Indelible

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tuesday

Sara woke from a hard sleep, no dreams to frighten her this time. She was in Jared's small bed, tooking at a life-size rubber eagle, one of Auburn University's mascots, suspended by piano wire over her head. How the boy managed to sleep with that thing hovering, as if it was going to pounce at any moment, was a mystery. Little boys were strange creatures, as evidenced by the bug-eyed iguana hungrily staring at her from its glass cage.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The air conditioning was on, but she was hot from the afternoon nap. Sara had never liked sleeping in the middle of the day, and as if to remind her of this, her right temple throbbed with a dull pain.

In the kitchen, she found a Coke and some aspirin. Between the caffeine and the drugs, she hoped to chase away what was beginning to feel like a migraine headache. Maybe the cotton mill or the quarry spat toxic fumes into the air. Sara had been nursing a headache from the moment she got to Sylacauga.

She padded to the back of the house, feeling a bit like the walking dead. Naps were supposed to be replenishing, but she felt like she hadn't slept a wink. Maybe she had dreamed and just could not remember. If it was bad enough to make her body feel this way, Sara was glad she had forgotten whatever nightmare her mind had come up with.

Nell had warned her not to use the children's bathroom, and after a quick glance, Sara saw why. Towels and clothes were strewn about and there was a suspicious number of toys in the bathtub, considering Jen's and Jared's ages.

She walked through the master bedroom, thinking Nell had surprisingly good taste when given a palate that did not include orange and blue. A huge sleigh bed with a homemade quilt was angled out from the corner, giving a great view of the sunny backyard. An antique rocker was in the corner, and a large chest of drawers had a television on top.

Like the bedroom, the bathroom was neat and tidy. The towels matched the quilt on the bed, and the throw rugs on the floor complimented everything. Sara put the Coke bottle on the edge of the tub as she used the toilet, covering a large yawn with the back of her hand. She was trying to peel off a piece of toilet tissue from the roll when she heard someone in the house. Like some sort of barn animal, Sara had left the bathroom door open, and she rushed to wipe and pull up her pants just as a loud crash came from the front room. Without thinking, she opened her mouth to ask if anyone needed help, but stopped when she heard a suspicious-sounding noise.

Carefully, she walked into the bedroom as another loud crash echoed through the house. Whoever it was had made it to the kitchen. Doors slammed closed one after the other as someone searched the cabinets, just as Sara had done in Jessie's kitchen the day before.

She glanced around, realizing she was trapped in the back of the house. The bathroom led to the bedroom, and other than the window, the only way out was through the hall. Footsteps padded down the hallway as she considered this, and Sara ran back to the bathroom and jumped into the tub, hiding behind the curtain just as the intruder walked into the bedroom.

Whoever was here was looking for something – that much was obvious. The closet door was opened and stuff was shoved off the shelves and onto the floor. Sara felt a bead of sweat roll down her back as the intruder entered the bathroom.

She could see the shadow of a large man standing by the toilet, a few inches from where she hid. The light cast him in shadow, and even though Sara knew he could not see her, she felt exposed, as if any minute she would be found. The man reached down and took something off the edge of the tub. The Coke bottle. He would see that there was condensation, feel the refrigerated drink inside.

He said, "Who's there?"

Sara put her hand to the back of the shower, feeling the cool tiles. Her mind flashed back to that bathroom in Atlanta, where her attacker had left her handcuffed to the stall. She could not forget the sensation of the cold tiles pressing into her bare knees. She had stared at those tiles for what seemed like hours as she waited to be found. Her mouth had been taped shut to keep her from screaming, and there was nothing she could do but watch her life bleed out onto the floor.

The curtain screeched back on the rod, and she jumped, pressing her back to the wall.

Robert stood there with the Coke in his hand. He was obviously angry to see her. "What are you doing here?"

Sara put her hand to her chest, relief washing over her like a flood. She lost it quickly, though, as she realized that she was not the one who did not belong in the house. Why was Robert here? What was he looking for?

She tried, "I was…"

Robert looked around, as if an excuse were hidden somewhere in the bathroom. "Get out of there, Sara."

She wanted to do as he said, but her feet would not move.

"What do you want?" he asked her. When she did not answer, he put the bottle down on the counter and started rooting through the bathroom cabinet.

"Nell should be back soon," Sara told him as he threw towels and boxes onto the floor.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Possum took them all to see the dollar movie and out to eat."

Sara finally managed to move. Robert would not hurt her; he was Jeffrey's friend. She lifted her foot over the edge of the tub, saying, "Jeffrey should -"

"He won't be back for a while," Robert said, then, "Don't go anywhere, Sara."

Still, she kept moving, heading toward the door. "I'm just -"

"Don't move!" he ordered, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls. There was a wild look to his eyes, and she slowly realized how desperate he was.

She fought back the panic welling inside of her. "I have to go."

He stood, blocking her way. "Go where?"

"Jeffrey's waiting on me."

"Where?"

"At the station."

