Dead or Alive (20 page)

“I don’t give a shit who the world says you are,” she cried, her voice rising.  “I know who you are!”

The first tear fell over the edge of his eye. She was a hell of an actress.  If he hadn’t heard it in the bathroom himself, he would actually believe she still thought him innocent. He managed a bitter laugh through the embarrassing tears. “You put on a hell of a show don’t you, Chambers?”

“
I put on a hell of a sho
--?” Her voice broke.  “What are you…” Her words slowed to a sudden stop, and she held up a hand.  “Hold on. Do you hear that?”

Remy ran his hands down his face, taking the moisture that had accumulated there with them.  “Hear what?” As soon as he asked the question, the sound of gravel popping in the distance rang in his ears.  It was faint, but it was there.

A car, a car was pulling up to the front of the house.

Violet raced to the window, pushing the blinds apart just in time to see a Nissan pulling up the driveway.

“Oh fuck!” Violet raced for her bedroom door while yelling, “It’s my fucking sister.”

Remy nearly leapt out of his skin.  “Your what?  God damn it, Chambers, you said no one would find us here.”

Reality washed over him. Perhaps she’d wanted someone to find them. Was this her plan all along? When she looked back to him, the panic in her eyes seemed genuine, and he was wrecked with confusion.

“Stay up here,” she demanded, sweeping up a nightgown from the floor and pulling it on.  She was almost gasping in each breath in her shock.  “I’ll handle it.”

***

Violet bounded down the steps and to the front door, thinking it must have been a miracle that she was managing to breathe.  She hurried to the front door and took a moment, struggling to slow her rapid breathing, to find calm through the unpleasant stirring of her pounding heart.

Glancing out of the peephole, she threw the door open the moment she saw her oldest sister, Constance, bounding up the porch for the front door.

Constance was just reaching for the handle when Violet threw the door open, and their identical, dark brown eyes both widened at the sight of each other.  Constance was almost six feet tall, and her broad, heaving shoulders only served to make her appear wider than she already was.  Her short black hair was pulled back into a tiny bun and, as per usual, her light brown skin was completely devoid of make-up.  Her entire outfit was black, all the way down to the raggedy combat boots she’d had since she joined the force ten years ago. Her thin lips had been pulled into a thin angry line from the moment she’d caught sight of Violet.

Violet wasn’t prepared for the blind love that instantly seized her heart.  God, she’d missed her sisters. She had no idea just how much she’d missed them until that moment, staring up at her oldest.

Violet smashed her lips, which were in the process of curling into a happy smile, tightly together.  “Constance,” she said, once she’d succeeded in wiping the smile away.  “What in the world are you doing here?”

Constance exhaled heavily, eyes awash with relief.  Soon, they were shrinking with anger.  “What in the world am I doing here?” When the silence went on, her voice rose.  “
What in the world am I doing here?”

Violet held a hand out to her, attempting to keep an even tone of voice.  “Constance,” she started.

“Stop.”  Constance held her own hand out.  “Just stop… and tell me… does he have a gun on you right now?  Is he hiding in the shadows with a gun?”

Violet’s eyes went wide, and this time she couldn’t fight her smile.  “No.”  She pulled the door to the house all the way open, showing Constance the empty kitchen and living area.

“Miles told me you used the words ‘harboring a fugitive’…”

Violet cursed under her breath.  Miles and his big mouth.

Constance scanned the small area she could see inside the house before her eyes met Violet’s once more.  The information Miles had given her had stirred up memories of a conversation she’d almost forgotten having with Violet. She’d remembered Violet mentioning an old house, the house of a client who’d died suddenly, tucked away in a secluded area in North Fork. It had been merely one sentence, uttered years and years ago.  One sentence that had sent Constance flying frantically awake in bed, in the dead of night, as she was hit with the memory. “They told me I was ridiculous to even bother tracking this place down. Said I was wasting my time.  They said he’d surely killed you by now.  But here you are.”

Violet suddenly felt horribly guilty at how worried she’d made her sister.  Made everyone. “I know it’s pretty fucking selfish that I haven’t called anyone to tell them I’m okay, but when Remy let me go all those weeks ago, I thought it would be the perfect excuse to get away for a little while… you know, have some me time.  So I decided to come here to unwind and recharge my batteries.”  When Constance’s face grew heavy with irony, Violet motioned into the empty house once more, losing steam quickly.  “Empty!”  she said, again.  “Everything’s A-Okay!”  Violet had to frown the moment the words left her mouth.  Had she ever used the term ‘A-Okay’ in her life?

Constance was as unimpressed as her sister. “So this lunatic kidnapped you from the courthouse at gunpoint, made us believe you were killed inside a helicopter that crashed into the ocean, drug you across the state against your will, and you’re telling me that everything’s
A-Okay
?  That, instead of calling your friends and family--who have been worried sick about your ass, by the way--to tell us you’re alive, you’ve decided to come have a quiet weekend in your dead client’s secluded, broke-down cabin instead?  Nah.”  Constance shook her head with a click of her tongue, crossing the threshold to the house.  “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?”

Constance looked down at her little sister. “You’re a great newscaster, but you’re no actress.  Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ever heard the term Stockholm Syndrome, Sis?”

Violet crossed her arms over her chest.

Constance pointed at her.  “Why don’t you take your little ass into the living room, grab a dictionary, and look it up, ‘cause your mind ain’t right.”  She swept passed Violet and began racing up the stairs.

Violet was right on her heels, tumbling up the steps clumsily as she clawed at her sister’s sweatshirt.  “Constance, stop!”

“Let me go.”

“You can’t just barge into my house like this,” Violet screamed, holding her breath when Constance made it to the top of the stairs and threw open the door to her bedroom.

They both gaped at the empty bed and rumpled sheets that met them, in shock.

