I’d scraped Rosanna off when life had turned into one giant clean up. Who the fuck wants to spend eternity like that? Not me. I’d rather deep throat a cross than accept the life sentence Rosanna was trying to give me as her personal knight in shining armor.
I’m not a hero.
But this woman…she’s making me want to try to play the role. If even for just a moment. Because she’s done the one thing I never thought would be possible for me. Not after my heart stopped beating. She’s made me remember that I can feel something, want something other than the sheer avoidance of nothing. Sometimes there’s something to run to, and her humanity sings to me to come closer.
What I do when I get close though, I haven’t decided.
Twelve
MARIS
When I wake up, I realize just how fucked I am. The night comes rushing back in an ugly memory, one that feels like a nightmare. As much as I pinch myself and wish that it was, I know it was real. I lift my hands and see dirt still under my nails from where I fought with Brian. The first thing I did when I got home was burn my clothes in the fireplace and scrub my skin clean.
I didn’t think about my nails.
I bet there’s some of Brian’s skin under my nails along with the dirt. My hands shake and I have to tuck them under the blanket with me.
“It wasn’t real,” I say softly, even though I’m lying to myself, it’s something. It’s a life raft that I can grab hold of to keep going while I lay in bed and wait for the telltale sound of police sirens, of someone banging on my door before they kick it in and come up the stairs to drag me away.
I count the seconds, first a minute and then five minutes. I count the seconds so long that I get to half an hour and finally an hour. There’s 3,600 seconds in an hour, I know that for a factfrom the musicals I was obsessed with as a teenager. I count, pulling the blankets tighter with each second that passes but the longer I lay there and nothing happens I start to wonder…what if I was right. What if it wasn’t real?
I lift my head and look out the window. The morning sun has moved along until it’s nearly the afternoon. I’m usually up bright and early before the sun has burned through the morning fog and mist rolling in from the sea but not today. When I manage to pull myself upright in bed, it’s just past eleven.
“Holy shit,” I whisper and stretch my arms over my head. My voice is raspy, my throat raw like I spent the night drinking and screaming at a rock concert but I didn’t do either of those things.
No, I just killed a man.
I wince and put my feet down on the floor and stand. My joints ache in protest and my body begs me to lay back down. I ignore both and go to the bathroom to try and feel human again. It’s when I’m stripping down to get into the shower that I see my reflection. My face is bruised, black and blue with a busted lip and there’s a cut above my eye. Last night, I was so focused on getting home and getting clean that I didn’t even stop to really look at the damage done to me during my fight with Brian.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss when I reach to touch the cut above my eye. It throbs and right on cue, the rest of the cuts and bruises come alive. My face feels like it’s pulsing by the time I get into the shower. I sag against the tiled wall and hold my breath while the water splashes over my cuts. I keep holding my breath while I wait for the front doors of Vesper House to be kicked open but it doesn’t happen.
It’s only me and the quiet, constant drum of the shower. No yelling cops or accusations. I shower and get out. I’m just as tense as when I went in but at least I got the blood that dried overnight off my face. I watch my bedroom door as I dress for the day, a maroon sweater, jeans and brown work boots.Standard fare for staying warm and dry in Vesper Point during the fall. I go downstairs, fully intending to make breakfast and coffee, anything semi-normal but it doesn’t take. I end up changing the radio to the AM news channel. If they found Brian, it’ll be on the broadcast for sure.
It’s not like there’s a lot of news around here. When I killed Mike, it was nearly 24/7 coverage, but when I tune in to the station there’s nothing but the normal chatter about the weather and predictions on who will win the football game on Friday evening. The suspense makes me feel sick. Queasy. Food is a no-go. There’s no way I can keep anything down right now.
Even if it’s not on the radio station, the paper will be in the know. I hesitate and then go to the living room where I left my phone. Josie would have blown up my phone demanding to know where I was if such a big story needed a reporter and a full spread for the morning. The screen lights up as I pick up my phone and my breath catches. Josie’s name is at the top of the screen with three messages from her.
My hands shake when I tap the first.
“Are you coming in today? The town council wants to touch base on the rezoning project.”
I hit the next message.
“If you’re coming in, stop and bring a round of coffees from the Perky Perch, will ya?”
My hands shake when I hit the last message and I almost sob in relief because it has zero to do with Brian Sheep.
“Nevermind. Lyle brought us a round. We got you one too.”
I stare at Josie’s messages. All three are completely normal. Like it’s any other day in Vesper Point and I didn’t kill someone the night before. My knees buckle and I collapse on the floor with a half laugh.
“No one knows,” I tell myself softly. I let the floor hold me up and take a deep breath to keep myself from vomiting. “No one knows it was you. You’re going to get away with it.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “No one knows,” I repeat and I almost smile at the fact that I’m getting away with murder when there’s a knock at the door. I freeze and look out the living room and towards the foyer.
Whoever is there knocks again, the sound echoes through the foyer and bounces into the room with me. The knock is precise, three quick raps on the door, it feels formal almost. It also reminds me that I’m wrong.
Someone does know what I did last night.
The not Father Paretti.
