Fallen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WILL PULLED INTO HIS DRIVEWAY AND WAITED FOR THE garage door to open. All the lights were off in his house. Betty was probably floating on her full bladder like a balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. At least he hoped she was. Will was in no mood to clean up a mess.

He felt like he had killed Amanda. Not literally, not with his bare hands like he’d dreamed of doing for most of the day. Telling her what Roger Ling said, that Evelyn Mitchell was dead, was just as good as shooting her in the chest. She had deflated in front of him. All of her bravado was gone. All the arrogance and meanness and pettiness had rushed out of her, and the woman in front of him had been nothing but a shell.

Will had had the sense to wait until they were outside the prison building to relay the news. She hadn’t cried. Instead, to his horror, her knees had buckled. That was when he put his arm around her. She was surprisingly bony. Her hip was sharp under his hand. Her shoulders were frail. She seemed ten, twenty years older by the time he fastened her seatbelt around her lap and closed the car door.

The trip back had been excruciating. Will’s silence on the way down paled in comparison. He had offered to pull over but she’d told him not to stop. Just outside of Atlanta, he’d seen her hand grip the door. Will had never been to her house before. She lived in a condo in the middle of Buckhead. It was a gated community. The buildings were all regal looking with keyed corners and large, heavily trimmed windows. She had directed him to a unit in the back.

Will had idled the car, but she didn’t get out. He was debating whether or not to help her again when she said, “Don’t tell Faith.”

He’d stared at her front door. She had a flag hanging from the front post. Spring flowers. A seasonal motif. Amanda had never struck him as a flag person. He couldn’t imagine her standing on the porch in her heels and suit, leaning on tippy-toe to clip the appropriate flag onto the pole.

“We have to verify this,” she’d said, though what Roger Ling had told Will was merely a confirmation of a truth Will realized he had been sensing for most of the day.

Amanda must’ve known it, too. That was the only explanation for her earlier capitulation inside the prison waiting room. She had admitted that Evelyn was tainted because she’d known there was no reason to protect her anymore. The twenty-four-hour mark had come and gone. There had been no contact from the kidnappers. There was blood all over Evelyn’s kitchen floor, a lot of it—maybe most of it—from Evelyn. The young men they were dealing with had proven themselves to be remorseless killers, nothing more than assassins, even when it was against members of their own crew.

The odds that Evelyn Mitchell had even made it through the night were close to nil.

Will had told her, “Faith has to know.”

“I’ll tell her when I know for sure.” Her voice sounded flat, lifeless. “We meet at seven tomorrow morning. The whole team. If you’re a minute late, then don’t bother coming.”

“I’ll be there.”

“We’re going to find her. I have to see her with my own eyes.”

“Okay.”

“And if what Roger said is true, we’ll find the boys who did this, and we will rain down hell on them. Every last one. We will hound them into the ground.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her voice was so low and tired he could barely hear her. “I will not rest until every single one of them is put to death. I want to watch them slip the needle in and see their feet twitch and their eyes roll and their chests freeze. And if the state won’t kill them, then I’ll do it myself.” Amanda had pushed open the door and gotten out of the car. Will could see the effort it took her to keep her back straight as she walked up the stairs. If it were up to Amanda, if there was a way for her to will her friend to be alive, then there would be no question of Evelyn’s survival.

But that just wasn’t the case.

The garage door finally finished opening. Will pulled in and pressed the button to close the door. The garage had not been an original part of the house. Will had added on the structure in the neighborhood’s more transitional days, back when junkies knocked on his door wondering if this was still a crack den. The entrance was awkward and led into the spare bedroom. Betty raised her head from the pillow when she saw Will. There was a puddle in the corner that neither one of them was ready to talk about.

Will turned on the lights as he walked through the house. There was a chill in the air. He cracked open the kitchen door so Betty could go outside. She hesitated.

“It’s all right,” he told her, using as soothing a tone as he could muster. Her injuries were healing, but the dog still remembered last week when a hawk had swooped into the yard and tried to pick her up. And Will could still remember the groomer’s uncontrollable laughter when he’d told the man that a hawk had mistaken his dog for a rat.

Betty finally went outside, but not without a wary glance over her shoulder. Will put his car key on the hook and placed his wallet and gun on the kitchen table. The pizza from yesterday was still in the refrigerator. Will took out the box but couldn’t do anything more than stare at the gelatinous slices.

He wanted to call Sara, but this time his motivations were purely selfish. He wanted to tell her what had happened today. He wanted to ask her if it was right to wait to tell Faith that her mother was dead. He wanted to describe to her the way it felt to see Amanda brought so low. That it scared him to see her fallen so far from her pedestal.

