The Bitter Season (36 page)

“I had to kill him.
It had to happen that way to close the circle.”

There was comfort in inevitability, once one accepted that truth and let go the need to control. As it turned out, surrender of control led to freedom. Control wasn’t freedom at all. Control was a burden. Acceptance was freedom. In acceptance, chaos fell into silence, and the Way became crystal clear.

So beautifully simple. So very
Bushido
 . . .

Lucien Chamberlain claimed to have appreciated that philosophy.
Bushido
: the way of the samurai. The essence of life is found in death. If he truly believed that, he would have died happy.

Of course, he didn’t truly believe that. The things Lucien coveted from the way of the warrior were the obvious and wrong things: power, control, force, superiority, and violence for the sake of all those other things. And because of that, death was the necessary end to the cycle of abuse.

I love you—I hate you. I give—I take. On a whim. For a laugh. To punish you. To belittle you. To give false hope for no other reason than to take it away again just to prove a point. I’m stronger than you. I’m more powerful than you. I’m more ruthless than you. I will control you. I will hurt you because I can—to keep you down, to make you crawl, to make you beg . . . for love.

You don’t belong here anyway; we just keep you because we can . . .

Around and around, and around and around.

It was time to close the circle.

“I know, deep down, you understand. We’re supposed to be together, you and I. Our fates are intertwined. We were put together for a reason. We have to accept that. In acceptance we find freedom.”

They drove south on surface streets. They didn’t have far to go. It was a small world, after all.

One more stop. That was all. One more stop, and the circle would be complete. In order for the circle to be complete, one had to find the beginning. The very beginning.

The search had taken time and patience, starting and ending long before the killings, but with no end purpose in mind. Just the need to know, to have a name, to imagine a face, to ponder the why. But the pieces had fallen magically into place. The universe had a plan. It wasn’t always clear, and it wasn’t always kind, but in the end a pattern emerged. The circle of life: birth, conflict, growth, enlightenment, death. And in death one found the meaning of life.

There was comfort in acceptance of truth. Accepting the inevitable created simplicity. Simplicity was a beautiful thing, even drenched in blood.

The side street was dark and empty. The neighborhood was quiet.

“I’m sorry you can’t come with me, but this part is mine. We’ll be together again soon. Then we’ll be together forever.”

The kiss was long and lingering, with no one to judge. There was freedom now. It didn’t matter that the lips were cold or that the body was lifeless. The spirit lived on. Their spirits would live on together once the circle was complete.

“Thank God they caught the guy,”
Eric said.

They had watched the story of the murder suspect’s capture on the local news at five and six. The station was featuring the story in their promo for the news at ten. The crime had been so horrific, the capture of the suspect had the entire Twin Cities population breathing a collective sigh of relief, and clamoring for details at the same time. Had he known the couple? Had he killed before? How had he gained entry to their home? Could this happen to us?

The suspect had worked for a handyman service. Already the news on channel eleven had put together a companion piece on how commonly used household services like handyman services and carpet cleaners, and even home security companies, could be staffed by dangerous criminals.

Evi didn’t want to think about any of it. She had spent so much of her life feeling afraid, being in danger. The last two nights had reminded her: She didn’t want that emotion in the life she had now. She wanted to feel safe. Tonight she couldn’t remember what that felt like.

How fragile perfection was. Like a snowflake, beautiful and unique, and gone in the blink of an eye with the touch of a finger. Just days ago she had looked at her life and dared to believe that happiness could last. Tonight she felt the weight of dread on her shoulders.

“I don’t like that you could have met that guy,” Eric grumbled.

“I didn’t meet him,” Evi said. “I told you.”

“But you could have. The home visits scare me. You know that. Some of those girls know some rough customers.”

“And I would know more about that than you, wouldn’t I?”

“I know you do. I know you’re aware. I know you’re careful. But we both know none of that stops somebody else from doing something terrible. I just—”

Evi reached up and put a finger against his lips. “Can we not talk about this anymore tonight? I’m tired. You’re tired. I just want to sit here with you and relax and stare at the television.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

They sat on their cushy couch with their stocking feet up on the big ottoman. Eric snuggled Evi into his side and used the remote control to cue up a show they both liked, which they had recorded while having their evening playtime/bath time/bedtime with their daughter. The first thing to come up when he pushed the Play button was the promo for the ten o’clock news, the photograph of Gordon Krauss briefly filling the screen.

Detective Liska had asked Evi if this man could be Jeremy Nilsen grown up and gone bad. She honestly couldn’t say. In twenty-five years her memory of him had faded to a blur. She remembered thinking he was handsome. He had a strong jaw and straight brows. His hair was brown. He was lean and athletic. Beyond that, she couldn’t recall. She’d known him for such a short time and then had never seen him again. She had become a different person, and the memories that belonged to the girl she was had been buried or thrown away. Better for both of them.

The man in the photograph Detective Liska had shown her, the one that kept popping up on the TV screen, was bearded and dirty-looking. When she studied his face, she saw an animal, something clever and hungry, and dangerous. Was that who Jeremy had become? If it was, how much of that was her fault?

“Earth to Evi. Earth to Evi. Come in, Evi!”

She snapped back into the moment, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You went away from me for a while there,” Eric said, looking into her eyes. “You had that ‘Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away’ look. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again—an old habit that never died: apologizing for everything. “I just drifted away for a minute.”

“Stay with me,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “This is a happier place.”

“Yes,” she said, finding a smile for him.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone on the end table rang. Eric picked it up and answered.

“Burke residence.”

Evi’s heart was in her throat, beating so fast she thought it might burst.

