgusting.” Turning away from me, Nate covers his nose with his sleeve. The irony of him getting squeamish over me puking but not when carrying a dead body is astounding.
“What are we doing?” I ask through my panting breaths. “There’s no way we’re going to get away with this. You murdered someone, Nate.” My gaze flicks to her limp body; a mistake that sends the contents of my stomach tumbling again.
“Keep your goddamn voice down.” His shadow darkens the space around me. “Yes. We. Will.” He looms over me as I wipe my face with the bottom of my oversized sweatshirt. “I already told you, there’s nothing to worry about as long as you keep your fucking mouth shut.”
My stomach twists, but this time it isn’t undigested food and stomach acid, it’s a threat that comes up. “And if I don’t?”
With the gracefulness of the elite athlete that he is, Nate strikes out and catches me by the front of my hoodie. “Look who’s finally found a backbone.” His smile is razor sharp, cutting through any flimsy scrap of bravery I’d managed to scrape together. “It would be so fun to break it.” He leans closer, our noses practically touching, and peers straight into my soul. “You’re going to keep this fucking quiet because if you say a single word, if you so much as look in the direction of where we bury her after tonight, I’ll make every day of your freedom a living fucking hell and then I’ll make sure you go down with me.” Pain shoots from the center of my face as his hold tightens, forcing tears to spring from my eyes and my lip to wobble. “Not another fucking peep out of you or I swear to god, Becca, I’ll ruin your fucking life. It would only take me a few seconds to upload the video to the right sites. And poof, your grand plan goes up in flames.” He slyly reminds me of the threat he holds over me, the one that could not only ruin my reputation and humiliate me but jeopardize the opportunity for professional success that I’ve made a lifetime of sacrifices for. “If you think you’ve had it bad up until this point, you have no idea what I’m capable of. What happens from here on out is on you.”
I grip his forearm, trying to prevent the cry of agony that’s trying to escape my trembling lips. “Okay. Okay.” I whisper my surrender so, so quietly that not even the dead can hear me.
“Don’t try me again or it’ll be my mission to make all of your worst fears come true before they take me away, and then we’ll both spend the rest of our lives rotting behind bars.” He finally releases me and stands to his full height. “Don’t throw everything away for some whore. Especially one you’re not even into.” He makes air quotes around the last four words, and I grit my teeth to hold back my defense.
Nate’s threats are never empty. Each syllable drips with violence and hatred that keeps me tethered to him, fulfilling his every whim. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll end up just like her if I don’t follow his exact instructions to the letter.
Contented by my submission, Nate continues dragging her. When he stops again, I watch in disbelief as he drops her body to the ground like she’s just a bag of garbage. There was never a day when I doubted whether Nate was a bad person or not—harassing and humiliating others has always been his specialty. My own rape and blackmail have even become routine at this point—but each new level of cruelty he shows truly shocks me. His movements are smooth, his hands steady as he rifles through the storage box we keep all the gardening tools in. His expression is flat, like he’s just going through the motions of some monotonous chore. He’s completely unmoved by the fact that he just killed some—wait…
“Wait!” I stumble to my feet, scrambling after him as I catch the brief flutter of her curled lashes. “Nate, wait. I think she’s alive. We don’t have to do this.” My voice elevates in pitch, deliriously giddy, foreign even to my own ears when it’s been so somber for the last few months. “Look!” My eyes dry as I study her for any signs of movement.
“Is that your attempt at a joke? Because it’s not funny. Stick to what you’re good at, keeping your mouth shut and opening your legs,” he snaps. “Now get the fuck over here so we can get this done. Make me ask again, and I’ll fuck you in the dirt right next to her.”
Her lips twitch and a brittle croak emerges from her.
“No. Look!” It’s an effort to force words up my throat past the rising bile his words evoke, but I’m certain of what I saw.
Unamused, he looks down at her and then he drops the shovel he just pulled out. “Oh, shit. Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit,” he hisses frantically. He shoves his hand into his pocket and he whips it out with a flash of pink glitter under the glowing solar lights that line the yard.
