Hushed (6 page)

Shaking, he dragged himself into the shower and ran the water as cold as he could tolerate it.
Cold
. Because Richter’s blood felt so ungodly hot on his skin and every nerve in his body was aflame and screaming.

He scrubbed himself until the water ran clean and his head cleared. Able to think again. To process. When he got out of the shower, he threw his bloodied clothing into the fireplace and set flame to it, not satisfied until only the ashes remained.

Then he collapsed into bed, naked and cold, staring up at the ceiling while his mind replayed the scene again and again in his head.

Richter.

Richter’s words. Reverberating. Echoing. Scathing. Searing.

Richter’s brains splattered over the living room. On him. On the cheap porn playing on the flat-screen he’d probably stolen. He’d screwed up. Screwed up so badly, and how was he going to finish off the last few people on his list if he couldn’t even get this one right?

And his mind carried it a step further. The police showing up at his door to take him away. Tossing him in a cell. Letting him rot there. Away from Vivian, away from his apartment, away from Evan.

Evan.

Archer grabbed hold of that image, of warm eyes and warmer words.
“She’s lucky to have you.”
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop trembling.

Thursday, October 2
^nd

He didn’t sleep. Not that night. Not into the morning.

At some point, his phone rang. He ignored it. Whoever it was left a voicemail and halfway through the day, he worked up the will to check it.

“Hey. It’s Evan. I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I overstepped myself last night. I know it’s…dammit. I’m just sorry, okay? Call me if you want. I’d like to know you’re okay.”

Evan. So concerned. So worried.

“End of messages. To replay this message, press one…”

He pressed one.

Again. And again.

And again.

Friday, October 3
^rd

He planned on going to class only because if he missed anymore, the phone calls would start rolling in. Ones that involved threatening to kick him out if he didn’t show up. Then his mother would call, screaming about how he was going to flunk out of college and his tuition wasn’t cheap.

After a few hours of sleep, he felt…not great, but better, and that was something. His phone was dead. He’d listened to Evan’s voice mail over and over, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Some sort of connection to another human being, some sort of comfort.

Now that the panic had faded, a cool and calculating frame of mind took over. Mechanically, he got up, dressed, and cleaned the dried blood out of the bathroom sink and off the floor. He skipped breakfast in favor of opening his laptop, writing, printing out pages and putting them into his bag. He took disinfectant wipes and cleaned down the inside of his car. By some miracle, none of it was visible on the dark gray interior.

Now all he could do was hope he hadn’t left any traces back at Richter’s place. Footprints, hair, anything that could give him away.

His hands started to tremble as he brought the car to life, and he took a moment to breathe, to steady the tremors. No sense in getting worked up or scared. If he were going to get caught, he’d get caught. Couldn’t do anything about it now. Frankly, he deserved it. But not yet. Not until he was finished.

Being surrounded by people at school didn’t help. Gonera gave him looks throughout most of class, and he knew she expected him to hand in his rewritten story. He took no notes. Didn’t open his book. Only sat with a stoic calmness in the back of the room and never let his gaze leave the whiteboard. Everyone left, and she was waiting.

“Mr. Pond.”

Mrs. STD.

Archer pushed his chair back and stood, swinging his backpack over a shoulder in the same fluid movement. He strolled over to lay the papers on her desk. She squinted at the first page, skimming. Her head popped up so quickly he half-expected it to snap right off her chicken neck.

“This is the same story.”

“No, it’s not.” Archer snatched it away. “It’s different, it just starts the same. No more monsters, and I tried adding in some…creative detail.” As she watched, he flipped to the third page and read aloud:

“
Rudy isn’t scared like he thought he would be. They don’t even look dead to him, his mom and dad…but more like they’ve fallen into the warm embrace of a sleep they will never wake from. They feel cold to the touch, and their blood is sticky on his hands, which are fishing around in his mother’s stomach. Or her intestines. Maybe those are her kidneys. Rudy isn’t certain, because there’s so much blood he can’t tell one organ from the next.
”

Archer stopped. Gonera stared at him, jaw slack. He tossed the papers to her desk, smile fading. “While I appreciate your notes on my last story, I’d prefer it if you graded me on the merits of my writing as opposed to my subject matter. You want
Polly’s Trip to the Zoo
, write it yourself.”

