Live and Let Die (24 page)

“Uh, sure. Have a good night.”

Phillip gave her a faint smile and rushed out to his car. This couldn’t be happening, not after all his hard work.

He wouldn’t let it.

P
aula heard the doorbell and groaned. She was in the middle of peeling her potatoes and had picked up a nice little rhythm. The roast was out of the oven and resting under a sheath of foil on the stove, the peach cobbler nestled beside it in its glass baking dish. She hoped it wasn’t that Cindy Cross woman. She was in no mood to deal with her today. Besides, stopping for even a moment would put her woefully behind. The doorbell rang again and Paula rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on her apron as she went to answer it. Paula frowned at the mangy looking black woman with long, black hair, a bloody sweatshirt and sloppy jeans. Paula recoiled as the woman gasped.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t give money to homeless people.” Paula went to close the door, but the woman blocked it with her foot.

“Tracy… oh my God, Tracy.” The woman started to cry.

Paula sprang back, panicked. “My name isn’t Tracy,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s Paula. Paula Pierce.”

“Oh, no, Tracy, no. Tracy, listen to me—”

“Stop it. Stop calling me that. I told you, my name is Paula. Now go! Leave, or I’ll have to get the police—”

The woman slapped her hand against the door and pushed it open. She slammed it shut behind her before she slumped against it. “Good. Call the police, FBI, whoever. Whatever we have to do to get you out of here.”

Paula backed away, terrified. “Please. Leave my house. Now.”

The woman grabbed for Paula, who winced and tried to twist away. “My God,” the woman said, as she looked her up and down. “What the hell has he done to you?”

Paula threw her shoulders back. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Tracy, please. Please. Look at me. It’s me, your sister. Sondra.”

“I don’t have a sister. I’m an only child,” she said through clenched teeth.

Sondra bent over. “Jesus, I need to sit down.”

“Phillip will be home soon. He expects to have his dinner when he gets here. Now get out of here. Go. Now.”

Sondra struggled to get upright. “Tracy… you and I grew up in California. Mommy won medals in the Olympics and daddy is a professor. I’m three years older—”

“My family is all dead. Phillip is the only family I have.”

“You went to college at UC Santa Barbara and majored in sociology. Your senior year, you met some joker named Amhad with shit for brains who thought he was a singer. Mommy and daddy gave you a graduation gift of ten thousand dollars. You and this loser moved to North Carolina so he could mooch off you while he pretended to be in some band. When the money ran out, so did he and the only job you could get was as a researcher at the TV station in town. You liked it so much, you decided to make a career out of it and you started off as a writer before you worked your way up to producer. And you were good. You were so good and you worked in Santa Fe, then Phoenix and Philadelphia before you moved to Chicago. And that’s where you met Phillip—he filled your prescription for Vicodin after you had some cavities filled and four months later he proposed and six months later, you got married and six months after that you disappeared and they said you were dead, and we’ve missed you so much and now… ” Sondra was hyperventilating because she was talking so fast. “But you’re alive,” she cried. “You’re here and you’re real.”

Paula jammed her hands over her ears. “That’s not true. None of that is true.”

Sondra grabbed Tracy’s arm with her good hand. “Tracy, please—!”

“Tracy’s dead and I killed her. She’s dead! I wanted Phillip, and she was married to him and I killed her to get her out of the way. She’s dead. She’s gone and I did it. Now get out!”

“Oh, my God. Baby, you didn’t kill anyone. He lied to you. You’re Tracy. Please. Let me prove it.”

Paula shook her head, tears spilling out of her eyes.

The door flew open and Phillip burst through it, his breath coming in jagged bursts.

“G
et away from my wife!” he yelled as he went to pull Sondra away from Paula. Sondra tried to throw herself in front of Paula.

“What the hell did you do to her, you son of a bitch?” Phillip ignored Sondra and looked at Paula calmly.

“Dear, whatever she has told you, don’t believe it. She wants to take you away, for what you did.”

Sondra turned and looked at Paula’s tear-stained face. “Baby girl, whatever he told you, it’s a lie, I swear. Don’t believe him.”

Phillip looked at Paula. “Have I ever lied to you, dear?” he asked.