He stared a hole right through her. "You're lying, Sara. Why are you lying to me?" When she did not answer immediately, he yelled, "Why are you here, goddammit? You're not supposed to -"

"I-I…" she stammered, looking for the right words. She had never felt scared of Robert before, but like a lead weight, it fell on her that he was wanted for murder. Looking at him now, she wondered if Jeffrey was wrong. Maybe if he was backed into a corner, Robert was capable of killing.

"Come with me," he said, grabbing her by the arm, not giving her a choice. He threw Sara toward the rocking chair, ordering, "Sit down."

Sara tried to refuse, but her knees gave out and she sank into the rocker.

Robert went to the large chest of drawers under the window, close enough to stop her if she tried to move. The television had tinfoil-wrapped clothes hangers bent awkwardly to form antennae. Robert opened the top drawer and the tinfoil made a dry, scritchy noise.

"What are you looking for?" she asked. "Money? Do you need money? I can give you -"

He was on her in a flash, his hands grasping the arms of the rocker, his face less than an inch from hers. "I don't want your fucking money! Do you think money's gonna solve this? Is that what you think?"

"I -"

"Dammit!" He pushed away from her, the chair rocking violently. In a flash, his calm returned, and he went back to the chest of drawers. Sara watched as he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small black box that she instantly recognized as a gun safe.

She jumped out of the chair, but stopped when he turned on her, the same angry expression on his face. She pressed into the wall, trying to edge her way to the door as he dialed the combination on the safe. She should move faster. Why wasn't she running? Why couldn't she move?

He seemed calmer now that he had found what he was looking for. "Where're you going?"

"Why do you need a gun?"

"I'm leaving town," he said, using his thumb to dial in the combination. The safe popped open, and he took out the gun. "Six-thirteen, the final score for the last game we played against Comer."

"I should -"

He pointed the gun at her. "Don't go, Sara."

Again, her mind flashed back to the terror she had endured in the bathroom at Grady Hospital, bleeding from everywhere, unable to move her arms or legs, unable to get help. She would not – could not – be trapped like that again. There would be no surviving after that.

He ordered, "Sit down," indicating the chair.

She wanted to be calm, but her heart would not obey. "I won't tell anyone," she told him, realizing that she was begging.

"I can't trust you to do that," he said, using the gun to wave her back to the chair. "Come over here and sit down." He waited for her to comply. When she didn't, he added, "I'm sorry about before. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

She stared at the gun, willing her words to be true. "It's not loaded."

He pulled back the slide with a sharp, metallic click. "It is now."

She stayed where she was. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," he told her, then, "Tie you up."

Sara's heart jumped into her throat. She could not be tied up. She would go crazy if she was confined like that. She tried to take a breath, but realized that was the problem. She was breathing too much, too hard.

"I need a head start," he told her, though she had not asked. He pointed the gun at her again. "Get away from the door, Sara. I will shoot you."

"Why?" she asked, praying that logic would kick in, but also wondering if this was the last thing Luke Swan saw before his head was blown apart.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, as if that would reassure her despite the fact that he was pointing a gun at her chest. "But you'd tell Jeffrey and he'd find me."

Sara felt her hands start to tremble. She would hyperventilate soon if she did not get her breathing under control. "I don't know where Jeffrey is."

"He'll be back here soon enough," Robert told her, going through the closet again, still keeping the gun trained on her. He kicked out a small toolbox. "He can't leave you alone. I've never seen anything like it."

Sara gauged the distance to the hallway. Robert was still an athlete. He could make a dash as quickly as she could. A bullet would be even faster, but she had to take the chance. She took a small, almost imperceptible step, closing her distance to the door.

Robert snapped open the toolbox with one hand. He kept his eyes on Sara even as he pulled out a roll of silver duct tape.

Her mouth opened, but she could not take a breath. Her attacker had used the same kind of tape to keep Sara quiet while he raped her. She had been unable to scream as he assaulted her.

"I wish there was something else I could use," Robert said. "This is going to hurt when it comes off."

"Please," she said, her voice shaking. "Lock me in the closet."

"You'll still yell."

"I won't," she promised him, her legs shaking so badly she thought her knees might give out. "I swear I won't yell," she repeated, tears streaming down her face at the thought of the tape touching her skin. Somehow, she managed to take another step toward the door. She held out her hands to him, saying, "I promise I'll be quiet. I won't say a word."

The fact that she was on the verge of being out of control seemed to make him even more calm, and he spoke to her in what sounded like a reasonable voice. "I can't trust you to do that."

She barked a sob. "Oh, please, Robert. Please don't do this. Please…"

"Don't -"

Sara bolted toward the door, heading into the hallway. Robert went from a crouch to a dead run, and she felt his fingertips brush against her arm as she passed by. Sara dared not look over her shoulder as she rounded into the living room. She was almost to the front door when hands clamped around her waist, slamming her into the coffee table as Robert tackled her from behind. Possum's Auburn memorabilia fell to the ground and shattered, the thick glass top of the table cracking it neatly in two underneath their combined weight. The wind was knocked out of Sara, and she felt her lungs lurch in her chest.