Our eyes meet, mine going wide with horror. “Wait, don’t do—” My train of thought disconnects and melts into a puddle of pure fear as I watch blood pour from the slash he draws across her throat. My breaths come in short, disjointed pants that rattle uncomfortably through my chest. Blinking furiously, I try to right my vision, because surely, I can’t have just witnessed a murder. But no matter how much I wish this was some kind of hallucination, there she is bleeding out right in front of me. The need to comfort her in her final moments has me jolting forward, but I don’t get far before Nate’s fist snatches the hood of my sweatshirt and jerks me backward. Heat erupts at the base of my neck, pain racing down my spine, but I remain contorted at the awkward angle when the bloodied knife is placed against my throat.
Nate towers over me radiating fury. “Do not touch her.” His spit splatters across my face. “Grab a shovel and start digging, or I swear to god I’ll throw you down there with her. I have all weekend, I can easily get rid of you, too.”
My legs are the wooden ones of a marionette as I stand and take a shovel from him. I follow his lead and impale the ground. It doesn’t take long for the cramping to start. Soon after, the soft skin on my fingers begins to burn and peel. I don’t even think about stopping, not when my arms begin protesting, and not when my knees begin to wobble. Not even when my eyes start to droop. I dig and dig in silence next to my rapist, a murderer, a fucking monster if I ever met one. What does that make me, though? If he’s a monster and I’m dutifully helping him, does that make me one, too?
I’m shaken by my thoughts when Nate’s phone camera shutters as loud as gunfire in the silent night.
“What the hell are you doing?” Panic flares within me.
“Consider it insurance, Princess. Wouldn’t want that moral compass to kick in while I’m gone.” He drops his shovel, then aims his camera at me again, catching me in yet another vulnerable moment to add to his collection, right along with the one that got me under his thumb in the first place. The footage of me whimpering and moaning as multiple faceless men take their turns with me replays in my mind for the thousandth time. The humiliating video prevents me from fighting back and his violent hands hold me prisoner. I might not be in the ground, but I’m still trapped.
“You can’t just leave me with this.” The layered anger at my compounding circumstances is clear in my voice.
Nate raises his brow in a warning that sends a chill down my spine. I shut my mouth and resume my digging. Pleased with the effect he has on me, he continues. “I need to get rid of her car.”
“How are you even going to get back after you get rid of her car?”
“Aww, don’t worry that pretty little head. I have a plan.” He taps his temple. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He begins to leave, but turns back unexpectedly, his hand gripping the back of my neck painfully, “Oh, and Becca, don’t do anything rash. Mkay?” His hold tightens further. “Just keep your head down and keep digging.” He gives me a hard shove that sends me crashing to my knees. Instead of shooting a glare at him, I keep my eyes pinned to the puddle of red that stains the grass in front of me. I’ll need to hose this whole area down. I make a callous mental note.
When I hear the engine humming to life, I crawl over to her body. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry...” Without a name to attach to it, my apology falls weak and empty. The least I can do is restore some fragment of her dignity. With a shaking hand, I brush the tangles of hair away from her face. Next, I take the hem of her skirt and tug at the edges, straightening it so she’s no longer exposed. In the process, my knuckle grazes her skin, the coolness catching me by surprise and causing me to flinch away. Shame burns me at the lack of humanity.
I should say a few words for her, but what do you say to someone when you don’t know anything about them but the precise weight of their eyes on you…and the taste of their lips, the melodic rhythm of their pulse, and the soft lingering scent of rose that clings to the shitty princess dress I still haven’t thrown away like I swore to myself I would. I’ve tried so hard to forget about her and yet, now I’m certain that she’ll live on in my memory. She wasn’t the kind of woman to be erased so easily.
“You deserved better. If there’s an afterlife, I hope you find some peace.” It’s all I’ve got and it’s pathetic. I want to vomit again, but there’s nothing left in me besides my self-loathing.
Returning to the hole and picking up my shovel, I defy the urge to run. There’s nowhere to run; he owns me. I’m absolutely fucked by those pictures he snapped of me. With each scoop of dirt, time loses its grip on me. It’s just the sinking of the shovel and the ever-growing hole. When Nate returns, we fall in sync, maintaining a morbid rhythm until we finally create something big enough to fit a body and then some.
