Okay, so she and Tom have a sick Harley and the Joker thing going between them, and I’m pretty sure Tom plans to leave Myrtle holding the losing hand. There’s no way he’s helping her dispose of any bodies. I had no idea she was this deluded, or disturbed. But I guess grief can twist what’s already there and make it worse. And who knows what manipulative crap Tom has been feeding her to work her into this state.
Myrtle backs away from me and pulls a handgun from the back of her belt. I think it’s a Glock, but I hate guns, so I don’t really know much about them.
“You understand that I don’t want to do this.” Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, fractured with pain. “I have to. Otherwise he gets away with it, like all these rich fucks get away with screwing up everybody else’s lives. And you’re here now, you’re a witness, so that means… You know.” She grits her teeth, hissing sharp breaths through them. “I got no choice. I’m not going to prison for doing what’s right.”
I have to warn Jay. He’s going to walk out here any minute with his laptop in his hands and those innocent brown eyes in his beautiful face, and then she’s going to shoot him for something that wasn’t his fault.
I shift my body, even though more agony spears through my brain and neck. My hands writhe, scraping and squirming against the rope.
Myrtle has backed farther away, but my movements attract her attention. “I should hit you again, knock you out for real this time.”
She takes one step toward me—and Jay’s voice wafts from the doorway of the screened porch. “Myrtle? It’s Myrtle, right?”
“That’s right, bastard.” Myrtle’s voice breaks, but she snaps the gun into position, bracing it with both hands.
“What’s going on, Myrtle?” Jay says. I can’t see him yet, but I can hear him—calm and cool.
“You killed my brother, you piece of shit. You told him to climb that cliff.”
I want to scream at Myrtle, to tell her Jay wasn’t the one who prompted George to climb. But with the gag sawing the corners of my mouth, scraping my tongue, I can’t do more than choke and moan and writhe. Tears run hot down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric.
“You know I didn’t kill him.” Jay’s voice is moving, as if he’s slowly circling the pool’s edge. Myrtle moves too, maintaining her aim, keeping the water between them.
“Words can kill,” she says. “You egged him on.”
“I encouraged him when he was already more than halfway up. I wanted him to make it. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”
“Stop moving, or I’ll shoot you.”
“It’s okay,” Jay says softly. “We’re just talking, you and I. Tell me, Myrtle, where’s Daisy?”
“Maybe she’s dead. How would that make you feel?”
A throaty growl rips through the air, and for a second I wonder if Jay has a dog I don’t know about. And then I realize the sound came from him.
“You didn’t kill her,” he says. “I can hear her heart beating. But she’s frightened and in pain, and someone will have to pay for that.”
“You’re such a freak.” Myrtle is still moving, inching closer to where I’m lying behind the grill. I wrench at my hands, wishing I knew how to dislocate my thumb bone or whatever people do in movies to get out of ropes.
“Tom’s been doing his homework on you,” Myrtle says. “He knows you’re up to something bad. Probably raping and murdering the people who come to your parties. You’ve got a basement full of body parts, don’t you, you sick bastard?”
“I’m not the one threatening murder here.”
I twist, craning my aching neck, and there’s Jay, rounding the edge of the pool, prowling toward Myrtle. Myrtle stands with her back to me, no longer circling. She’s caught, cornered. The roles have shifted, and Jay’s the hunter now, stalking slowly nearer.
“Stay where you are,” Myrtle croaks. “Or I’ll shoot you.”
“You’re going to shoot me either way, right?” he says quietly. “You really shouldn’t, though. I promise you’ll regret it. Think of your own future. Are you ready to go to jail for life?”
“Tom will help me. We won’t get caught.”
“Oh, Tom will help you? Because he’s so reliable. I’ll bet he talked you into this, didn’t he?”
“No. I mean, he wants justice for George. For me.”
“And justice is shooting me and Daisy?”
“Because of you, I lost my brother!” Myrtle screams, tears thickening her voice. “He was all I had, do you understand? The only person who cared.”
“Interesting. Doesn’t Tom care about you?”
“Shut up! Just shut up! You dared George to climb that cliff. You didn’t stop him. You basically murdered him.”
“But your voice startled him. That’s why he fell.”
“You’re blaming me?” Myrtle’s voice shrills with anguish.
Jay is still walking the edge of the pool, half a dozen steps from her now. “I’m only telling you the tr—”
The shot cracks the air. Short. Brutal. Final.
Jay stands as still as a tree, the breeze fluttering through his shirt and hair.
Dark blood spreads slick across his chest, blooming wider like a malignant rose. I whimper against the gag and lurch forward, bucking savagely against the ropes. Pain flares through my wrist bones, but I twist harder, and one hand pops free of the loop.
Jay wavers, takes a staggering step, and falls backward into the pool, arms wide and eyes unfocused. I tear away the ropes and fight with the gag knotted at the back of my head, but I can’t pick it loose. Myrtle has her back to me. She’s frozen, the gun still raised. When I struggle to my feet, pain forces a tiny cry from my throat, and she whirls, aiming the gun at me. But I’m blind with grief and reckless rage, and I throw myself at her in a tackle worthy of a linebacker. We crash to the ground, and the gun skids away. My nails find her face and her throat, clawing, shredding. I grind my teeth into the gag until pain shoots through my jaw.
I want her to hurt.