He left her sitting there, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

§

Vivian’s apartment building was a bit more upscale than his. He punched in a code to get inside, scaling the stairs for her floor, flowers in hand. Fire-and-ice: her favorites, the ones he never failed to bring her on birthdays or holidays. Now, they were his attempt at patching the fracture in their friendship. In all the years they’d known each other, never had Vivian simply stopped returning his calls. She could be distant, distracted, but she never outright
ignored
him.

He knocked and heard the two voices inside—one male, one female—and braced himself as the door opened. Mickey stared out at him, shirtless, hair wet, indicating he’d just stepped out of the shower. He leaned forward with one arm up against the doorframe, making no move to let Archer in.

“Hey, Archie. What’s up?”

Civil. Polite.

Archer forced a strained smile. “Is Viv home?”

“She’s kind of indisposed at the moment.” He glanced over his shoulder as he said it, then stepped into the hall and drew the door shut behind him. “Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you…”

Archer’s eyes narrowed.

“All these calls to Viv, they’re just upsetting her.” Mick inclined his head, looking far too pleased and not at all like he gave a shit about Vivian’s feelings. “You guys had a fight, and you really hurt her. I think it’s best if you just leave her alone until she feels like talking.”

I didn’t mean to hurt her
. He wanted to shove the door open and demand that Vivian tell him to his face she didn’t want to see him.

He made eye contact with Mick and held it, refusing to back down. “Somehow, I think it wasn’t her decision at all not to talk to me. What’d you do, Mick? Take her phone away?
Ground her
from communicating with her friends?”

Mickey’s smile faded slowly. “You’re walking a thin line. She’s my girl. You got no business forcing yourself on her when she’s still tore up about Brody’s death. I’ll take care of her, so get the hell out of here.”

Archer pursed his lips. Nodded. If that was how it would be…

He grabbed Mickey’s shoulders and slammed a knee into his stomach. Mick doubled over with a breathless groan.

“How’s that for fucking
indisposed.
” Archer stepped past him into the apartment. Vivian sat at the dining table, running her fingers around the rim of a coffee mug. She saw him and startled, rising to her feet.

“Archer—”

He tossed the flowers onto the table. “What’s going on, Vivian?”
You hurt her,
Mickey had said. How dare he? How dare
she?
Out of all the men she knew, who’d been the one who never once raised a hand against her? Never forced her into bed? Never pushed her into any decision she didn’t want to make? “So, you aren’t interested in talking to me?”

Vivian’s eyes darted past him. He could hear Mickey regaining his composure, stomping through the living room.

“It’s not like that. I just—please…”

“He’s making you do it, then. Cutting me out of your life because God forbid you
have
a life outside of him.” He spoke quickly. Mickey wouldn’t be caught off-guard again, and he was coming at them. “Or maybe he doesn’t want me reporting to the cops all the bruises he leaves behind, is that it?”

Vivian clamped a hand over her mouth in horror just as Mickey grabbed a handful of Archer’s hair and wrenched him away from her. The back of his skull cracked against the wall and for a moment, his vision whited.

“Leave him alone! Mick, don’t hurt him,
stop it
!”

Mickey hefted him up by the front of his coat, and he was only vaguely aware of being shoved out into the hall again, onto the floor, to the opposite wall. His head spun. When his vision cleared, Mickey was leaning over him.

“You ever come near her again, I’ll fucking kill you,” he hissed. The door slammed a moment later.

Silence.

A lump was forming on the back of his head even as he made his way to the car. No surprise if the impact had cracked the plaster on the wall.

He was shaking again.

Monday, October 6
^th

Dr. Romero shut the exam room door behind her, flipping through his charts. All doctors seemed to do that, even when there was nothing to look at. She lifted her head and smiled. After seeing her for everything from colds to a sprained ankle, she still smiled at him like he was a kid. He never really minded.

She took a seat on the stool nearby, his folder in her lap. “Well, I can tell you that you’re not dying.”

He hadn’t assumed he was, but, “Good to know.”