"Goddammit," Robert said, jerking her up by the waist. Sara's arms flew up, and her feet scattered glass all over the room as he dragged her back toward the bedroom.

"Please -" she begged, digging her fingernails into the back of his hand. She clawed for anything to stop him, hanging onto the wall, knocking down pictures and plants. She grabbed onto the doorjamb as he tried to force her into the bedroom and she felt her fingernails tear as he finally managed to shove her inside.

"Jesus," Robert yelled, dropping Sara onto the floor as she raked a chunk of skin off his arm. She scrambled to get up, screaming in her head but unable to make any noises come out of her mouth. Her hands were bleeding, but she would fight him more if she had to.

"Stop it!" he warned, kicking her feet out from under her. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the door and he picked her up by the middle again.

Sara finally managed to yell, "Let me go!" just as Robert threw her back on the floor. Her head banged against the wood and she felt her stomach roll, her eyelids flutter.

"Sara," he said, helping her sit up. He cradled her head in his lap, saying, "Stop this. I don't want to hurt you."

"Robert, please…" she begged, fighting not to be sick. She tried to get up but there was no strength left in her body. All of her muscles felt useless and she could not make her eyes focus on anything.

Robert rested her head back onto the floor and dragged the rocking chair from the other side of the room. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said, gently picking her up off the floor. Her arms and legs flapped like a rag doll's as he placed her in the chair. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat, and without warning, the room began to pitch again.

"Don't pass out," he told her, though she wondered how he could stop her. Sara had never passed out in her life, but her head was reeling so much that she thought she might be concussed.

She took deep breaths even though her ribs ached from the effort. Robert stared at her, watching her every move. After what seemed like several minutes, Sara's vision cleared, and her stomach stopped feeling so tight.

"Just got the wind knocked out of you," Robert said, obviously relieved. Still, he kept his hand on her chest for a minute, making sure she could sit up on her own. He kept a careful eye on her as he stretched out a strip of tape. He pulled down her sock, then wrapped the tape around her ankle and the leg of the chair.

Sara watched, incapable of doing anything to stop him.

"I can't go to prison," he said. "I thought I could, but I just can't. I can't have another night like last night."

He taped her other leg to the chair, which began to rock. Sara felt her stomach turn, but he stopped the rocking, then sat back on his heels, looking at her. "I want you to tell Possum I'll send him money when I get settled. He's worked his ass off to get that store, and I'm not going to have him lose it because I jumped bail."

Sara strained her legs against the tape, feeling her circulation being cut off. "Robert, please don't do this."

He fed out another strip of tape. "Put your hand on the arm of the chair."

Sara did not move, and he lifted her arm by the wrist and put it on the chair for her.

"I can't do this," she said, feeling like the life was seeping out of her. "I can't do it."

He stared at her with curiosity, as if she was overreacting. He offered, "I won't tape your mouth if you promise not to yell for help."

She broke into tears again, so grateful for this small concession that she would have done anything for him.

"Please don't cry," he said, taking out his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She thought of Jeffrey and his handkerchief, and how gentle he was with her. Sara started to cry even harder.

"Jesus," he whispered, as if Sara was punishing him. "It won't be long," he said. "Don't be like this, Sara. I won't hurt you." He looked startled for a moment, saying, "You cut your eye."

She blinked, just now noticing the blood clouding her vision.

"Damn, I'm so sorry," he said, wiping the blood. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean for anybody to get hurt."

She swallowed, feeling some of her strength come back. Maybe she could reason with him. Maybe she could talk him into stopping now. She would promise not to yell, not to call anyone, if he would just leave her arm free.

Robert folded the handkerchief into a neat square. She tried to think of a way to get to him, to make him see that she was not a threat. "I'll tell Possum about the money," she said. "Who else? Who else do you want me to talk to? What about Jessie?"

He tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket and picked up the tape. "I tried to write a letter, but I've never been much good at that kind of thing."

"She'll want to know," Sara insisted. "Tell me, and I'll tell her."

"Jessie doesn't care about me."

"She does," Sara pressed. "I know she does."

He exhaled slowly, using his teeth to cut off a strip of tape.

Sara bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"I tried to make things work," he told her, taking her wrist. Sara tried to jerk away, but he forced her hand down to the arm of the chair.

She stared at his fingers as he taped her arm, feeling such deep despair that it almost took her breath away.

He sat back on his heels again. "That's not so bad." He reached out his hand to touch her mouth. "You bit your lip," he told her. Sara jerked away without thinking, and a look of hurt flashed in his eyes, as if he had not been the one responsible for all of this.

"I'm not what you think," he said. "I really did love her."

"Please let me go," she begged.

He rubbed his hands on his thighs. The gun was on the floor beside him, but Sara was hardly in a position to reach down and grab it. He had taped her tightly to the chair.

He repeated, almost to himself, "I really did love her."