Violet’s heart slowly began to pound, once more, as her confused eyes flew to every corner of the quiet room.  Remy was gone.

She fixed her face when Constance suddenly looked back at her.  “Are you done acting like a lunatic now?”  Violet asked, unable to stop her eyes from flying to her empty bed, once more.

Constance’s eyes searched Violets face before she raced over to the bed and flipped the mattress clear off of the metal frame, throwing it to the floor.  Nothing but lint and a runaway sock was underneath.

“Where the fuck are you, Archibald?” she screamed, stalking from the bed to the bathroom before throwing that door open, as well.  It slammed against the wall and Constance looked in.  Empty.  “I know you’re in here, you son of a bitch!” She left the bathroom in a huff, pulling open the doors of the antique armoire at the corner of the room.  Empty.

“Constance, you’re acting like a crazy person--”

When Constance suddenly stopped moving, in mid stride, Violet stopped with her.

Constance bent down, her knee-high combat boots squeaking quietly as she did.  Standing tall, she looked to Violet with fury in her eyes, and brought her hand up to Violet’s view.  An opened condom wrapper sat between her trembling fingers.

Violet took in the sight with wide eyes.  She swallowed heavily.  “That’s…” her eyes narrowed.  “Not mine.”

Constance charged out of the room, slamming her fist against the wall as she began tearing the entire house apart, opening every door, moving every piece of furniture, ripping the place to
shreds
, all the while screaming Remy’s name.

“Sis!” Violet cried. “Please stop.  You don’t understand.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Constance seethed.  She was no longer screaming.  No longer angry.  She was now calm, cool, and collected as she scoured the house for Remy.  That was what scared Violet the most.  Constance at her most calm was Constance at her most lethal.  If she found Remy now, Violet wasn’t sure if there was anything she could do to protect him.

Violet followed Constance down the stairs, begging her to stop, but it fell on deaf ears.  When they made it into the kitchen, Constance stopped cold, taking in Violet and Remy’s Innocence Wall.

“What the hell is this?”  Constance asked, motioning to the cards pinned up all over the wall.  She immediately recognized the cards. They were the same ones Violet used to use back when she was a lawyer.  It was how her sister sorted her thoughts, usually when she was forced to defend someone who she knew was 100% guilty.  Violet had always hated defending guilty people, but sometimes the job left her without a choice.  Constance turned to her, pointing to the cards.  “So that’s what this is?  You think this son of a bitch is innocent?”

“He
is
innocent.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, and I’m going to prove it.” Violet’s chest heaved, and tears touched her eyes as she motioned to the wall.  “If you take the time to see the work we’ve been doing, you’ll see…” Her voice broke. She couldn’t speak.  She truly felt as if her heart were splitting in two.  “You’ll see all the inconsistencies that exist in Remy’s case.  All of the corners that have been cut just to get him convicted.”  Violet hurried over to the wall and began motioning to random cards.  “Look at this. From the moment that plane took off until the moment Meredith was found dead, there dozens and dozens of inconsistencies.”

Constance took in Violet’s heaving chest, her big eyes, and the tears threatening to spill over them at any second.  She recognized the look on her sister’s face almost immediately. “You really are sleeping with this son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Violet’s wide brown eyes were answer enough. “That doesn’t matter.  What matters is that Remy didn’t do this.”

Constance didn’t want to hear it.  She was no longer angry, but worried for Violet. “I’m calling the police,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket and dialing.

With a speed she herself didn’t even know she possessed, Violet snatched the phone from her sister’s grasp before hurling it at the wall with a furious scream.  She sighed in victory when it shattered to pieces.

“Son of a bitch!”  Constance cried.  “You have lost your
fucking
mind.  You know what?” Constance reached a long arm out to Violet, taking her baby sister’s silk nightgown in her fist before yanking her toward the door.  “We’re fucking leaving.”

“No.” Violet resisted, digging her bare feet into the wood floors as her, much larger, sister dragged her across the house with ease.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Stop fighting me.” Constance turned to Violet and reached for her arm, now aware that her sister was not above slithering out of that nightgown, fully nude, just to escape her.  She got a hold of Violet’s arm, gasping in shock when her baby sister’s free palm came flying across her cheek.  She barely felt it, but that didn’t matter.

“Did you really just slap me, you fucking little bitch?”

“I told you to let me go, you fucking giant bitch,” Violet countered.  “You’re so violent and rude. Don’t touch me.”

“We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“
No
.”

The sound of an engine roaring to life outside froze them both in mid-wrestle.

“Sister…” Violet attempted to keep her voice calm as Constance pushed passed her.  “Please don’t hurt him, Constance.  You don’t understand!”

They stumbled through the screen door of the house with Violet holding Constance’s arm in a death grip, just in time to see Remy tear the truck out of the driveway and down the road, kicking up globs of dirt as he went. Constance snatched her arm out of Violet’s grasp with ease before leaping down the porch, fingering her own car keys from her pocket as she ran for her Toyota.

Violet raced back into the house and grabbed a kitchen knife before jetting out the front door and down the porch herself.  She made it to Constance’s car just as she was starting the engine, and jammed the knife into the tire with a scream.  The punctured tire cried out in response before immediately deflating.  Satisfied, Violet ran to the tire at the rear and gave it the same treatment, then the next.  It wasn’t until she was making her way to the fourth and final tire, wielding the knife, that Constance jumped out of the car and took her shoulders, shaking her.

“Look at yourself, Sis,” she cried.  “Look at yourself.”

With trembling fingers, Violet dropped the knife.

Constance allowed it to fall, not even looking at it as it crashed a little to close to her boots and Violet’s bare feet.  She was too busy pulling her sister into a hug, jamming her eyes shut when Violet immediately collapsed into sobs.