Instead, he returned the pizza box to the fridge, made sure the back door was still cracked open, and went to take a shower. It was almost midnight. He’d been up since five this morning, having slept only a few hours the night before. Will stood under the stream of hot water, trying to wash away his day. The grime of Valdosta State Prison. The warehouse where he’d been shot at. Grady, where he’d felt dizzy with fear. Coastal, where he’d sweated so much that rings were still under the arms of his shirt.

Will thought about Betty while he dried his hair. She’d been stuck in the house all day. The puddle was a responsibility they both shared. As late as it was, he couldn’t see himself sleeping. He should take her for a walk. They could both do with stretching their legs.

He pulled on a pair of jeans and a dress shirt that was too worn to wear to work anymore. The collar was frayed. One of the buttons was broken, dangling by a thread.

He walked into the kitchen to get Betty’s leash.

Angie was sitting at the table. “Welcome home, baby. How was your day?”

Will would’ve rather driven to Coastal and faced Roger Ling again than have to talk to his wife right now.

She stood. Her arms went around his shoulders. She put her mouth close to his. “Aren’t you going to tell me hello?”

Her hands stroking his neck felt nothing like Sara’s. “Stop.”

She pulled away, feigning a pout. “Is that any kind of welcome for your wife?”

“Where have you been?”

“Since when do you care?”

He thought about it. She had posed a legitimate question. “I don’t, really. I just—” The words came out easier than he’d thought. “I don’t want you here.”

“Hmm.” She tucked her chin down, crossed her arms. “Well, I suppose this was inevitable. I can’t leave you alone after all.”

She had closed the back door. He opened it. Betty ran in. She saw Angie and growled.

Angie said, “Looks like none of the women in your life are happy to see me.”

He felt the hair on the back of his neck go up. “What are you talking about?”

“Sara didn’t tell you?” Angie paused, but he couldn’t answer her. “It’s Sara, right? That’s her name?” She gave a breathy laugh. “I have to say, Will, but she’s a little plain for you. I mean she’s all right up top, but she’s got no ass to speak of and she’s almost taller than you are. I thought you liked your women more womanly.”

Will still couldn’t talk. His blood had frozen in his veins.

“She was here when I got home yesterday. Lingering in the bedroom. Didn’t she tell you?”

Sara hadn’t told him. Why hadn’t she told him?

“She colors her hair. You know that, right? Those highlights aren’t natural.”

“What did you …?”

“I’m just letting you know she’s not the perfect little angel you think she is.”

Will forced the words out of his mouth. “What did you say to her?”

“I asked her why she was fucking my husband.”

His heart stopped. This was the reason Sara had been crying yesterday afternoon. This explained her initial coldness when he showed up at her house last night. Will’s heart clenched like a vise was around it. “You are not allowed to talk to her ever again.”

“You’re trying to protect her?” She laughed. “Jesus, Will. That’s hilarious considering I’m trying to protect you.”

“You don’t—”

“She’s got a thing for cops. You know that, right?” She shook her head at his stupidity. “I looked into her husband. He was quite a catch. Fucked anything that moved.”

“Like you.”

“Oh, come on. Try harder than that, baby.”

“I don’t want to try.” He finally said the words that he’d been thinking for the last year. “I just want it over. I want you out of my life.”

She laughed in his face. “I am your life.”

Will stared at her. She was smiling. Her eyes practically glowed. Why was it that she only ever seemed happy when she was trying to hurt him? “I can’t do this anymore.”

“His name was Jeffrey. Did you know that?” Will didn’t answer. Of course he knew Sara’s husband’s name. “He was smart. Went to college—a real one, not some correspondence school where they charge extra to mail your diploma. He ran a whole police department. They were so fucking in love that she looks cross-eyed in the pictures.” Angie grabbed her purse out of the chair. “You wanna see them? They were in the newspaper in that shithole town every other week. They did a fucking collage on the front page when he died.”

“Please, just go.”

Angie dropped her purse. “Does she know you’re stupid?”

He held his tongue between his front teeth.

“Oh, of course she does.” She almost sounded relieved. “That explains it. She feels sorry for you. Poor little Willy can’t read.”

He shook his head.

“Let me tell you something, Wilbur. You’re not a great catch. You’re not handsome. You’re not smart. You’re not even average. And you’re sure as hell not good in the sack.”

She had said this so many times before that the words no longer had meaning. “Is there a point to this?”