Sara stared at the gun as if she could will it into her hand. She tried to fight the tremor in her voice when she said, "You say that like you don't anymore."

"I don't know what went wrong." He gave a weak smile. "What tells you in your heart that you love Jeffrey?"

"I don't know," Sara answered, unable to take her eyes off the gun. Finally, she forced herself to look at him, saying, "Robert, please. Don't leave me like this. I can't do it. I can't take it."

"You'll be okay."

"Not like this," she said. "Please. I'm begging you."

"Tell me what it is that makes you love Jeffrey," Robert asked, as if striking some sort of bargain. "What is it that makes you know?"

"I don't know."

"Come on," he said, and she realized that he was trying to help her calm down so that it would be easier for him to do what he needed to do.

"I don't know," she repeated. "Robert -"

"Has to be something," he said, giving her a forced smile, as if they were a couple of good people brought together under bad circumstances. "Don't tell me it's his sense of humor and great personality."

Sara racked her brain for something to tell him. There had to be a right answer, an answer that would make him free her from the chair and let her go, but she could think of nothing to say.

"You don't know?"

She told him the only thing she could think of. "It's the little things. That's what Nell says it is with Possum – the little things."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed, trying to keep her panic down, trying to remember what Nell had said. Sara's voice sounded muted in her ears, as if she was talking underwater. "He's always home when he says he'll be and he doesn't mind going to the grocery store for her."

Robert gave a sad smile as he stood. "Maybe I should've gone to the grocery store for Jessie."

Sara felt her brain trying to make a connection but she could not understand why. Still, her mouth kept talking. "I'm sure you did sometimes."

He spooled out an extra-long strip of tape, using his teeth to tear it, letting the roll drop to the floor. "Never did," he told her, wrapping the tape around her chest and upper arms, fixing her back flat to the chair. "She said she liked doing that stuff. Made her feel like she was taking care of me."

"You never went to the grocery store?" Sara asked. Something Jeffrey had told her the night before clicked into place, and she felt an eerie sort of calmness spread over her.

He looked around for the tape. "Damn," he said, wincing as he knelt down in front of the bed. He put his hand to his stomach where he had been shot. "Rolled under the bed," he told her, bracing his hand against the mattress as he bent to retrieve the tape.

"You never went to the store for her?" Sara repeated, watching him kneel in front of the bed. His hand was still on the mattress, and in her mind she saw the bloody outline around Luke Swan's hand on the bed.

"Never went to the store," he assured her, sitting back up, breathing heavily. "Shit, that hurt."

Despite the fact that she could not move, Sara suddenly felt herself gaining some control over the situation. "Did she drive your truck much?"

"That's a funny question," he said, but still answered, "Yeah. She hated to, but if I parked behind her in the driveway, it was easier than backing them both out."

Sara strained her wrist against the tape, trying to see if there was any give, saying, "It wasn't you who went out to the store that night, was it, Robert? It was Jessie. She went in your truck."

He stretched out another long piece of tape. He would not look at her, and instinctively she knew that he wanted her to continue.

"The night Luke was shot," she said, almost dreading his answer. "Sunday. Was Jessie in your truck on Sunday?"

The strip was too long and the tape had folded on itself. He tried to pick it apart. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jessie was in your truck," Sara told him, more sure of herself now. "She went to the grocery store that night. There was milk and juice in your refrigerator. I saw the grocery list in your truck."

He continued to pick at the tape as if it could be saved.

"If it was Jessie who went to the store, then it was Jessie who came home. You told the truth, but you swapped things around. It was Jessie who came home, and it was you -" She stopped, astonished. "It was you in the bedroom," she said. "You were with Luke Swan, not Jessie."

Robert gave a forced laugh, giving up on the strip of tape and wadding it into a ball.

Sara continued to press, still certain of what had happened. "You were on the floor, kneeling in front of the bed."

"Maybe one will be enough," he said, picking up the roll of tape.

"Was Luke behind you when he was shot?"

He tore off a four-inch strip. "I'm going to have to cover your mouth."

She fought back her fear, needing to know the truth. "Just tell me what happened, Robert. You didn't kill him. I know you didn't kill him. Was it Jessie? Did she find you? Robert, you have to tell someone. You can't just leave it like this."

He started to put the tape over her mouth, but stopped at the last minute. Sara stared at him as he tried again, but something would not let Robert cover her mouth.

He walked back a few steps, sitting on the bed with obvious discomfort. He held the tape in his hands, cradling it like he was afraid it would explode.

Sara forced herself to speak gently, not knowing how far she could push him. She asked, "You were with Luke that night, weren't you?"

Robert stared at his hands, his silence enough of an answer to keep her going.

"Did Jessie know before that night?" She paused, then asked, "Robert?"

He slowly shook his head. "I tried so hard with her," he finally said. "She was the only woman in the world I thought I could be a husband to." He looked out the window into the backyard. Sara wondered if he was thinking of family barbecues and picnics, playing catch with the son he could never have. "She was supposed to be gone for a while," Robert continued. "Said she was going to her mama's, then to the grocery store, like she did every Sunday night."