Paula looked back and forth between the man who had protected her and kept her safe and the grimy, bloody creature calling her by the name of the woman she had murdered.

“Of course I don’t believe her, dear,” Paula said. “I know how much you love me.”

Phillip gave Sondra a smug look. “You heard my wife. She doesn’t believe these lies you’re spewing.”

“How long were you planning this, huh? When you first met? After the wedding? When?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sondra.” He looked over at Paula, who stood uncomfortably in between the two.

“You see, Paula,” Phillip said, “this is Tracy’s sister. She’s very upset about her sister’s death. And she just wants to confuse you, to make you pay for what you did.”

“I know what you did, Phillip.”

Phillip looked at Sondra, a malicious grin on his face. “Really? Because I didn’t do anything.”

“You almost got away with it, didn’t you?”

“Sondra, you don’t look well. Whatever happened to you, you should really see a doctor.”

“Identifying Carol as Tracy, playing the role of the grieving husband for the TV cameras. How’d you find Carol, anyway? Were you stalking her?”

“Sondra, really. Do you hear yourself?”

“Then you made my sister think she was someone else, that you were her savior. But you and I know the truth, don’t we, Phillip? That Tracy was leaving you—”

Paula looked at Phillip, confused. “Tracy was leaving you? I don’t understand—”

“She was filing for divorce. She wanted you out of her life forever.”

“Dear, she’s trying to confuse you,” Phillip said to Paula. “Don’t listen to this nonsense.”

“And then you sent that letter to my mother. Just had to rub it in her face that you’d stolen her daughter. You smug, fucking bastard.”

“Sondra, I know you’re upset. I can give you something—”

“Oh, like you’ve been giving my sister?” She nodded at Paula. “You’ve been drugging her, haven’t you? Pretty easy for a pharmacist to get his hands on all kinds of drugs. And what about this? A housedress? Tracy would never dress like this.”

Beads of sweat popped up all over Phillip’s forehead like blisters. “Paula likes to dress simply,” he said, his voice quivering.

Never taking her eyes off Phillip, Sondra rooted around in her bag, searching for the photo album. “Tracy, I told you I could prove who you are.” She pulled out the purple photo album she had been carrying around all this time.

Phillip’s face registered panic as he recognized the small book. He ran to snatch it from Sondra, who eluded his grasp. “She’s trying to trick you, Paula,” he said as he lunged for Sondra. “Don’t look at it.”

“Why doesn’t he want you to see it? If it’s not a big deal, why is he trying so hard to keep it from you?”

Paula bit her bottom lip, unsure of what to do. “I’d like to see it,” she finally said.

Phillip looked at her, stunned. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea, dear. It will just upset you, make you relive that terrible time all over again.”

“Look at it, Tracy. Look at it!”

With trembling fingers, Paula took the book from Sondra’s hands but before she could open it, Phillip whipped out a pistol he had tucked into the back of his pants and grabbed Paula by the neck. Sondra screamed as he pointed the gun at Paula’s head. Paula gasped and squirmed as she realized what was happening.

“I will blow her fucking brains out.”

Sondra licked her lips and held her hands out in front of her. “Don’t do it,” she said. “This all has to stop now.”

Phillip shook his head. “I can’t do that.” He began to back towards the door, tugging his wife with him. Keeping one hand fastened around Paula, he opened the door and pulled Paula through it.

“What are you doing?” Sondra whispered and started to run after them.

Phillip waved the gun at Sondra. “Stay back,” he ordered.

Sondra stopped short as she watched him dig in his pocket for his car keys. The cab driver, who had been waiting the entire time got out of his cab and started walking toward Phillip.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

Phillip snapped around, aimed the gun at the driver’s head and squeezed the trigger, depositing a single bullet into the guy’s brain. He dropped into a heap on the driveway, blood gushing from the crater in his forehead. Sondra screamed, briefly paralyzed both by what she had just seen and by the realization that Tracy was slipping through her fingers. Again. Doors across the normally quiet Red Rose Lane flew open like falling dominoes. Other neighbors poked their heads through their drapes and blinds to see what the commotion was.

As Phillip shoved Paula into the open door of the taxi, Sondra summoned what little strength she had and lunged for him. He pushed her down and she landed with a thud on the concrete. He leaned down until he was inches from her face.