“I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt. That’s the point.”

He looked down at the floor. “Don’t do this, Angie. Just this one time—don’t do it.”

“Do what? Tell you the truth? Because you’ve obviously got your head so far up your ass that you can’t see what’s going on here.” She put her face inches from his. “Don’t you know that every time she kisses you, every time she touches you or fucks you, or holds you, she’s thinking about him?” She paused as if she expected an answer. “You’re just a replacement, Will. You’re just there until somebody better comes along. Another doctor. A lawyer. Someone who can read a newspaper without his lips getting tired.”

Will felt his throat tighten. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know people. I know women. I know them a hell of a lot better than you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Damn right I do. And I know you best of all.” She paused to survey the damage. Obviously, it wasn’t enough. “You’re forgetting I was there, baby. Every visiting day, every adoption rally, there you were standing in front of that mirror combing your hair, checking your clothes, primping yourself up so that some mommy and daddy might see you and take you home with them.” She started shaking her head. “But they never did, did they? No one ever took you home. No one ever wanted you. And you know why?”

He couldn’t breathe in. His lungs started to ache.

“Because there’s something about you, Will. Something wrong. Something off. It makes people’s skin crawl. It makes them want to get as far away from you as they can.”

“Just stop. All right? Stop it.”

“Stop what? Pointing out the obvious? What do you see happening with her? You’re gonna get married and have babies and live some kind of normal life?” She laughed as if this was the most ludicrous thing she’d ever heard. “You ever consider the fact that you like what we have?”

He tasted blood on the tip of his tongue. He imagined a wall between them. A thick concrete wall.

“There’s a reason you wait for me. There’s a reason you don’t go on dates and you don’t go to bars or pay for pussy like every other man in the world.”

The wall got higher, stronger.

“You like what we have. You know you can’t be with somebody else. Not really be with them. You can’t walk out on that ledge. You can’t open yourself up to someone like that, because you know at the end of the day they will always leave you. And that’s what your precious Sara is going to do, baby. She’s an adult. She’s been married before. She had a real life with somebody else. Someone who was worthy of being loved and knew how to love her back. And she’s gonna see real fast that you’re not capable of that. And then she’s gonna drop you on your ass and be gone.”

The taste of blood got stronger in his mouth.

“You’re just so fucking desperate for somebody to give you a little attention. You’ve always been that way. Clingy. Pathetic. Needy.”

He couldn’t stand her being this close to him. He walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Have you told her what happened to you? She’s a doctor. She knows what a cigarette burn looks like. She knows what happens when somebody holds two live wires to your skin.” Will drank the water in one gulp. “Look at me.” He didn’t look up, but she kept talking anyway. “You’re a project for her. She feels sorry for you. Poor little orphan Will. You’re Helen Keller and she’s whoever the fuck that bitch is who taught her how to read.” She grabbed his chin and made him face her. Will still looked away. “She just wants to cure you. And when she gets tired of trying to fix you, when she realizes that there’s no magic pill that’ll take away the stupid, she’s going to drop you back into the trash where she found you.”

Something broke inside of him. His resolve. His strength. His flimsy walls. “And then what?” he yelled. “I’ll come crawling back to you?”

“You always do.”

“I’d rather be alone. I’d rather rot alone in a hole than be stuck with you.”

She turned her back to him. Will put the glass in the sink, used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. Angie didn’t cry much, at least not for real. Every kid Will grew up with had a different survival tactic. Boys used their fists. Girls turned bulimic. Some, like Angie, used sex, and when sex didn’t work, they used tears, and then when tears didn’t work, they found something else to cut into your heart.

When Angie turned around, she had Will’s gun in her mouth.

“No—”

She pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes, held up his hands to block his face from the pieces of brain and skull.

But nothing happened.

Slowly, Will dropped his arms, opened his eyes.

The gun was still in her mouth. Dry fire. The echo of the hammer clicking was like a needle piercing his eardrum. He saw the magazine on the table. The bullet he kept in the chamber was beside it.

Will’s voice trembled. “Don’t you ever—”

“Does she know about your father, Will? Have you told her what happened?”

His whole body was shaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She dropped the gun back on the table. Her hands cupped his face. “You love me, Will. You know you love me. You felt it when I pulled that trigger. You know you can’t live without me.”

Tears came into his eyes.

“We’re not whole people unless we’re together.” She stroked his cheek, his eyebrow. “Don’t you know that? Don’t you remember what you did for me, baby? You were willing to give up your life for me. You’d never do that for her. You’d never cut yourself for anybody but me.”

