It was the first time she’d wanted to kill him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO JOYCE
Apparently nobody had any self-control anymore. Her husband was playing God and Laura was useless. Susan held the gun in the air like it was a magic wand that would grant all her wishes, namely to erase this entire mess from existence.
Joyce sighed, accepting that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
“Simon,” she said. Her voice floated like its own shadow across the space between them. He didn’t look at her. Blood pooled in the crease between Addy’s clavicle, which had been exposed when Simon tore her shirt to address the gunshot wound.
Joyce should have been able to tell if he’d been drinking, but she wasn’t sure. His hands were steady at least.
She said his name again, and this time he turned his head slightly towards her, an expression of intense irritation on his face. “I need to focus,” he told her. “Leave me alone.”
“You need to stop.” She let the words drop into the void of space between her and Simon, Simon and Susan, Susan and the gun. Laura and the rest of the world.
“I can save her this time!” Beads of sweat broke on his brow, and Simon wiped at his face with the edge of his forearm. He didn’t even have gloves on. He hadn’t thought to wash his hands.
Joyce moved towards him, putting her hands out to steady him away from Addy, but a voice cut in.
“Don’t touch him!” Susan shouted, pointing Joyce’s gun at her.
Joyce turned to her coolly. “Stop waving that thing around. You’re going to hurt someone. Again.”
Susan didn’t move. The barrel remained pointed at Joyce’s chest.
Simon turned back to his patient.
Joyce figured there was no harm in taking a moment to explain what needed to happen next. “Susan killed Trina,” she began.
Simon ignored her. “I need clean towels. Thread. A sterilized needle.” He barked out the orders like he was in his surgery.
Nobody moved. Susan looked expectantly at Joyce. Laura stared at the ground.
Joyce continued, letting her eyes fall on Laura. “And Laura killed Dermot.”
“What?” Susan flinched.
She thought about Susan poking the gun between her ribs earlier.
“Why would I kill Dermot? I was in love with him. He’s the father of my baby.” Laura walked over to the kitchen counter and started rattling around in the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Joyce asked.
“I’m looking for a needle and thread.” Laura bit the words between her teeth.
“You killed my brother?” Susan wavered on her feet. She gave a quick glance to Joyce and then leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What am I going to do?”
“Why else would anyone kill him?” Joyce’s feet hurt. She should have worn more comfortable shoes. She sat down on the couch, which was tilted back with its cheap frame. Her knees bumped up above her waist, so Joyce stood up again.
“I don’t know. Drugs. Revenge. Irritation.” Laura came back to Simon with a plastic hotel sewing kit, a roll of paper towels, and a lighter. She snapped the lighter open and brought out the flame, running the needle through until it burned an angry red.
Laura passed the materials to Simon, who snatched them without a word. He kept his focus on his patient. This time.
“Irritation?” Joyce echoed. “What about jealousy?”
“Well, if it’s jealousy, then why wouldn’t it be you? Or your husband? Or Addy, even?”
“Because none of us were in love with him.” Joyce only loved one person, and he was slowly killing the woman underneath him.
“What about the initials in the tree trunk, by the trailhead Dermot always liked? The initials were J.L. It must stand for Joyce…” Laura’s thoughts trailed off.
There was a long pause where no one spoke.
“Joyce Lynch. That’s her maiden name.” Simon leaned back on his heels. A neat incision with black stitching covered the left side of Addy’s shoulder. He took a deep breath and leaned down to listen to his patient’s breathing. His eyes locked on Joyce’s. “I think she’s going to make it.”
A glimmer touched his face. “I did it,” he said quietly to his wife.
“So you were in love with Dermot.” Laura pointed a finger at Joyce.
“No, no I wasn’t. It was just a stupid carving, something we did after a day spent outside on the trails. Playing out fantasies. Being passionate. It was something silly.” Joyce thought about the other passionate things they’d done.
“I’d thought it meant he was in love with me.” Laura’s brow furrowed as she spoke.
“The only person Dermot loved was himself.” Joyce couldn’t believe she had to remind everyone of this.
“Is she going to be okay?” Susan asked.
Joyce snapped her attention back to the woman with the gun. She couldn’t tell if Susan was hoping Addy would live or die. Joyce wasn’t sure which outcome was more likely from her husband’s frantic treatment.
