The Lies We Tell - 9. Chapter 9

COLE

When something traumatic happens, time seems to come to a stop. I hear myself screaming out in terror, as Emma’s pale chest turns scarlet red. Blood pooling on and around her. The brutal violence seemingly unthinkable. He then comes towards me, and I cower like a child.

“Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,” I chant, closing my eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you, don’t worry,” he replies, and I feel the cool touch of cold metal snapping down on my wrist. He handcuffs me to the side of our vintage style wall heater.

My body is shaking uncontrollably. Emma is laying on the sofa. Dylan is wailing his little lungs out on the other side.

“If she had just listened,” Michael states, walking in circles with the gun still in his hand. “You have to understand, I did this for us. She tried to separate us. She tried to force me to be with her.” He sounds completely unhinged. I think that he’s going to kill me at any second. But he just keeps talking. “I couldn’t let her keep getting away with it. I mean, she knew my temper, why would she keep pushing me?” He asks. “Shut up!” He suddenly yells in Dylan’s direction. The now motherless child continues his wail of grief. “I need to think, I need to think,” he keeps walking in circles, waving the gun around. Finally, he puts it down on the metal bar cart.

“It’s okay. We’ll tell the cops that crazy bitch did it. And I was protecting him, that’s why I had to kill her,” he says, excited at the brilliant narrative he’s created with his sick mind. He takes a pillow from the armchair and approaches baby Dylan on the sofa.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell out from the floor, momentarily forgetting my own fear.

“He is the cause of all my problems. If he's gone, all of this will go away, and then we can just go back to normal,” he replies. My stomach drops. He puts the pillow over the baby and presses down.

“Michael, stop!” I yell out. “Do not hurt the baby. No!” I yell out, but he doesn’t even budge. I pull at the handcuffs as hard as I can, cutting off the circulation in my wrist, but it doesn’t give. I have to think fast. “We can raise him together. I’ll stay with you, but only if you keep Dylan,” I say, and he glances back at me confused, his hold on the pillow loosening slightly. I continue, “You know I’ve always wanted a family. This is the perfect opportunity. Our very own baby. Your blood, Michael,” I plead. “Your first-born son. Your legacy! I’ll take care of him.” He considers it for a moment, the pillow still over Dylan’s face. “Just the three of us. Nothing will have to change. I’ll be home with the baby, I’ll do all the work.”

“You’ll give him more attention than me,” he says, still not convinced.

“No, no. We’ll get a nanny. You’ll still have all my attention. Imagine how good this will look for your reputation. The perfect family picture on your website,” I say, trying to think of anything that might appeal to his narcissism. It seems to be working.

“Okay,” he agrees. “We’ll say you killed Emma in self-defense. Because she was jealous of you.”

“Yes, of course. That’s…that’s exactly what happened,” I say. “Now take the pillow off of him, and come undo these cuffs. I just…I want us all to be together. I love you so much,” I say, as bitter bile rises up my throat.

But it works. He removes the pillow from Dylan’s face. My heart freezes, waiting for a cry or movement. Any sign of life.

“He does have my nose,” Michael muses, studying the little face staring back at him. I stop breathing, the room is dead quiet. “Please God,” I silently beg, “Please.”

Then, as if my prayers are answered, the room erupts with a high-pitched baby wail. I can breathe again. He’s alive.

“He is so damn noisy,” Michael complains as he passes Emma’s dead body without even a second glance. He comes towards me and I do my best to act normal. He uncuffs me, then kisses my lips. I want to vomit, but I have to remain cool until I can figure out what to do. The gun is still on the bar cart.

“Can you calm him down?” He asks, then walks over and grabs the gun. I pick up Dylan and wrap him up in a blanket, making sure he’s not looking at Emma. “Shhh, it’s okay.” I can hear the desperation in my voice. If I don’t think of something soon, we’re both going to die. I look for my phone, but it’s plugged to the outlet all the way in the kitchen.

Michael grabs a glass and pours himself a shot of tequila. I carefully watch the gun in his hand.

“When…when should we call the police?” I ask.

“Well, let’s get our story straight first,” he replies. “Tell me what happened.” I swallow.

“She broke in. And I had to…I had to kill her.” Dylan continues to cry.

“Fuck, I can’t concentrate with his goddamn crying,” Michael shouts, frustrated. “Can’t you make him stop?”

“It might help if I can wipe him with a cool washcloth,” I say and walk towards the kitchen. Michael doesn’t seem to notice the cellphone, but he’s too close for me to call. I turn on the water in the sink and wet a clean cloth. I also turn one of the oven burners all the way on. When his head turns, I grab for the phone and type in 9-1-1 then press the call button. I’m using a cellphone, meaning if I stay silent, the dispatchers will not be able to track my exact location and send help. But I can’t speak. My call will be discarded as a misdial. So I start talking.

“I just don’t understand why it had to end this way,” I say. He snaps his head to look at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Couldn’t you have kept her alive? Why did you have to kill her?” I say, loudly.

“That bitch was trying to ruin my life! And she almost succeeded. I had to finish her. Plus, I was tired of how pathetic she was. Someone had to put her out of her own misery,” he says,

“I just…how are we going to claim that she broke in here? The penthouse of The Georgian building? Obviously one of us had to let her in, right?” I say, and his eyes light up in suspicion at the mention of our address. “Never mind, we’ll figure something out,” I say, trying to ease his suspicion. But it’s too late, he’s already on his way to the kitchen, where he will see the phone.

I break into a sprint and lock myself in the bedroom. He’s right behind me. He kicks the door in like it’s made of cardboard.

I put Dylan in the walk-in closet and close the door. If he wants to kill him, he’ll have to kill me first.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, “We could have had a nice life together.”

“Go to hell,” I reply, finally saying how I feel.

He raises his arm and points the gun at me.

“I’ll meet you there,” he says, and I close my eyes. But instead of a gunshot, it’s the fire alarm that goes off, deafening both of us. I guess he missed the oily pan that was on top of the burner I turned on. His momentary hesitation gives me enough time. I duck and throw myself at his legs, knocking him off his feet. The gun goes off, with a bullet striking the wall. I punch him in the face with all the strength I have. “You piece of shit,” I say, and throw another punch for Emma. Then another one for Dylan. And another one for every person he’s lied to. I take away his gun, and when I’m sure he’s too messed up to attack me, I stand up and back away.

He lays on the floor, his face bloody.

“Just kill me,” he says, wiping the blood from his mouth.

“I would like nothing more,” I reply. “But I’m not going to kill the only other parent Dylan has left.”

“I’m not going to prison,” he states.

“Police, open up!” I hear the bang on the front door. I let out a sigh of relief. They’re here. We are safe.

“You don’t have a choice,” I reply, and he laughs. “What’s so funny asshole?”

“There’s always a choice,” he says, and attempts to get up.

“Open the door!” The cops outside yell.

“Get down!” I say, pointing the gun at him. But he just laughs harder.

“We’re coming in!”

“Get down!” I repeat, but he’s already on his feet. The cops break through the door.

“Drop the gun!” The cops yell at me, and I slowly put down the weapon. Michael is still laughing. He starts walking towards the window.

“Don’t move! Get down on your knees!”

“Fuck you,” he yells out, then, to the shock of everyone in the room, he launches himself through the closed window of the penthouse and falls to his death. The only thing left behind him are the million shattered pieces of glass on the floor.