"What happened?"

"She got into a fight with her mama." He let out a weary sigh. "She came home early, had time enough to put up all the groceries. Some kind of cop I am, huh? Didn't even hear her in the kitchen."

"Did she walk in on you?"

"She thought I was still over at Possum's watching the game."

"Did she walk in on you?" Sara repeated.

"I kept it hidden," he said, still not answering her question. "I kept it hidden for all these years." He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "I made a deal with God. I promised Him I wouldn't do it anymore if He would give Jessie a baby." He dropped his hand. "That's all we needed, see, was to be a family. I would've been a good father."

Obviously, he expected some sort of confirmation, because he looked away when Sara would not give it. "God just knew better than to let it happen. Maybe He knew I couldn't hold up my end of the bargain."

"God doesn't make those kinds of deals."

"No," he said. "Not for men like me."

"Being gay doesn't make you a bad person."

He winced at the word.

Sara strained her leg against the tape, trying to see if there was any chance of escape.

"Everything I did with her turned to poison," he said. Inexplicably, a genuine smile came to his lips. "You know what it's like to be in love for the first time in your life?"

Sara did not answer.

"Dan Phillips," he said. "Damn, but he was beautiful. I know you wouldn't think a boy could be that way, but he had these baby-blue eyes that…" He put his hand to his mouth, then dropped it. "Does that make you sick to hear?"

"No."

"It made me sick," he said. "Julia caught us behind the gym. Hell, I never took any of her favors. Dan, neither. We didn't know that was where she met boys." He gave a harsh laugh. "It was our first time. First and last."

"What did she do?"

"Screamed to high fucking hell," he said. "I've never felt so ashamed in my life. Threw up for the next week, just thinking about how she looked at us. Like we were filth. Hell, we were filth. Dan ran off. Just left town. Couldn't take seeing my face anymore."

"Is that why you killed her?"

He looked wounded, as if she had insulted him. "If that's what you want to think, go ahead."

"I want to know the truth."

He stared at her for a beat. "No." he said. "I didn't kill her. For a while, I thought Jeffrey might have, but…" He shook his head. "Jeffrey didn't do it. There's probably a long list of men in this town who hated her for one reason or another, but he's not like that."

"You didn't rape her, either."

"No. That was just her way of torturing me, spreading that damn rumor. She thought I'd say what I was, try to defend myself by letting everybody know." His face turned into a scowl. "Like I'd do that. I'd rather die than let anybody know."

Sara had to ask. "And Jeffrey?"

"She thought I'd take up for him. Some friend I was, huh? Let people think Jeffrey raped her just to hide my secret." He paused, making sure she was listening. "I told you, Sara. I would rather die than have it get out."

He looked her in the eye when he said this, and Sara understood the threat.

She had to keep him talking. "Is that why you took the blame for shooting Luke?"

Robert stared at her, silent. "It was the same thing all over again."

"What was?"

"He knew," he said. "Takes one to know one, I guess."

"Luke?"

"I had him in the back of my car one night. Picked him up on a loitering charge down by the bowling alley." Robert looked out the window again. "He was cold, so I gave him my jacket. One thing led to another. I don't even really remember how it happened…just that it felt so good, and then the next day, it felt so horrible."

Sara could see the anguish on his face, and despite the situation, she found herself feeling sorry for him.

"I don't know how, but he kept my letterman jacket. Maybe he stole it out of the car when I wasn't looking. Doesn't matter how he got it, but my name's on it big as day. He called me at the station the next morning. Said he was going to wear it around town, tell everybody he was my girlfriend." He snorted in disgust at the word. "He kept following me around, flirting with me like a damn girl." His jaw worked, and he stared down at his hands.

"You could have just told him to go away," Sara pointed out. "No one would have believed him over you."

"That's not how it works here," he said, and part of her knew that Robert was right. Gossip was currency in a small town. Even a rumor that seemed improbable had more value than the boring truth of an everyday, normal life.

She asked, "What happened, Robert?"

He took his time answering, the truth more horrible to him than the lie he had been telling for the last few days. "I was weak. I just wanted somebody to comfort me, to feel right with." He looked back up at Sara, as if he expected her to any moment voice some kind of revulsion. "I called him up, told him to come over. Told him I wanted him to fuck me. You like hearing that? You know what we were doing, don't you? Fucking up the ass like two fairies."

Sara was unfazed. "Were you in love with him?"

"I hated him," he said, and she could tell by Robert's tone of voice that he really did. "He was like holding up a mirror, looking at myself. All the ugly things about me." Under his breath, he added, "Fucking fairy. Faggot."

"Is that why you killed him?"

A car pulled up outside and they both waited as a door was closed. Seconds later, they heard Nell's next-door neighbor go into his house and slam the door. If he noticed the dogs were missing, he did not seem to care.

Sara prompted, "Robert?"