“I’m going to kill her for real this time,” he said, spraying her with spit. “You should have just left us alone.”

Sondra clawed at Phillip’s arm, trying to keep him from getting in the cab. “No, no, take me, kill me instead, let her live,” she pleaded, hardly able to breathe.

Phillip placed the gun against Sondra’s cheek, caressing the delicate bone. “As tempting as that is, I can’t do that.” He jumped up and ran backwards toward the taxi, never pointing the gun anywhere but at Sondra. He started up the cab and screeched into the street. Sondra struggled to get off the ground and ran after the car, crying and screaming.

“Phillip you, son of a bitch,” she sobbed before she had to stop her pursuit, a stitch gnawing at her right side. She stood in the middle of the street, helpless and crying as the brake lights disappeared from her view.

“D
o you see what I do for you, Paula?” Phillip ranted as they wound their way down a long ribbon of highway. “I continue to protect you from everyone. Do you even
appreciate
what I’ve done for you?”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she sobbed.

“Yes, Paula, I am. I have no choice.”

“Oh, please, please, don’t, don’t—”

“We’d just have to keep running and running and this is the only way to protect you. Because you know what she’s done, don’t you? She’s called the police and they will come and take you away. That’s why we had to leave.” He shook his head and stared at the lights bouncing off the highway in front of him. “And that’s why I have to take you away for good now. I can’t let you spend your life in jail.”

“But can’t we just go somewhere else? Somewhere where no one will find us?”

“And where would that be, Paula? The FBI will be looking for you. The CIA. Everyone! And they don’t rest, Paula, until they find the person they’re hunting.” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry. It will be over by morning.”

“Oh, please, I’ll do anything, I just—” Paula rocked back and forth in her seat and smothered her face in her hands. “I don’t want to die. I’m afraid to die.”

“Well, Paula, you should have thought of that before you cracked open Tracy’s face,” he said as he punched the armrest repeatedly to emphasize his point.

“But I loved you.”

He licked his lips and stared over at her. “Yes, you did. You did what you had to do.” He flicked his eyes back to the road in front of him. “Just like I’m going to do what I have to do.”

“O
h, God,” Sondra cried, clutching her abdomen. By now, Red Rose Lane was flooded with stunned onlookers, clucking over their eerie neighbors, who had just disappeared in a bloody haze. Someone ran to assist the cab driver, while others swarmed over to Sondra, grabbing at her with a barrage of questions and concerns. Sondra heard none of it, her eyes still seeing the retreating brake lights of the cab carrying her sister away to certain death.

“My God, are you okay?” a short brown-haired man asked Sondra as he took in her bloodstained clothes. “Did you get shot?”

“Call, call the police, the police,” she said, not hearing what the man was saying to her, not seeing him in front of her. She tripped over her shoes as she tried to wrench away from the endless voices and limbs crowding her.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Phone, police,” Sondra muttered, frantic, babbling now. “Call the police. He’s going to kill her; he’ll really do it this time.”

“Ma’am, the whole neighborhood heard that gunshot, so the police oughta be here any minute.”

On cue, the squeal of sirens blasted down the street and about three squad cars and at least one ambulance came to a dead stop in front of the little white house on Red Rose Lane. The ensuing minutes were like a merry-go-round spinning off its axis. Sondra was bombarded with questions from the police, prodded by paramedics and given bewildered, sympathetic glances by fluttering neighbors. The police sealed off the driveway and Sondra, refusing medical assistance, had taken refuge in the house.

The police interviewed neighbors about the odd couple who had lived on Red Rose Lane. Meanwhile, Sondra wandered throughout the house, soaking in the macabre scenes from the life Phillip had forced her sister to live along the way. The pristine and plain living room. The spare white box of a kitchen with its perfectly lined shelves of color-coordinated, alphabetized cans and boxed goods. The roast and cobbler still snug on the stove, the partly peeled potatoes starting to turn brown; the blank space over the bathroom sinks where a mirror should have been; the closets filled with frumpy, oversized housedresses and row after row of sensible flats and dresser drawers stuffed with every variation of flannel nightgowns possible.