“Stop. Okay, now help me grab her,” Nate commands between heavy breaths. He’s in amazing shape, but even someone with a lifetime athletic career would feel the wear of the work we just put in.
Hesitantly, I grip a cold, lifeless ankle in each hand and help him lower her into the makeshift grave. We can’t reach the bottom, so we have to drop her the rest of the way. I wince at the thump, looking anywhere but at her beautiful face that Nate’s already starting to cover with dirt. As her body is covered inch by inch, I keep my eyes on the thorny rose tattoo that wraps around her arm. It’s beautiful like she is— was . Bile rises in my throat as I remember the way her soft body felt against mine, the way her tongue provoked me, the way she seemed eager to light a fire inside me. I wish I’d let her, maybe it would have saved us both. Maybe we never would have ended up here.
I turn my frustration on Nate. “They’re going to notice a huge pile of disturbed dirt in the yard.”
“Obviously. That’s why you’re going to figure out a way to cover it up.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“You garden, don’t you?” he jerks his head in the direction of the flower beds. I hate that he’s learned so much about me through my social media that he has way too much fun tearing apart.
“I don’t think a couple of flowers are going to cover this up,” I argue.
“Then I guess you better be creative and make a nice little surprise for mommy and daddy that they’re never going to want to tear up. I don’t give a shit what it is, but it better be done quickly.”
It’s an absurd plan, but the only one we’ve got. We. The fact that I’ve already accepted the fate that we’re in this together makes me want to toss myself in there with her. I might as well be dead if this is the level I’ve allowed myself to stoop to. I’m nearly as guilty as he is.
“Move.” Nate shoves me back and I stumble, falling onto my ass. The impact knocks the wind out of me temporarily, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy smoothing over the dirt and taking a picture. I’m not ready for it when he snatches me by the hair and drags me on my hands and knees over to the grave.
“Say cheese.” His pearly white smile is rotten as he snaps several incriminating photos. “Make sure you take care of this today. I want you to send me a picture when you’re done. I’ll let you know if it’s good enough.”
Without waiting for a response from me—which would be irrelevant to him anyways—he disappears into the night, leaving my world turned completely upside down once again.
37 Days till Death
Planting roses on no sleep is almost as hard as digging the grave that sits beneath my bare feet, even for a seasoned gardener like me. Before the store even opened, I was out there waiting. There wasn’t a second to waste. In my urgent, exhausted state, I hit a few curbs on my way, but I just wanted to get it over with. I need to put the paranoia to rest that she’s going to waltz out of this hole at any moment and seek her revenge.
I might not have really known her, but I feel connected to her through the intimacy we shared —that I wasn’t as successful at burying . It’s as if I can feel her rage pulsing up through the dirt, reaching for me as I attempt to create a space for new life to somehow balance out the death that’s now touched this house.
“I think you like roses. Well, I hope so, since you had them tattooed on you. I got the red ones to match and some pink since that seems like your favorite color,” I mumble to myself and the dead body beneath me. “It’s the least I could do, but I didn’t want your grave to be completely unmarked. And I—” My breath catches as I fight to suppress the tears that want to release. “I just figured it might be a nice homage. Might make things a little less morbid, you know.”
Of course, there’s no response, but I can imagine her disdain at my weak attempt at comfort. It was absurd, seeking some kind of solace, even an ounce of redemption from this small act of—I guess I can’t exactly call it kindness—but maybe thoughtfulness. I don’t know what else to do, though, I was backed into a corner where I had to choose me or her. And since she was already dead, it didn’t make sense to end up down there with her. Despite how I try to rationalize my way out from under it, the guilt of my actions sits heavily on my shoulders. My body is wracked with tension as I work, just waiting for a hand to shoot out of the dirt and latch onto me. If anyone was going to become a vengeful spirit, I could see it being her, so I continue trying to appease her.
“This is going to be beautiful, just like you. Not just like you, you were prettier, obviously, but it’ll keep a small part of you alive, at least.”
