SIXTY-ONE2024

Aimee

Archie’s death was ruled self-defense. John testified that he had stopped by that evening to see Archie and heard yelling inside the house. He had entered through the unlocked laundry door and saw Archie charging at me with a knife. He discharged his weapon, perfectly legal with his concealed carry permit, to defend me. I corroborated his story and also shared with the police that Archie had admitted to killing Angela. He became enraged when confronted with the note I found in his coat pocket from Angela. I got lucky with that one: The old note was still in the seldom worn coat pocket. He admitted to me that they were having an affair and he’d killed her. Of course, that was only hearsay, but he wasn’t around to say anything, so I had an advantage.

Dead.

So many dead.

Because of me.

I didn’t feel good about any of it, but I knew that I’d only done what I needed to do. I was a survivor, not only physically, but emotionally, too. I could have killed Archie, but I didn’t want to. Yes, he betrayed me, lied to me, and played games with me. He was avenging his sister’s death. I could understand that, even respect it. As a whole, he was a good person.

After John’s warning in his driveway I knew I had to act fast. The guy was going to destroy me. I needed to dangle something in front of him that he desperately wanted. Unfortunately, I couldn’t allow Archie to live, but I could have John do my dirty work.

Then I knew.

He wanted the farm. And that’s what he got.

John isn’t a good person. Nor am I, but at least I have a logic to my train of thought, an individual moral code. Conventional, perhaps not, but it makes sense to me. Sure, I tried shooting John while he was rabbit hunting. I went hunting all the time with my father and I’m an excellent shot. Who knew he’d be wearing a bulletproof vest though? Not a common practice for hunters.

John’s a grabber. He wants things, people, respect, not because he deserves it—he just wants it. He wanted Robin, despite her feelings about him. I could have taken care of Archie on my own, but this story was much more believable. I must give John credit; he saw me. The real me. Makes me wonder about his past, but I’m not that interested. He fulfilled his purpose, and he won’t bother me again.

Now that everything was settled with the police, tomorrow I would sign the papers giving the farm to John. A gesture of goodwill for saving my life. At least that’s what we’re telling people.

I finished packing my dishes and taped the box shut. My phone beeped as a text popped up. I saw who it was from and smiled. Raindrop, well her real name is Emma, sent me her new address in Malibu. I pressed to like the text.

We’d been talking lately and she asked me to come visit her and River, now Greg; they are both back to their given names. I’m flying out next week. I’ll be getting a new identity, thanks to Greg’s contacts, because one loose end still exists: Nick. I doubt he will seek me out; I gave him a chance and warned him it would be his last. He has a family and as much as he loved his brother and sister, I don’t think he will risk his own personal safety and that of his family to spill the truth on me. But I’m not taking any chances. I will be Charlotte Applewood. This name is special to me, as Charlotte was Aunt Lou’s middle name. A new beginning in a familiar place.

Back to California.

I live in the here and now.

EPILOGUE2011

David

The garage door was open and Kelsey stood inside waving me in. I pulled my car inside, killed the engine, and she hit the automatic garage opener, closing the door behind me.

I got out of the car and she was in my arms, kissing me.

“I don’t want the neighbors to be curious about a strange car in the driveway.”

I laughed and returned her kisses. I’d met Kelsey in a restaurant two months ago near Berkeley, where I was a sophomore. It was casual hookups at first, but I was developing feelings for her. She was beautiful and funny. We usually hung out at my dorm room, which worked out pretty well because my roommate was usually out. This was my first time at her house. I’d never met any of her family or friends, but in all fairness, she’d only met my roommate once or twice. I felt amazing with Kelsey, like I could accomplish anything. In my mind, I was playing out scenes when her parents came home from work later, how I’d shake her father’s hand and he’d call me “son.”

Kelsey’s hands were all over me, bringing me back from my daydreams. She laughed, took my hand, and led me into the house, down the hallway to her bedroom.

We tumbled onto her bed, already unmade, throwing our clothes to the floor and fucked like we always did. Frantic, hot, passionate.

We were lying in her bed, sweaty and spent, when her cell rang. She picked it up from the nightstand and glanced at it.

“Oh, I’ll call him back later,” she said. She put the phone back on the nightstand.

“Who?” I asked, stretching my arms.

“My boyfriend.”

I stopped stretching and stared at her. I couldn’t understand what I had just heard. “Your boyfriend?”

Kelsey gave me a coy smile. “Yeah, I probably should have told you. He’s in college at NYU.”

“Really.”

“Um… I mean you and I are just casual, right?”

“Sure,” I said. Anger raced through me. I felt so stupid. Why had I thought it could be more?

She rolled over to me, rubbing my chest. “I mean, you’re kind of…”

“What?”

“You don’t want to be in a relationship. You are kind of… flaky.”

I sat up. “You think I’m flaky? What does that even mean?”

“Um… I don’t know.” Kelsey continued to talk, but I barely heard what she said. Heat flooded my body and I just wanted her to shut up. I wasn’t good enough for her. I was too flaky!

The rejection hurt.

“Shut up! Shut up!” I screamed. Rage consumed me now, filling every fiber in my body. My hands went around Kelsey’s slim neck and I squeezed. So hard. Squeezing. Squeezing. I watched as her arms and legs flailed about, trying to escape my grasp.

Then silence.

Calm.

Her lifeless body was limp in my grasp. I let go.

I panicked, pacing around the bedroom, Kelsey’s body lying motionless and breathless in her unmade bed.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I just killed somebody.

I sat on the bed and contemplated the situation. If Kelsey was found, I would go to jail for murder.

I could not go to jail.

I knew what I needed to do. I stood and went back to the garage. A pair of work gloves were on the workbench at the side. I put them on and searched through the shelves, looking for something I could put Kelsey’s body into. I found an extra-large dark green duffel bag that would work.