Pretty Ugly Lies: a gripping and chilling domestic noir Page 19

  I held the flyer in my hands, my fingers trembling with excitement, and called the number listed, hoping against hope that it wasn’t too late.

  “Hi, my name is June Merrigan, and I think I found your daughter’s abductor.”

  Chapter 34

  Ellie

  Does Life live to torment me? To offer me a morsel of hope, only to sour it a moment later with vinegar? Finally I thought Denny and I would work things out, fall back in love, end up together. Save our family. But it just doesn’t seem that way anymore. He’s lost himself somewhere along our marriage, and I can’t find him. I don’t know who he is.

  I thought he was the man who would take care of his wife and children no matter what, who would make everything okay during the hard times. He was my for-better-or-worse guy, my till death do us part companion. How could I have been so blind and stupid? How could I have been so disillusioned to think that any man was capable of such devotion? The only things men care about are beauty and sex. If you can’t offer both of those things, then screw you. You get kicked to the curb.

  Here I go whining about my cheating husband when other people have it so much worse. A woman in my very own neighborhood, on Oleander Way, is missing her daughter right now. Kidnapped. Possibly murdered. And yet I’m too self-absorbed with my own pain to care. Sure, I can say the same pity-filled condolences everyone else offers: “How horrible! My heart breaks for that family. I can’t imagine what they’re going through.” But do I really truly care? No, because I’m too obsessed with Denny and his pregnant mistress and my spiteful children to notice the suffering of others.

  I really am a monster.

  It’s no wonder Denny fell out of love with me.

  As long as my life is perfect I’m okay, but the moment it gets rocky my seams tear open and my heart falls out on the floor where Denny tramples it all over again.

  There was only one Janyne W listed in Durham—a Janyne Wilson—in my many online searches, making my quest for the home-wrecker much easier. I didn’t care that I looked like I’d just crawled out of bed, with my hair a tangled mess, no makeup to cover the angry zits on my chin, and my rumpled loungewear. I wasn’t there for a beauty contest. I was there to say my part before bitch-slapping the whore into next week.

  The house—no, it was more of a mansion, I realized as I climbed the porch steps—was an impressive restored Colonial, with four white pillars and a wraparound porch lined with handcrafted rocking chairs and gorgeous, expensive-looking furniture. It was clearly a million-dollar home, which I didn’t know even existed in this part of town. Suddenly I felt self-conscious showing up here looking like a homeless person. The woman had money, which irritated me more. Beautiful and wealthy—a deadly combo.

  Reminding myself why I was there, I shrugged it off and searched for a doorbell. Instead I noticed a cylinder holding a key that, when twisted, rung the old-fashioned doorbell inside. I did this a couple times, hearing the echo it made in the lofty rooms within. I wandered down the porch, resentfully admiring the decorative eaves. Cupping my face, I peered into a massive window that opened up a view into an enormous living room with incredible woodwork, from the ornate baseboards to the intricate beams that crossed the ceiling.

  A few moments later the door—which was easily nine feet tall—swung open and Janyne Wilson appeared. I recognized her by the luxurious chestnut brown hair that framed a face way too beautiful for my husband. Honestly, what would a woman who looked like this and lived like this want with my husband, who was neither rich nor remarkably handsome?

  A sinking feeling told me perhaps it was indeed love after all.

  “I figured you’d wind up on my doorstep one day,” she said, cocking her hip and resting polished fingers on her jutting hipbone. I imagined her stuffing salads and fish into her kewpie-doll mouth, afraid to eat anything heartier for fear it might put a couple pounds on her skeletal frame. I stared jealously at her and banished from my mind a fleeting image of her bee-stung lips on my husband’s body.

  “You guessed right. So you know who I am and why I’m here?”

  She nodded, her runway model hair shining under the entryway lighting behind her. I hated her even more for it.

  “To talk me out of stealing your husband, I expect.”

  I laughed, and her confused frown creased her perfect skin. “Oh, no, you can have him. I’m done with him.”