Again Robert paused before answering. "Jessie came in on us," he finally said. "She heard us. The noises we were making." He looked back at Sara as if to gauge her reaction. "She got my gun because she thought somebody had broken into the house. Didn't even bother to call the police." He jumped to a tangent. "That was what the fight with Faith was about. That's why she was home early."

Sara waited, not understanding.

"The fight with her mama. They were arguing because Jessie showed up stoned out of her mind. Drunk on something, taking pills, whatever. Her mama always blamed me for that even though Faith's drunk most days, out there swigging out of a flask when she's supposed to be watering the garden. That's how Jessie got through her life with me. That's how she dealt with my failures. She took pills to keep the pain back."

Sara heard the next-door neighbor slam his front door again. Sara waited, hoping he would come over to ask about his dogs, but the car started and she heard him reverse down the driveway.

"Jessie meant to shoot me," Robert told Sara, looking out the window, probably watching the neighbor head down the street. "She pulled the trigger because she was so shocked. She didn't exactly think it through, but she meant to shoot me, not him. At least that's what she told me later. Said she was so drunk that first she thought there were two of me and I'd finally managed to go fuck myself." He ran his tongue along his top teeth. "I didn't even know she was there. I hear Luke saying in my ear, 'Hey, how about it? You wanna join the party?' I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Later, I figured he was talking to her. Provoking her, even though he had to see she had a gun in her hand. That's what he did with people, just pushed and pushed until they were over the edge."

"She shot him."

"I was wearing my T-shirt, but…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "I felt this spray on my back, like this kind of mist. I didn't hear the sound until later, like two or three seconds later. It must have been faster than that, but my brain just kind of slowed it down. You know how it does that?"

Sara nodded. She knew from her own experience that trauma slowed things down, as if pain was something to be savored rather than endured.

"There was this kind of pop, like a balloon or something." He took a deep breath. "Then he slumped against me, and I felt this wet…" He shook his head at the memory. "He slid down my back."

Sara remembered how Robert had kept his back to the wall that night, gripping his shirt tightly in his hand. He must have been covered in blood.

"It was so fast afterward. Slow as it was when it happened, the rest was so fast."

"What happened?"

"Jessie shot at me."

"She missed," Sara said, remembering the bullet hole in the wall.

"I grabbed my backup out of the armoire. The safe wasn't even locked. After we lost the baby…" He shook his head, obviously not wanting to talk about that. "I wasn't even really thinking, other than maybe wishing the bullet hadn't missed when she fired." Robert paused. "She stopped, like she couldn't shoot me, even though she'd seen what I was. I just stood there for maybe a second, and I could suddenly see it all – everyone finding out what had happened, finding out who I am, and I put the gun to my belly and pulled the trigger."

"You were lucky it didn't do more damage."

"It was so fast," he repeated. "I couldn't even think. It was like…" He snapped his fingers.

Sara was quiet, hearing the snap echo like gunfire.

"It didn't hurt much," he added. "I thought it would hurt, but it wasn't until later that I felt the pain."

"Was it Jessie's idea to say you'd done it?"

"Hell no," he said, and she wondered if he was telling the truth. "She went over and grabbed a handful of pills. Spilled most of them on the floor. I just looked around, thinking, 'Fuck, what can I do?' "

"What did you do?"

"I guess I must've known what I was going to do when I pulled the trigger, but it took a while before my brain kicked in. I picked up the gun and the casings and wiped them off. A couple'a three seconds later, I heard somebody kick open the back door. I tossed everything on the floor, put the gun by his hand. Jeffrey came in, screaming, 'What the hell happened?' He went out to get you and I told Jessie to open the window and push out the screen. First time in her life she ever did something I told her to do without asking why."

"What about the bullet?" Sara asked. Robert had given the bullet to Reggie when he had confessed.

"Jessie got it out later. I don't know when, but she gave it to me. She told me exactly where she had found it in his head. Said it was my souvenir."

Sara knew there was only one time Jessie was alone with the body, and that was when Jeffrey and Sara were on the porch outside, waiting for Hoss. She must have sneaked in while they were arguing.

"Jessie's a lot smarter than folks think," Robert continued. "When y'all got there, she just played along, acted like she was too high to follow what was going on. Me, I was freaking out. I saw all the words coming out of my mouth, making up the story, not even thinking about the parts that didn't make sense. She let me do it, just stood there, letting me feed out enough rope to hang myself."

"Why?" Sara asked, still not understanding. "Why did you lie?"

"Because I'd rather be a cold-blooded murderer than a faggot."

The finality of his words hung heavy in the air, and Sara had never felt more sorry for anyone in her life.

"I'm just not right, Sara." He paused, as if he needed time to collect himself. "If I could get a knife and cut it out of me, I would. I'd cut out my fucking heart to be normal."

"You are normal," she insisted. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"It's too late."

"You can stop this," she said. "You can stop this right now. You don't have to leave. You're innocent, Robert. You didn't do any of this. None of it's your fault."