My arms are shaking by the time all the stones are laid, further disguising the rectangular hole in our otherwise undisturbed yard, but I still have so much more to go. Putting together the trellis is definitely supposed to be a two-person job, but I’d rather struggle all day than ask Nate for help, so I suffer through it. Next, I fill the bird bath that will sit on one side. The final touch is the bench that will sit under the vine-covered arch.
When I finally stand back to admire my handy work, it’s impossible to deny that it’s a little twisted to have it set up like a place of enjoyment, but having random rose bushes with nothing else around them looks way too suspicious. The only silver lining in all of this is that by some cosmic coincidence, it’s my parents’ anniversary weekend, and I’m going to play this off as an elaborately planned gift. They’ll never suspect a thing.
With everything finally in place, it’s like all of the energy and adrenaline that has been driving me simply evaporates from my body like the remaining water did hours ago. Instead of hydrating and going into the air conditioning, I lay down on the hard bench and close my eyes.
Wouldn’t it be nice if some vultures would come by and pluck my eyes out right now? Unfortunately, despite the random heatwave that seems to be summoned by spite, I’m nowhere near any starving avian creatures who would tear me apart like I deserve. With that lovely thought, I feel my consciousness slip away.
“Becca,” a little girl’s voice whispers in my ear, startling me awake. I sit up quickly, scanning the area around me, but there’s no one here.
“Hello?” I call out, but nobody answers. Straining my ears, I listen for the clumsy steps of small feet or mischievous laughter, but all I hear is the rustling of the trees in the breeze.
The temperature has dropped quite a bit, the cool air clinging to the sunburnt patches on my skin. Shuddering, I attempt to shake off the chill that’s seeping into my bones. I should really get inside. Moving as quickly as my sore muscles will allow, I go inside and close the sliding door behind me. My cramping fingers fumble to click the lock in place and I can’t help how my eyes dart around the yard. I don’t feel so alone here anymore, and I find myself hoping that my parents will return early from their trip.
Dirt and sweat cling to me just as heavy as the guilt, as I stand under the spray in an attempt to wash away my sins. Going through the motions, I lather up my soap, but when I look down, red seeps between my fingers, congealing and dripping like the blood did from her tattooed throat. With frenzied motions, I scrub my hands together desperate to get it off, but when I blink through the tears, there’s just foamy bubbles coating them.
No. I cannot afford to lose it. Finals are just a few weeks away. My teeth start to chatter, the perfectly aligned enamel clacking together at the same pace as my frantic heartbeat, despite the steaming water pounding down on me.
“Get your shit together,” I scold myself.
Black spots start to crowd around the edges of my vision, so I sink to the floor on unsteady legs and lie down. The last thing I need is to fall and crack my head while home alone.
I blink in and out of consciousness for what feels like hours, but there’s no amount of time that could cleanse the blood from my hands or the stains on my soul after everything I’ve done in the last twenty-four hours.
Regret drowns out all my other thoughts as I go through the motions—dragging the towel back and forth over my skin harshly, grinding the bristles of my toothbrush until blood turns the toothpaste pink, and tearing through the knots in my hair in a way that jerks my head to the side. The discomfort is hardly a distraction, my mind continuously turning back to the slash of Nate’s knife and the splitting of skin.
Opening the medicine cabinet, I search for something . My eyes stick on the orange prescription bottle for a few seconds too long before I grab the Benadryl, pouring two pink pills into my hand; this might just do the trick.
It doesn’t take long for darkness to close in, cool and comforting, around me. My thoughts finally slow, the serrated edge of all the stress dulling until I can completely ignore it. I roll over, getting cozy on my preferred side and I feel the familiar softness of my bed drift away into that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep—my only escape these days. But instead of floating in an abyss, packed earth presses against my hip and the stench of death is pungent in the air. When I try to launch myself from the impending nightmare, dirt falls into my mouth and over my eyes, rapidly weighing down my limbs. Bugs clamber up my legs, but the worst of it is the silky hands that grip my wrists, pinning me down.
“I told you that you’d be mine,” the voice above me whispers before everything goes black.