The Truth (13 page)

“Could you—could you just not?”

“Well, I’m here, so speak.” I swallow a big chug of the wine.

“Alyssa.” She stops and doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she just stares down at the counter.

“I’m listening… for about thirty more seconds.” She remains silent and tears start to trickle down her face. I couldn’t care less if she’s upset. After what she’s done, I hope she rots. I pick up the glass of wine and polish it off. “Time’s up!”

I get up off the stool, grab my purse, and turn to leave. When I reach the doorway, she shouts, “Grant didn’t do it.”

Stopping dead in my tracks, I take a deep breath and pivot to face her again. “Grant didn’t do what?” Silence. “Whitney, what didn’t Grant do?”

Whitney starts to shake like she is trying to hold something in. Tears continue to stream down her face. “He didn’t kill her.”

“Yes, yes, he did.” More shakes of her head. “Whitney, if he didn’t kill her, who did?”

Whit finally tilts her face up and looks me square in the eyes. “I did.”

The world falls away from me. Why would she do that? How? “What do you mean you did?”

“I shot her. Twice.”

“No, Whitney, Grant is in jail. They found him guilty of her murder. The gun washed up on the shore. His gun. Grant killed Stephanie Jones.”

She is shaking her head violently at this point. I walk over to her and put one hand on each of her shoulders and shake her. “Whitney, what the hell are you talking about?”

She just keeps shaking her head no. Full of panic, my patience is thin. I haul off and slap her across the face. “Whitney, snap the fuck out of it and talk to me!”

“I did it, Lys. I killed her.”

“Why? Why would you do something like that?” I scream at her.

“For you.”

My best friend
in the entire world had just walked out of my life. Alyssa was the only person I had ever truly cared for. I destroyed our friendship, and even worse, I hurt her. I stood up to leave the restaurant and a pool of thick liquid pooling in my lap sloshed down my legs. Great, it looked like I was having my period or I was dying. Whatever. I didn’t even care. You have never felt any pain as great as seeing deep, gut-wrenching pain in the eyes of someone you love and knowing you were the cause of it.

I decided right then I would do whatever I had to do to make things right with Alyssa. She didn’t deserve any of the shit life had handed her, especially my part in it. My stomach hurt at the thought of her watching Grant and me in the throes of passion. I had just gone over there to ask him for some financial advice. I had always been attracted to Grant, but he was Alyssa’s husband. I kept my paws to myself.

He was so charismatic and after a few glasses of wine when we went to his office to talk financial crap, I hung on his every word. When he ran a hand up my thigh, I should have stopped him. When he pulled my hair at the nape of my neck and kissed just below my ear, I should have stopped him. Before I knew what was happening, he was inside me, and I was having the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life. He was so caring and affectionate. It felt natural being with him—until my mind cleared. I noticed something shiny reflecting light to my right. It was then I saw the silver framed picture of Alyssa. I shot up, fixed my clothes, and ran out of his office. I went home and cried for days.

I tried to convince myself it never happened. Trying to live life and move on from it, I avoided engagements where Grant would be in attendance. I knew about the party for his mom, but if Alyssa didn’t mention it, I certainly wasn’t going to either. Then she confronted me at lunch. She saw it. Alyssa watched us. I can’t imagine what must have gone through her head or how much it must have hurt her. Losing a best friend is like mourning a death. Even if they are still alive. When someone who has always been there for you is all of a sudden gone forever, it’s like going through the grief of a death.

Over the next few weeks, I devised a plan to do something insane. It was the only thing I could think of to make things better for Alyssa. It clicked one day when I was thinking about the tryst with Grant. I remember we fucked so hard over his desk all the drawers had jiggled open. I caught a glance of his gun in the top drawer. The memory was like a light bulb. I would kill the girl who Grant had cheated with and had hurt Alyssa. If Alyssa wasn’t having her baby, then this girl wasn’t going to either.

The first thing I did was to sneak into Grant and Alyssa’s house to retrieve the gun. I needed a gun and Grant had one. Besides, I’ve been there a million times before. I could probably guess the code to anything they owned.

It took a little more craftiness to figure out who my target was, though. Luckily, it pays to have a friend who is a hacker. I got Grant’s cell information and through process of elimination, I figured it out. I even bought a cheap beater car with cash to make sure I was never connected to being at her place. For days after, I lurked in the shadows, learning her routine, and looking for an opportunity. She lived alone and she was on an almost exact schedule daily. Then, I found my opening, so I took it.

* * *

Squeeze, release, squeeze,
release, I listened to the rhythmic sound my leather gloves made as I squeezed the steering wheel. For days, I had been watching and waiting. The pain and anger in Alyssa’s face at our last meeting kept flashing in my head.

Right on schedule, Stephanie pulled up to her complex. Hopping out of her car, she threw a satchel over her shoulder and headed to the building.

I caught up to her while she was still fiddling with her keys.

“Stephanie?”

She looked up at me with big doe eyes. “Hi—Um, do I know you?”