  “Really?” She pursed her lips as if skeptical. “So that’s it? You’re not going to make this difficult for us?”

  “Well, don’t expect me to come to the wedding. But I don’t want a man who will leave a marriage of twelve years on a whim. And just so you know, he’ll do it to you too. You’ll find out soon enough when your boobs deflate and your ass flattens.”

  “I doubt that will ever happen.”

  “Oh, you have no idea what pregnancy will do to your body. Congratulations on the baby, by the way.”

  “Pregnancy? What pregnancy?”

  “You’re having a baby with Denny, aren’t you?”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her blazing blue eyes at me. “You’ve clearly gone off your meds. And you need to refine your investigative skills, Nancy Drew. I’m not pregnant. Do you think I’d want to ruin this perfect body with a baby? Uh, no.”

  If the pregnancy test I’d found wasn’t Janyne’s, then whose was it? Did that mean Denny was serious about breaking it off with her and staying with me? At this point I realized I’d made a huge mistake in my assumption—and in coming here. Mortified, I just wanted to leave and keep a shred of my dignity on the way out.

  “Oh, that explains a lot.”

  She humphed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that it’s no wonder Denny doesn’t want you. You’re a coldhearted bitch who hates children. Good luck finding any decent guy who’ll want more than a good screw with you.”

  “I’d rather be a good screw than an old hag,” she spat back.

  My whole body began to react, my fists clenching, my arms quaking, my jaw tightening. This little girl needed a lesson, and clearly God had sent me to deliver it. With her painted lips in focus, I threw my arm back, then thrust it forward so quickly neither of us saw it coming. My knuckles crunched against her perfect nose, none of which I felt until she fell back, clutching her face. Blood began to seep through her fingers as she screamed and shuffled backward, her eyes wide with fear. I shook my hand, rubbing the now tender spot where I had made contact. It hurt, but boy was it worth it.

  “Who’s gonna screw you now with your jacked-up face?”

  With that I turned on my tennis-shoed heel and sauntered down the porch steps, proud of myself for my uncharacteristically good aim. My first chick fight, and I’d kicked ass. As I reached the bottom step, I turned around, flipping my hair behind my shoulder with a mocking smirk. “Oh, and on second thought, I think I’ll keep him after all.”

  It felt so good watching her cry as I sashayed away with an exaggerated hip sway.

  Chapter 35

  Shayla

  A shot rang out, blending with my screams, its deadly crack ringing in my ears. Then the gun fell from his fingertips as Arion’s body dropped to the floor a moment later. I ran to him and hugged him to my chest, searching for blood. In my panic I couldn’t find the wound or any blood. Then he looked up at me with teary eyes and cried. Had he missed?

  My fingers searched his body as I kissed every inch of his face, his cheeks, his eyes, his nose. He seemed untouched by the bullet, but not unscathed by the trauma. Thank God for the kickback of a gun!

  “You’re okay, honey. You’re okay.”

  I rocked him against me, the motion frenzied yet soothing. For several strung-out minutes we cried together, my firstborn and I, mother and son, bonding over our shared suffering and vulnerability.

  Our moment together lasted until I heard a panicked voice behind me.

  “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  The air shifted as
a warm body knelt beside me, the heat of Trent’s form washing over me.

  “No, everything isn’t okay. Arion almost shot himself in the head, Trent. And it’s all my fault.”

  “What? What are you talking about, Shay?” The gun, lying on the floor next to Arion, must have caught Trent’s eye, for he immediately picked it up and engaged the safety. “What the hell happened?”

  But Arion was speechless, too terrified to respond.

  Trent rushed to Arion’s side, holding him alongside me. “Arion, what were you thinking?”

  Arion whimpered and continued swaying in my arms, too shocked to speak.

  “Trent, it’s because of me that he did this.”

  Trent sat back, watching me. “What do you mean?”