“The shaking, by the sounds of it, is stress-related.” She leaned back, observing him. “Which isn’t surprising. Moving out of your house and living on your own, going to college… Very stressful things.”

Living on his own was hardly stressful. If anything, he felt a weight had been lifted off of him. College was nothing more than white noise in his life. “Is there something I can do to make it stop?” Any time Vivian crossed his mind, either the anger or the pain or the betrayal sent little tremors through every inch of his body. It was worst in his hands and shoulders.

“I could prescribe you some anti-anxiety medication.” Dr. Romero pursed her lips. “You take it on an as-needed basis. But it isn’t a long-term solution, Archer. If something’s bothering you enough that it’s affecting your physical health, we really ought to take a look at it.”

There’s nothing you can do for it.

He lowered his lashes. Doping up on pills to feel good wouldn’t ultimately cure anything and made him no better than Brody. But, to appease his doctor he said, “There’s a psych on campus I can talk to.” He wouldn’t, but if it kept her from nagging at him…

Romero gave him a pointed look. “I’ll call a prescription down to the pharmacy for you. Have you talked to your mom about this?”

Archer could have laughed. His mother hadn’t called him once since he moved out a few months back. She paid his rent because it kept him away from her. If she could’ve talked him into going to a school more than an hour away, she would have. He slid off of the exam table and gathered his coat. “No. I haven’t seen her much lately.”

“That’s too bad.” Romero bent over his charts, scribbling a few things down. “I’ve seen her a few times in the last week or so. She’s been here visiting Mrs. Hilton.”

Archer paused. Mrs. Hilton, Vivian’s mother. “Marissa’s here?”

The doctor lifted her head. “Well, yes. She was admitted last week. Didn’t Vivian tell you?”

Vivian’s mother had been more of a mom to Archer than his own ever had. Not that it took much.

His jaw clenched. “Must have slipped her mind.”

“Maybe you ought to go say hello. Other than your mom, she doesn’t get many visitors.” Dr. Romero closed her folder and offered a hint of a smile. “Go on, get out of here. Your medicine ought to be ready in twenty.”

Archer thanked her and left, heading across the building for the patient rooms.

Marissa had been sick for years, lupus tearing apart her kidneys. It seemed she was never important enough to move up in the transplant list. Brody had been the only possible donor in her family, but his drug and alcohol use tossed his candidacy out the window. So much for doctors’ initial optimistic outlooks on her condition. She only seemed to be getting worse.

Her room smelled of cotton, sterile disinfectant and roses, probably compliments of Vivian. Marissa looked tired in her bed, gazing at the television with little interest. Archer lingered in the doorway until she noticed him. Instantly, her face lit up, and she waved him in with a smile.

“Hey, honey. This is a surprise.”

She looked and sounded so much like Vivian it hurt and soothed all at the same time. He hunched his shoulders and shuffled over to the bed. “If I’d known you were here, I would’ve come sooner.”

“No sense in making the drive all the way out here, I’m fine.” She took one of his hands and gave it a squeeze. Funny, she didn’t
look
fine. “Your mom’s been here plenty to keep me company and Vivi comes when she can.”

“With Mickey?” He couldn’t help but ask, a steel edge to his words.

“Nah, still haven’t even met him.” She sniffed indignantly. “Which means he’s probably terrible for her. She never wants to introduce me to the really bad ones. He is bad, isn’t he?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. Would assuring her Mick was good for Vivian be a bad idea? Should he say she was happy? Or should he tell her how she hid at his apartment while waiting for her locks to be changed because she was too afraid Mick would come for her?

Archer looked at her, helpless. She sighed and patted his arm. “No, never mind… I don’t know what goes through her head with some of those boys. But enough about that. How’ve you been, sweetheart?”

The edge of the bed creaked a little when he took a seat on it. “Fine. School is school. I like my apartment.”

She chuckled. “I imagine so. A place all to yourself… You always were an independent boy.”

Archer couldn’t help but feel a little proud. He’d proven thus far he didn’t
need
his mother. Even if she cut him off financially, he had more than enough saved and enough grants to get him through college with little trouble.

Speaking of his mother, he felt obligated to at least ask: “How’s Mom, anyway?”