“I’m a friend of Grant. He wanted me to give you something.”

“Grant? Well, what is it?” It was then I noticed she had a valley girl accent.
Like totally
! Ugh, shoot me—or better yet her.

“Well, this something is best if I give it to you in private. Can I just come in really quick?”

“Yeah, for sure. Come on in.”

As soon as we walked into her apartment, I closed the door behind me and pulled the gun out of my waistband. When she turned around and saw it, she gasped. “Is that for me? Grant wanted you to give me a gun for protection? He always said my neighborhood wasn’t safe enough.” Oh, boy, we’ve got a genius on our hands.

“Stephanie, you are a slut.” Hypocrite, I know. “You slept with my best friend’s husband. You hurt her and now I’m going to hurt you.”

Finally, recognition flashed in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“If only that fixed anything.” I removed the safety and pointed the gun at her. 

“Please, you don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up and turn around!”

“Please, please—I’m pregnant.”

“I know. And it’s exactly why this has to happen. Getting rid of you can fix things. I can make amends.”

“I’ll just go away. You don’t have to do this. No one will ever have to know. I’ll take care of this on my own. I promise. Just let me go.”

“Yes—you will go away. I plan to make sure of it. Then maybe I can be forgiven.”

I grabbed her by the hair and she screamed. She shut up when I pushed the gun to her neck.

“Since you like to be on your knees so much, this seems poetic.” I pushed her down to a kneeling position.

“Please, please don’t do this,” she sobbed over and over. Two gunshots echoed through the small space, immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass when a vase full of flowers was hit by a bullet. Glass shards and water flew everywhere. Then there was just silence. She slumped over to the ground as a pool of blood grew around her. I watched one stray flower petal as it glided through the air and landed in the sea of red.

Not taking even a moment to think about it any further, I pocketed the gun and fled, making sure to close all the doors behind me. On the way back, I dropped the gun in the river. Goodbye, evidence. There was nothing to tie us together and the murder weapon will never be found now.

Problem solved.

“What have you
done?”

“I wanted you to forgive me. You’re like my sister. I thought if I did it, you could forgive me.”

“Whitney, Grant is in jail for murder times two! God, this is all so fucked! Whitney, what the hell have you done? This is all my fault.” I shake my head violently like if I shake it hard enough, maybe the knowledge that just went in will fall out.

“How is this your fault?” Whit sobers and looks at me confused.

“I lied! I lied, okay? I tried to leave Grant. He choked me. He threatened me. He said he would ruin me, my career. I knew I couldn’t leave him.” I take a deep breath, willing myself to keep it together. “I lost my baby because of her! Because Grant fucked some dirty college slut. She came into my practice for an STD recheck. I lied. I told her she was pregnant. It was my revenge. Two months later when she died she was only a few weeks along. She must have gotten pregnant after I saw her. I had no idea she was really pregnant until the autopsy report. 

“Well, I guess we are both dirty liars.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t kill anyone. I thought if she told him she was pregnant, he would leave me. She could give him the baby I never could. I just wanted to be free of everything.”

“So why tell me? Why make lunch plans and tell me about a mythical baby?”

“To hurt you! I wanted to hurt you!”

“Alyssa, I never meant for it to happen.”

“I saw you together. It was like you had been together a million times before.”

“I swear to God, it only happened once. I never meant to—I hated myself after. He was helping me with some stuff for starting my own small practice. I asked for help with financial stuff. It’s why I was there and then he turned on the Grant charm. Combine that with wine and—it just happened. I never wanted to hurt you. I cried for days after and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. I was caving in on myself from the guilt. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry it happened. Can’t you see that’s why I did all this? Alyssa, I could handle losing anyone in the world, but not you.”

“How did you think killing her would fix things? You’re supposed to be a psychiatrist, not a psycho!”

“Poetic, isn’t it?” She chuckles a little, but I’m not laughing. I feel sick. I want to crawl out of my body. My lies caused a ripple effect, and now a girl is dead.

She’d already told everyone she was pregnant before she died. They didn’t know who the father was until her death. I can remember clear as day the tears her mother cried as she told the jury she would never be a grandma now. I’m the cause of all this pain. One stupid lie caused all this heartbreak. If I had just done my job, I wouldn’t have to carry this guilt. In the end, it turned out she was in fact pregnant. The autopsy confirmed it.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” I slide down the wall behind me and pull my knees in. My mother was right about me. I sit in my thoughts clutching my knees. Whitney comes and sits down next to me. “I need to process all of this. I need to go home. I need to be alone.”

* * *

When I got
home, I sat at my island for a long while. I sat and just looked around at my giant, beautiful, empty home. Years before, just after we were married, I allowed myself, for the first time in my life, to envision children. I remember sitting exactly where I am now one morning with a cup of coffee. I could actually hear our children running around the house playing and laughing—children who were never going to be. 

I’m not sure how long I sit there thinking. Many hours, and almost three bottles of wine later, I am swimming in a sea of regret. I need something, anything to make me feel better. Take away the pain, the memories of everything that has been done to me—everything I’ve done to others.