  I closed my eyes, shutting out his intense gaze. I heaved a rattling sigh and confessed the truth. “He found out I’ve been cheating on you and he was afraid we were going to split up. I’ve wanted to tell you, but I just didn’t know how. So there it is. You can decide what you want me to do—if you want me to move out, or whatever you want. I won’t fight back.”

  When Trent didn’t speak, I peeked at him. He was still there, kneeling beside me in stunned silence. I was afraid to meet his eyes, but I needed to know what he was thinking. A trickle of tears left damp stains on his cheeks, and he looked away from me, unable to meet my gaze. We were in a no-man’s land of pain where relationships went to die. I had hurt him beyond repair.

  Finally he shifted and rose to his feet. He paced to the window, his carpet-muffled footsteps the only sound. While gazing out of the window, his voice split the silence.

  “Is it over?”

  “Yes, I’ve ended it.”

  What felt like an eternity passed as he continued to just stand there, staring out the window. “Please, say something!” I pleaded.

  “I can’t believe you cheated on me. God, Shayla!” he groaned. “What do you want me to say? I do everything for you, for our family.” His voice broke, then resumed forcefully. “Why? Why’d you do it?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I stuttered.

  He turned angrily toward me. “Don’t say you don’t know, damn it! You know why. Just spit it out.”

  I exhaled the breath I hadn’t known I was holding in. “Maybe because I need more passion. Maybe because we never spend any quality time together. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the problem. I am.”

  “You sure as hell are! I’m not sure we should even bother trying to come back from this.”

  Trent was silent for an uncomfortably long time, staring out the window while I stared at him, silently praying that I hadn’t shattered us beyond repair.

  “Do you want out of this marriage?” The terse question caught me off-guard.

  “No, of course not! I love you,” I exclaimed. It was the first honest thing I’d said to him in a long time. “What about you—do you want out?”

  He was silent. A minute passed. Then another. This couldn’t be good, too much thinking.

  “I really am sorry,” I finally said, “and I do love you more than anything, you know.”

  “This sure as hell doesn’t feel like love.” I felt the breach between us widen. “How could you do this to me, to our family, and say you love me?”

  “I made a mistake, Trent. I was selfish. I hope you can forgive me someday.”

  “You want forgiveness?” He forced an awkward laugh. “Why?”

  “I wanted attention, I guess. You work so much, we never spend time together, and I just wanted to feel loved. It took one kind word from a man to undo me. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry. And I love you, I really do, even though I know I haven’t shown it.”

  Trent’s eyes returned to the windowpane sprinkled with rain droplets. His eyes stared firmly at something far beyond, beyond me, beyond this room, beyond the many questions he had bottled up that were ready to explode. Then he walked across the room and sat down on the other side of Arion, who burrowed against me.

  “Look, Shay, I don’t want to split up our family. I just don’t know how to move forward from this. Right now I hate you. To be honest, it’s taking everything in me not to wrap my fingers around your neck and strangle you. But somehow I still love you. If you’re willing to fix the damage you’ve done, I’m willing to try to stay together.”

  “You—you forgive me?” Please, God, say yes.

  “Not yet. I’m not there yet. But give me time and maybe someday I can.”

  His forgiveness was all that I had wanted, even the outside chance of it, but not like this. Not with a lie still in hiding. There was something I hadn’t told him yet. Something that would possibly destroy every lingering ounce of hope he had in our future. I needed to tell him everything.

  “There’s more.” I paused.

  “God, Shayla. I can’t take more!”

  “I don’t want your forgiveness until you’ve heard everything.” I had to go on, no matter what it cost me. “I’m pregnant.”

  I had never seen Trent get furious. Frustrated, yes. Worked up, yes. But full of rage? Never. Until now. After his bewildered calm, he jumped up and slammed his fist into the drywall. The gypsum crumbled as he removed his hand from the almost perfectly round hole and rubbed his reddened knuckles.

  “Is it his?” He heaved.

  “N-n-no,” I lied, afraid of saying more.

  “Is it his?” he yelled this time. “Tell me the damn truth!”