“Same old, same old.” She eyed him. “When’s the last time you called her?”

Archer rolled his shoulders into a shrug, averting his gaze. “A few weeks ago.” Truth. He’d called to wish her a happy birthday, although she hadn’t answered. “She must’ve been busy. Didn’t get around to calling me back.” He should’ve been used to it.

Marissa sighed. She looked tired again. “Archer…you know I love your mom dearly, but I also want you to know I don’t think she did right by you. I hoped after your dad died, the two of you might be closer, but…”

Everyone had loved his dad, only because they didn’t know him. Marissa heard the stories from him, and probably from Mom, but she’d never seen it firsthand, either.

“Don’t worry about it.” It was his turn to give her hand a squeeze. “Mom and I are different people, that’s all. I’m sure she has her reasons. Maybe I remind her too much of Dad.” He didn’t believe that.

Marissa didn’t seem to, either. “No. I think you remind her of all the things she’s done wrong.”

Her tired eyes bored into him. Thoughtful. Knowing. But not judging, not afraid. His stomach flip-flopped, and it took effort to keep the tremors from invading his body. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore, instead focusing on his hands in his lap.

Does she know? Did Mom tell her?

Marissa sank down a little more in bed. “No, no… Don’t get yourself worked up,” she murmured, sounding far away. “Not like I’m going to tell anyone. You’re a good boy, Archer.”

A good boy. Him.

“I know when I go, you’ll be the one there for Vivi, won’t you?” She laid her hand over his. When she squeezed it, her grip was weak.

He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’d like to wear my red dress again.” Her lashes lowered. “You’ll make sure of that, too.”

Archer knew which dress she meant. Slimming and beautiful on her; she’d worn it to his and Vivian’s high-school graduation. Nothing fancy about it, but Marissa said it was her favorite because it’d been bought for such a special occasion.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he murmured.

He didn’t want to leave, but Marissa’s breathing leveled out and when he softly said her name, she was asleep. He drew the blanket up to her shoulders, kissed her forehead, and stepped out of the room.

Three feet into the hall, his mother rounded the corner and stopped short, staring at him.

Seeing her there made him angry all over again. Vivian had her stupid reasons for not calling to tell him Marissa was in the hospital, but what excuse did
she
have? His mother straightened, began walking, looking determined to step right past him without a word. Archer caught her by the arm.

“You could have
told
me she was here.”

She tensed. He released her. “Vivian could’ve told you,” she said sharply. “If she didn’t, maybe there was a reason for it.”

“Your feelings and hers don’t really matter in this, do they?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “
She
was happy to see me. That’s all that should’ve mattered.” They stared at each other, long and hard, and she was the first one to look away. She always was.

“What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Archer shrank back slowly. She wouldn’t apologize. It was stupid to think she would. “I came to see Dr. Romero.”

She fussed with the zipper on her purse. “Are you sick?”

He wanted to tell her
yes, and it’s serious,
just to see what her reaction would be. His chest tightened. “Do you care?”

“You’re my son, why wouldn’t I care?”

“Because your attempts at being motherly are pretty transparent.” He normally didn’t talk to her like this, but it
hurt
. Between her and Vivian, he had no patience left.

This time his mother did look at him, her gray eyes hard. Everyone told him he had eyes like hers. The same fine, dark hair. He didn’t look a thing like his dad; small blessing.

“Don’t you dare try to twist this around on me. I have every right to–”

“Be afraid of me?” he finished. The flicker of doubt across her face told him he was spot on. “Why?”

Her lower lip quivered. “You tell me the truth about what happened to your dad and try asking me that again.”

It always came back to that with them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom. Dad died of an overdose. It was an accident.”

His actions, his triumphs and mistakes…the things he did for her, for Vivian, for anyone—she’d lost any and all rights she had by motherly-default years ago. Like hell if he’d share his secrets with her. She wanted to be afraid to justify her distance from him? He could give her a reason. “It could happen to anyone. Even you.” Stupid. So stupid. He would never hurt her. She should’ve known that.

She said nothing, stunned, trying too hard to figure him out, pick him apart, and decide how to interpret his words. Archer bowed and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Mom. I have a prescription to pick up.”