Keith, my brain registers. Keith is comfort. I pick up my phone and dial his number, but get his voicemail.

“Hi, I just wanted to hear your voice,” I slur. “You always make me feel better.” I can hear the sadness in my own voice. I sound like a child. “You’ve always been there. You’re like an angel.” I pause to think. “Are you an angel? I bet you are an angel. That’s why you’re good. You’re the good one out of us all. Heck, you’re a cop, you save people for a living.” My diaphragm spasms. “Crap, I got the hiccups. I guess I’d better go. Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice. Goodbye, Keith.” For some reason, saying goodbye to Keith brings fresh tears to my eyes. It feels final.

I put my phone on the counter and try to push myself up to stand. I’m wobbly on my feet, but I make it. I am halfway down the hall when I hear my phone go off. “Too late phone, I’m too far away!” I yell back at it. I crawl up the stairs on all fours and go flying when I trip over the top stair. I catch myself on a wall and head through my bedroom to the bathroom.

My vision blurs as I stumble toward the bathroom door. I don’t feel like I’m crying anymore. I can’t feel anything much at all, but I know I am because warm, wet droplets keep landing on my hands and blouse as they fall—leaving dirty mascara splotches as they do. I can just barely make out my face in the mirror when the lights ping to life in the bathroom. The tears streaming down my face have left what looks like black ravines down my cheeks.

While I can’t feel much sensation in my body, my mind is on overload. The alcohol should have dulled things, but all it did was intensify the emotions coursing through me. I am a bad person. Only bad things have come from me, starting with my very conception.

My parents were married and had one daughter together, my sister Megan. A few years later, things must have been rocky in their marriage. My mother had a one-night stand with a co-worker during a long dry spell. I was the result. 

Growing up, I never knew why my father hated me. I couldn’t understand why my mother looked at me as if I was the bane of her existence.

On my twelfth birthday, after a few too many martinis, mommy dearest drunkenly revealed all of this as an explanation for why my middle name is Karma. Yep, that’s right. Alyssa Karma Silver. I always thought it was a strange middle name. I used to like to believe it was a virtue name like Grace or Hope. I guess, in a twisted way, it turns out it was. My mother named me Karma as a way to remind her of what happens when you sin. I was her lifelong reminder of her wrongdoings.

A short time after, I decided to become a doctor. I wanted to really make something of myself. My entire life I’ve been trying to prove I was more than just bad juju for a poor life decision. Naturally, labor and delivery intrigued me. The field piqued my curiosity since I’d be working with new mothers. I wanted to see if all mothers despised their children from birth.

On the contrary, I found every healthy baby I delivered received nothing but love from the moment I placed the baby in their mothers’ arms. It has been both a blessing and a curse to see every new mother so in love with her newborn. In my head, when I picture how my own mother might have reacted when the doctor placed me in her arms, there is as scowl on her face. It’s the only sober expression of my mother’s I had ever known to be directed at me.

I did everything right. I worked hard, made something of myself. I found a man I thought loved me. Yet here I am, alone, drunk, and crying in my bathroom—alone. No matter how good I tried to be, in the end, everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone I know would be better off if I had never been born. This one small truth is an emotional pain so horrific it feels like a bullet as it rips right through my chest.

The world would be better off if I were never born.
This is a pain that alcohol cannot ease. I know what will though.

The small makeup drawer to my right glides out effortlessly when I pull the handle. So many shiny things, I think to myself. There are no more tears. There are no more sobs. There is just calm and the hum of the bright vanity lights above me.

Reaching down, I run my fingers along the cold metal eyebrow scissors in the drawer. Lifting them from the drawer, I open the blades and feel the point with a fingertip. Being a doctor, I know where to cut for it to be effective. Pushing the blade into the skin of my inner wrist, I pause, contemplating it. This will be messy. Someone will have to find me, and this will be burned in their memory for life. I’ve caused enough pain.

I drop the scissors and open the medicine cabinet. There isn’t much, but it should be enough to do the job combined with the few bottles of wine currently flowing through my system.

After twisting off the top to two quarter-f bottles, I dump the pills in my palm. ‘The world would be better off if I were never born’
is on repeat in my mind. It’s the only thought I have. At that moment, it seems to be the only thing in the world I know to be true. A few handfuls of water later, the pills are gone.

I walk into my bedroom, my beautiful bedroom in my beautiful mansion. Ha, the thought is absurd to me. You could have it all and still be so absolutely miserable. How can one get everything they think they want only to discover it’s all bullshit? Everything is bullshit. I pull my favorite dress out of my amazing closet and sloppily put it on, nearly tripping twice. I wipe the streaks of makeup off my face the best I can. Pulling the hair tie out of my locks, I brush the gold strands out. Mother loved my hair.

I lie down peacefully in my bed and sleep takes me before I even remember trying to close my eyes.

Then there is just darkness... and nothing.