  “I-I don’t know yet. I won’t find out until the baby’s born and take a paternity test.”

  He rolled his eyes and let out a bizarre cackle. “Wow, Shayla, you sure know how to surprise a guy, don’t you?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Fuck your sorrys. They’re worth shit,” Trent spat.

  I felt Arion shift in my arms, then squirm. “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered against his cheek as I kissed him and let him scamper out of the room, clearly afraid to witness this. On my knees I crawled to Trent’s feet, grasping his legs, pulling him down to me. I needed him at eye level so he could see the sorrow in my eyes, know my regret. “Trent, I want this baby with you. I want a future with you. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved, and I want to spend a lifetime making it up to you. Proving to you that I can be the perfect wife.”

  “I never asked for a perfect wife—just a loyal one, Shay.”

  “I promise. I’ll do whatever you ask, whatever you need, if you’ll just give me a chance to be that woman. Please. Please, honey, don’t give up on me.”

  “I was never the one who gave up. You did that.”

  “I know, but I won’t ever give up again. Please, just consider sticking it out, being an amazing father to this baby like you’ve been to Arion and Tenica.”

  “So you want me to raise this child, even if it’s not mine?”

  “There’s no one else I’d rather raise a child with, Trent. I haven’t told Kels—” I stopped short, unwilling to put a name to the man I’d been sleeping with for fear of changing Trent’s mind, “—anyone I’m pregnant. No one knows but you. I wasn’t even sure I was keeping it. Please have this baby with me. Or if you want to get rid of it, I’ll do that for you. Whatever you want I’ll do, honey. We can get through this stronger than ever, I promise. Please.”

  He couldn’t look at me, searching the walls, the bed, the toys for answers. Then finally his answer came.

  “Like hell you’re not keeping it!” Trent grabbed my hand, traced my palm, linking his fingers with mine. “You’re my weakness, y’know. You’re who I am. I’ll support and take care of you and the baby. I always have and always will. But if you do this to me again, Shay—I will never forgive you. Look at the damage you’ve done to your son. It’ll only get worse if you don’t start being faithful and honest. I love you, Shay, but not enough to go through this again.”

  Cupping his face, I kissed his cheeks, his lips, his neck—every exposed area of skin, until he kissed me back.

  That day I v
owed to Trent, to my kids, and to myself to be the woman I was meant to be. Selflessly devoted. It’d be hard, especially when the manic days came, when the self-loathing attacked, when I needed a high to survive. Trent didn’t understand the impulses that my bipolar brain drove me to surrender to. But I’d be faithful, I promised him.

  I’d live it out, or die trying.

  Chapter 36

  “Mother, mother, I am sick

  Send for the doctor quick, quick, quick.

  How many days shall I live?”

  Together they chanted the morbid counting rhyme, him and Amelia, slapping their hands together to carry the beat. They’d just finished eating a lunch of hotdogs and popcorn while watching Shrek. Now days into the kidnapping, he’d run out of ideas for entertaining a three-year-old. It wasn’t as easy as he expected it to be. The girl was demanding, particular, exhausting.

  He was downright sick of the little brat.

  Two slices of cheese in her grilled cheese sandwich, she insisted. Don’t cut it. Apple juice, not orange juice, she whined. Hot cocoa, not cold chocolate milk with dinner, but don’t stir it. You need to shake it like Mommy does. How the hell Mommy shook hot chocolate without splashing the scalding drink everywhere was beyond him. One thing after another; she was impossible to please. He almost doubted if it was worth all the trouble. But once Josephine was in his arms, he’d have everything he ever wanted or needed. Ready for the next step in his plan, he’d penned his first ransom note, waiting for just the right time to drop it off:

  Time is up. Amelia’s life for yours, Josephine. I’ll give you back your daughter safe and sound in exchange for your heart. If you agree, tie a red ribbon on your mailbox and I’ll contact you with further instructions. If you don’t agree, tie a black ribbon and say goodbye to your daughter.