He pulled away from her grasp. The gun was still on the table. The magazine felt cold in his hand. He shoved it home. He pulled back the slide to chamber a round. He held out the gun to her, muzzle pointing to his chest. “Go ahead and shoot me.” She didn’t move. He tried to take her hand. “Shoot me.”

“Stop.” She held up her hands. “Stop it.”

“Shoot me,” he repeated. “Either shoot me or let me go.”

She took the gun and dismantled it, throwing the pieces onto the counter. When her hands were free, she slapped him hard across the face. Then again. Then her fists started to fly. Will grabbed her arms. She twisted around, turning her back to him. Angie hated being held down. He pressed his body into hers, forcing her against the sink. She fought furiously, screaming, scratching with her fingernails.

“Let me go!” She kicked back at him, grinding her heel into his foot. “Stop it!”

Will tightened his grip. She leaned into him. All the anger and frustration of the last two days pooled into one place. He could feel his body responding to her, yearning to release. She managed to turn back around. Her hand went behind his neck, pulling him closer. She put her lips to his. Her mouth opened.

Will stepped back. She moved to put her arms around him again but he took another step away. He was breathing too hard to speak. This was their dance. Anger. Fear. Violence. Never compassion. Never kindness.

He took Betty’s leash off the hook. The dog pranced at his feet. Will’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely clip the leash to her collar. He took his keys off the hook and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “I don’t want you here when I get back.”

“You can’t leave me.”

He reassembled the gun and clipped the paddle holster to his jeans.

“I need you.”

He turned around to face Angie. Her hair was wild. She looked desperate, ready to do anything. He was so tired of this. So tired. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be needed. I want to be wanted.”

She didn’t have a good answer to that, so she went with a threat. “I swear I’ll kill myself if you walk out that door.”

Will left the room.

She followed him down the hallway. “I’ll take pills. I’ll slit my wrists. That’s one of your favorites, isn’t it? I’ll slit my wrists, and you’ll come home and find me. How’s that gonna make you feel, Wilbur? How’re you gonna feel if you come home from fucking your precious little doctor and I’m dead in the bathroom?”

He picked up Betty from the floor. “Annie Sullivan.”

“What?”

“That’s the woman who taught Helen Keller.”

Will went into the garage and closed the door behind him. The last thing he saw was Angie standing in the hallway, fists clenched in front of her. He got into his car. He waited for the garage door to open. He backed the car into the driveway and waited for the door to close.

Betty settled down into the seat beside him as he drove away. He cracked the window so she could enjoy the night air. Will didn’t think about where he was going until he pulled into the parking lot in front of Sara’s building. He grabbed the dog and carried her to the front entrance. Sara was on the top floor. He pressed the buzzer. He didn’t have to say anything. There was a responding buzz, and the lock clicked open.

Betty squirmed as they got into the elevator. He put her down at his feet. When they reached the top floor, she ran out into the hall. Sara’s door was open. She was standing in the middle of the room. Her hair was loose and down around her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a thin white T-shirt that didn’t do much to conceal what was underneath.

Will closed the door. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but when he finally managed to speak, none of it came out. “Why didn’t you tell me you saw Angie?”

She didn’t answer. She just stood there looking at him. Will couldn’t stop himself from looking back. Her shirt was tight. He could see the swell of her breasts, her nipples pressing into the thin material.

He said, “I’m sorry.” His voice broke. He would never forgive himself for bringing Angie into Sara’s life. It was the most awful thing he had ever done to anyone. “What she said to you. I never wanted …”

Sara walked toward him.

“I’m so sorry.”

She took his hand and turned it so that the palm was facing up. Her fingers moved nimbly over the buttons on his sleeve.

Will wanted to pull away. He needed to pull away. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t make his muscles work. He couldn’t stop her hands or her fingers or her mouth.

She pressed her lips to his bare wrist. It was the gentlest kiss he had ever known. Her tongue flicked lightly along the skin, tracing the scar up his arm. Will felt like a current was going through his body, so that by the time she kissed his mouth, he was already on fire. Her body curved into his. The kiss deepened. Her hand wrapped around the back of his head, nails scraping through his hair. Will was dizzy. He was in free fall. He couldn’t stop touching her—her narrow hips, the curve at the small of her back, her perfect breasts.

His breath caught when her hand slipped inside his shirt. Her fingers brushed over his chest, down his belly. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t falter. Instead, she put her forehead to his, looked him in the eye, and told him, “Breathe.”

Will let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding his entire life.