"All of it's my fault," he insisted. "I've sinned, Sara. I've sinned against God. I've broken my vows. I've been with another man. I wished him dead so many times. Jessie pulled the trigger, but I put him there. I brought him into our house. There's no going back now."

"You are who you are," she told him, even as she saw there was no reasoning with him. "You have no reason to be ashamed."

"Yes," he said, picking up the gun. "I do."

"Oh, God -"

He pointed the gun directly at her head, his hand steady. Sara closed her eyes, thinking of all the things she had never done in her life, wondering how her parents would get through this. Tessa still needed her, and Jeffrey…there was so much that Sara had left unsaid. She would give anything right now to be with him, feel his arms around her.

"You're not a murderer," she told him, her throat straining from the effort.

"I'm so sorry," Robert said, standing close enough for her to smell the sweat on him. Sara felt the cold metal of the gun press into her forehead, and she cried in earnest now, her eyes shut against everything else in the room. She heard the safety disengage, and another murmured apology.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't. Please." She said the only thing that she thought might get through to him. "I'm pregnant."

The gun stayed where it was a few long seconds before it dropped, and Robert cursed under his breath.

She opened her eyes to find his back to her. His shoulders shook, and she thought he was crying until he turned around. Terror struck through her as she realized that he was laughing.

"Pregnant?" he repeated, as if she had just told the punch line to a really good joke.

"Robert -"

"Everything comes so goddamn easy to him."

Instantly, Sara realized her mistake. "I didn't -"

"Jesus," he hissed, pointing the gun back at her head. His hand shook this time, and he faltered, cursing again. "Fuck."

"Jeffrey doesn't know," she said, desperate to find the right thing to say. "He doesn't know!"

Robert kept the gun steady. "He never will."

"He will!" she screamed. "At the autopsy!" Robert's jaw set, and she kept talking as fast as she could. "Is that how you want him to find out? Do you want him to find out when I'm dead? He'll find out, Robert. That's how he'll find out."

"Stop," he ordered, pressing the gun to her skull. "Just shut up."

"It's a boy!" she screamed, almost hysterical with fear. "It's a boy, Robert. His son. Jeffrey's son."

He dropped the gun to his side again, not laughing this time.

"You know what it's like to lose a child," she told him, her body shaking so badly the chair began to rock. "You know what it's like."

He ignored her, nodding his head slowly, as if he was having some sort of conversation with himself. Sara saw his lips moving, but no words came out. He engaged the safety before tucking the gun back into his pants, then picked up the roll of tape again.

Sara watched him work the tape, knowing that he was going to tape her mouth shut so he could shoot her.

"He loves me," Sara gripped the arms of the chair with her hands, trying to break free.

Robert tore off a strip of tape.

"You're going to take that away from him," she said, the words rushing out of her mouth. "You're going to take away his child, Robert. His unborn child." Sara's voice caught on the words, mostly because she knew that there was no other time in the world when she would be able to say them. "Our child," she said, loving the way the words felt in her mouth. "Our baby."

Robert obviously heard the passion in her voice, because he stopped what he was doing.

"I'm carrying his child," Sara repeated, feeling herself letting go. She was at peace with this and whatever happened next. There was no explaining the logic behind her calm; it was simply the way she felt. "Our baby."

"He's gonna hurt you," Robert said. "Anybody who loves him always ends up getting hurt."

"When you love somebody," Sara told him, "that's the risk you take."

He put his fingers to her bottom lip, tracing the broken skin. Before she knew what was happening, Robert leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. It was the softest kiss Sara had ever received, and she was too shocked to pull away.

He said, "I'm sorry," then taped her mouth shut before she could answer. He stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm sorry for hurting you," he said. "I've hurt enough people in my life already." A sour look crossed his face, as if he'd had a thought that did not agree with him. "Jeffrey's gonna think I was into him," he said. "You tell him that's not true, all right? I never thought about him that way – not ever."

Sara nodded because that was all she could do.

"Tell him he's gonna be a great father, and that I would never take that from him." Robert's voice caught. "Tell him he was the best friend I ever had, and that there was nothing else to it."

Sara nodded her head again, trying to understand what had changed.

"I'm sorry about taping up your mouth. I know I promised."

Sara watched him go, helpless to do anything. Seconds later, she heard a car door slam and an engine start. She recognized the shoddy muffler of Robert's truck as he backed out of the driveway.

He was gone.

Sara began to cry again, this time from relief. She could not remember shedding so many tears in her life. Her nose began to run, and she sniffed, choking because of the tape. Her elation was quickly replaced by panic as she labored to get air into her lungs. Several seconds passed before the claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm her started to recede. She had to get out of this chair. She could not just sit there waiting for Nell or Possum or Jeffrey to rush in and rescue her. She could not let any of them – especially Jeffrey – find her like this; helpless, afraid. No one was ever going to see her that way again.