Eric looked perplexed. “Hello? Who is this?”

What was he hearing? Could he see the guilt on her face for not having told him about the call last night? Would he know by looking at her that she was keeping something from him? What would she say when he ended the call?

“Hello?” he said again, then shrugged and put the phone back in its cradle. “Wrong number, I guess.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m going to make some tea,” Evi said, popping up from the sofa. “Would you like some?”

“No, thanks, sweetie. Do you want me to get it?” he asked. “You still look pale to me.”

“No, no. I want to stretch my legs,” she said too brightly, already heading for the kitchen.

She wasn’t sure her legs would carry her that far. They felt like limp noodles beneath her. She turned and went into the kitchen,
immediately rushing to the sink and bending over, her head swimming, her stomach flipping. She thought she would vomit. She was shaking and sweating and cold all at once.

What if the caller had spoken? What if the voice had whispered, “It all worked out for you?” Would Eric have taken one look at her and known she’d heard it before?

Why couldn’t this all just go away? No one could change the past. The years had grown over those secrets like vines hiding a ruin from another lifetime.

“Ev?”

She bolted upright at the sound of her husband’s voice coming from the dining room. She fumbled to turn the faucet on, grabbed the kettle off the stove.

“Ev? Is everything okay in here?” Eric asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, fine. It’s all fine.”

He took the teakettle from her and put it on the stove to heat, then turned back to her, his expression serious.

“What’s going on with you? You almost jumped out of your skin when the phone rang,” he said. “You’re a nervous wreck. What’s up?”

He put one gentle hand on her shoulder and tipped her chin up with the other. “You know there’s nothing you can’t tell me. You know that, right?”

She looked up at him, so handsome, so earnest, her knight in shining armor. What should she tell him? The lie that it was nothing? The lie that there was something going on at work? Should she tell him about the note that had come in the mail, or the shadow she might have seen in the backyard, or the call she had kept from him?

It all worked out for you . . .

Should she tell him she had knowledge of a murder and had kept that secret for most of her life?

“Evi . . .” He said her name on a sigh, like he was disappointed
in her or frustrated with her. He had every reason to be. He had always been so patient with her, and still she didn’t trust him?

No. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It was that he had trusted her, and she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve him.

It all worked out for you
 . . . But it shouldn’t have. The mistakes that had been made all those years ago couldn’t be abandoned and forgotten. The effects of those mistakes continued to ripple forward through time and touch the lives of all concerned, and the lives of every person
those
people had touched, like Eric, like Mia . . .

Could she even stop it now with the truth?

She drew a shuddering breath to speak, still not knowing what she would say.

The teakettle screamed, startling her.

Eric turned and took it off the burner, turning off the flame.

“Let’s go sit down,” he said.

Evi felt like she had already missed her window of opportunity to do the right thing, that anything she said now would be viewed as the result of coercion, not something volunteered because she knew he had a right to hear it.

Something banged against the back door as she poured the steaming water into her mug, and she flinched and splashed water on the counter.

“What the hell?” Eric asked. He leaned over the sink and looked out the window, trying to see past his own reflection.

“It’s getting windy,” he murmured. “I meant to put that patio umbrella in the garage a week ago.”

“Just leave it,” Evi said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No. We’ll hear that thing thumping all night,” he said, going into the laundry room/mud room. “It won’t take five minutes. I’ll just stick it in the garage and deal with it tomorrow.”

He grabbed a heavy jacket off a hook on the wall and threw it on, and stepped into a pair of work boots with the laces undone.

“I wish you’d just leave it,” Evi said.

“I’ll be right back. You won’t even have time to miss me,” he said, shooting her a wink as he opened the door.

But in the next instant, time went into slow motion, and what must have been only seconds seemed to last an eternity.

Eric didn’t see the monster coming. He was glancing back at her as he opened the door. Evi saw what rushed at them out of the darkness. The face was surreal: a horrific white mask with blood-red details and a demonic grimace twisting the black mouth into the shape of a horseshoe. Two black holes stared where the eyes should have been. A bristling black mustache sprouted sideways beneath the elaborately flared nostrils of the red nose.

Evi screamed.

Eric turned toward it and threw his arms up to protect himself as something glinting silver swung down at him. Blood sprayed against the white wall and cupboards, and across the white washing machine. The momentum of the attacker pushed them backward, farther into the room as the monster slashed and hacked at Eric.

Her husband’s blood sprayed across Evi’s face and arms. She screamed again, but the sound seemed far in the distance, dulled by her pulse roaring in her ears.

She stumbled to the side, arms thrust up in front of her, watching in horror as Eric, his face a mask of blood, pushed forward at the assailant. The demon stepped back, letting Eric’s momentum carry him out the door. It struck Eric again, across the back, sending him sprawling face-first down the steps of the deck.

“
Eric!
”

And then the monster was rushing at her. For the first time, she realized what the weapon was, but immediately her brain tried to tell her it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

She had to run. She had to get to a phone. She had to get this thing out of her house, away from her daughter. If she ran out the front door, would it follow her? If she ran across the street, would a neighbor let her in?

But the demon was on her before she could even turn to run. It hit her hard in the sternum with the hilt of the weapon, and pain exploded through her body, shutting down every other signal. She fell backward, her head bouncing hard off the floor. Her vision dimmed as if someone had thrown black lace across her eyes.

Then the assailant was on top of her, staring down at her with its sightless eyes and toothless grimace. The demon’s whispered voice was one she had heard before.

“I’m here for you, Evangeline. Aren’t you lucky now?”

It all worked out for you . . .