Sara scanned the room, trying to find something that would help her get out of the chair. Rocking forward would land her face-first on the floor, so she rocked the chair side to side until she managed to tip it over. Her head whacked into the hardwood floor with a firm thud and she felt the same dizziness from before as her eardrum vibrated from the impact. A sharp pain ran up her shoulder where she had landed on it, but the arm of the chair had loosened from the fall, too. She jerked the wood back and forth several times, trying to dislodge the dowels, but the arm held firm. The chair was probably older than all of them, something Nell's ancestors had built to last a lifetime.

Sara took a breath, trying to think what to do next. The rockers on the bottom of the chair kept her from uprighting it and crawling to the door. Robert had taped her wrists, but not her fingers. Even if she could not manage to get free of the chair, she could try to take the tape off her mouth. If she could get the tape off her mouth, she could scream. If she could scream – even if no one could hear her – she would be okay.

Using all her strength, Sara pulled her arm up toward her mouth. After several minutes, perspiration on her arm helped the tape fold into a tight line that cut into her flesh, but she still forced up her arm, stretching the tape to its limit. When the tape had given as much as it would, Sara slid her arm back and forth, rubbing a nasty burn from the friction. The adhesive balled up in black dots, and Sara managed to force her arm a few inches forward. She tried to move it back, but the tape pinched up her skin, blood seeping out from underneath.

She considered the situation like a math problem, calculating the variables, adding in her pain threshold before attempting anything else. She arched her back as much as the tape around her chest and upper arms allowed, contorting her body until her shoulder screamed from the pain. Still, she kept pushing herself, stretching the tape around her chest until her mouth was inches from her hand. Her fingers had turned almost completely white from the lack of circulation, but Sara managed to touch the edge of the tape with her middle finger.

She gave herself a break, counting to sixty, letting the minute pass as the throbbing in her arm and shoulder leveled off to a dull ache. Her fingers had touched the tape. That was enough to keep her trying. Sara stretched again, trying to reach the tape covering her mouth. Sweat from her skin and blood and saliva from her mouth had worked on the adhesive, so that when she gave one final effort, she managed to grab the edge of the tape between her thumb and index finger and pull.

Though not enough to pull off the tape.

Sara's breathing was labored and she felt the room closing in on her again, but she coached herself not to quit, knowing she could not give up this close to the goal. Her body ached from the effort, but still, she managed to contract her muscles enough to make another grab. This time, the tape came off, and she opened her mouth, panting like a dog with its head out the window.

"Ha!" she screamed to the empty room, feeling as if she had vanquished some great foe. Maybe she had. Maybe she had vanquished her fear. Still, she was taped to the chair, lying pretty much facedown on the floor with few options and nothing but time.

"Well," Sara told herself. "No reason to give up now." This same kind of thinking had gotten her through medical school, and she was not about to abandon it now.

She focused on her arm, wondering if she could reach the tape with her teeth. The tape around her chest was already cutting into her breasts. She could not imagine what the bruises would look like, but Sara knew that bruises eventually faded.

Suddenly, she heard a noise in the front of the house. She opened her mouth to call for help but stopped herself. Had Robert changed his mind? Had he returned to finish the job?

Footsteps crunched across the glass from the broken coffee table, but no one called out. Whoever had entered the house was taking their time, going from room to room. She heard movement in the kitchen, and waited to see where they would go next. Had Robert forgotten something? When Sara surprised him, had he been looking for something other than Possum's gun? If it was someone who belonged in the house, they would have surely called out by now.

Sara clenched her teeth, fighting the pain as she tried to stretch toward her hand. She twisted and turned as much as she could in the chair, scratching Nell's good wood floors, pushing her mouth toward the tape.

"Sara?" Jeffrey stood in the doorway, Nell's ax in his hands. "Jesus Christ," he said, looking around the room, obviously searching for the person who had ransacked the house.

"He's gone," Sara told him, still straining toward her hand.

Jeffrey dropped the ax on the floor as he rushed toward her. "Are you okay?" He put his hand to her eye. "You're bleeding." He looked around the room. "Who did this? Who would -"

"Get me loose," Sara told him, thinking if she spent one more second in the chair, she would start screaming and not ever be able to stop.

Jeffrey must have understood, because he took out his pocketknife and sliced through the tape without asking any more questions.

"Oh, God," Sara groaned as she rolled out of the chair, unable to do anything but lie on her back. Her shoulder was killing her and her body felt bruised and battered.

"You're okay," Jeffrey told her, rubbing the circulation back into her hands.

"Robert -"

Jeffrey did not seem surprised to learn his friend had done this. "Did he hurt you?" His expression darkened. "He didn't -"

Sara thought about everything that had happened, what had brought Robert to this point, and said, "He just scared me."

Jeffrey put his hand to her face, checking the cut over her eye and her split lip. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her neck, as if his kiss could make everything better. Somehow, it did, and without thinking, Sara felt herself giving in to him, holding on to him as tightly as she could.

"You're okay," he told her, rubbing her back. "You're okay," he kept saying.

"I'm okay," she told him, and with a calming clarity, she knew he was right.