New Title 7 (20 page)

"You saw everything that happened yesterday," she said.

"Unfortunately."

"I did what Tyler told me. I never mentioned what happened to the doctors."

"Yeah."

"I had to get a D&C, where they scrape out the rest of the pregnancy. They had to so I wouldn't bleed to death."

"I don't know what to say. Just—sorry. I had no idea Tyler was such a monster."

"He didn't used to be that bad."

"What made him change?"

Alicia shrugged. "I just know he kept getting worse and worse. I guess he was never the
nicest
guy. He made me have sex with him when I was fourteen and a virgin. He said he was giving me 'sex education as a hands-on learning experience.'"

"You're kidding."

"It's completely true. That's how I lost my virginity."

"You believed what he said?"

"No, I'm not dumb. I had a crush on him for years before we had sex. I was glad when he took advantage." Alicia's cheeks and forehead reddened. "Even though it hurt. It was the worst pain of my life."

"How are you now? Does it hurt?"

"Just crampy. It's not too bad and the doctor gave me painkillers."

Alicia came and sank next to me. She took my hand in hers. "I know I don't really know you, but I feel we have a lot in common."

"I feel the same way."

"I'm supposed to leave in a little while. If I want to carry out my plan, it has to be done within the next hour or two." Her azure eyes seemed to darken as she cinched my hand.

"What plan? What are you talking about?"

"I thought about it all night. I couldn't sleep so I came up with a way to get Tyler out of my life for good." She gave my hand another squeeze, gazing intensely, pleading for me to understand.

I didn't.

"He's only going to hurt us again. He'll never stop. And now that he has the hots for you, he won't give up the chase. He won't stop until he's got you trapped. He's crazy."

"Alicia, what did you plan to do?"

She got up, went to the dresser and drew out the same knitting needle Tyler used to kill her unborn. She turned to me.

"Eye for an eye," she said. "It's what he deserves. You know it as well as I do."

I recoiled. "I—can't."

"Yes you can.
We
can. It'll teach them—they can't get away with treating women worse than dogs." Her voice quavered as tears welled. "You know this! You know they treat us like we're garbage! If nothing else maybe it'll teach Brandon to treat you decently. I know what he did, how he threatened to kill you, and if we let Tyler live, there'll be
two
crazies coming after you."

She stepped forward.

"I don't know—"

"Yes you do! Come on, Mia, do you think either of them will pay for what they've done? Do you think they'll ever be punished or learn consequences? No! Because they don't know the meaning of the word. Because their daddy's rich and daddy owns the Houston legal system. He knows judges, the D.A., the prosecutor,
he knows all of them
!"

Her tears overflowed. "Robert's just as crazy as his sons. He might've allowed Brandon's arrest but when it comes down to it, he'll do everything to make sure his sons don't stay in prison. Partly because it's his own damn fault they turned out like this."

Alicia was right. She was right about everything.

"We can protect each other," she said. "I witnessed you being tied up by Tyler. You witnessed him giving me the homemade abortion. It's self-defense." The needle trembled in her hand.

I dashed to her, seized the needle and hugged her. "We shouldn't hurt Tyler, that would make us just as bad. We'll call the police."

"No. I told you why it's not the right thing to do."

We held each other, unsure of ourselves.

Bang
. The door flung open and smacked the wall. Tyler appeared, grimacing at us with contempt.

"Ready to go home, Alicia?" he asked, tone as tense as his face.

"Sure." She forced a grin, gaze swinging between Tyler and me.

"Then let's go. Hurry the fuck up 'cause I gotta be in Texas City by eleven."

He saw the needle in my hand. "What the fuck is
that
you're holding?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing, eh? Why are you holding that fucking needle?" He chortled. "What were you gonna do? Did you think you were gonna stab me with it or some bullshit?"

His laughter died as he approached. Alicia's hand flew to her mouth.

Oh god this is it.
In seconds I'd have to make a snap decision.

"I don't trust you with that. Give it to me." He clutched my arm and wrenched me back and forth until I stumbled.

"I said
—give it to me
." He grabbed for it and I held it away as far as I could.

Wham
went the back of his hand across my cheek. I ignored the intense stinging, refused to let go of the needle.

"You're not getting it, Tyler." I taunted and challenged with my eyes, unwavering as I held my weapon at the side and out of his grubby grasp.

Repeatedly he gripped my arm and shook me. Every time he reached for it, I twisted and stretched out my arm, surprising myself with how fast I moved.

Tyler snatched the hair on the side of my head and jerked me about. I screamed while my grip loosened.

"Fucking give it to me,
you stupid fucking piece of shit, skanky-ass poor white trash BITCH
!" He panted. "
Do it or I'll fucking kill you
!"

I pulled back the weapon, spun and drilled his gut with the needle. His eyes enlarged, jaw dropping as he released my arm and glanced downward at the protruding metallic spike.

Blood trickled and pooled.

"Wha—did you do to me, bitch?" he rasped.

Nothing could stop me. All
anger, turmoil, agony
and
trauma
I'd endured in the past six months
raged
inside and
turned my vision blood-red.

Grabbing the needle's end, I slid it from Tyler's stomach. Blood surged.

"I'm gonna kill you, you fucking white trash cunt," he hissed, unfazed. Yet he didn't make a move. He staggered, braced his hand to the wall, flinging the other to his stomach.

Wielding the needle, I went after him. "
You're
white trash.
You're
the fucking bitch. You hurt women without a second's thought or hesitation. You even hurt your own cousin. How could you do that to your own family? And how does it feel to finally get the same treatment,
you son of a bitch
?"

I stabbed him, plunging the spike in his chest, sternum, belly, navel;
everywhere
.
Fucking everywhere
. Gore splattered my eyes and blinded me.

"How does it feel, Tyler? Tell me." Stab, stab, stab. He collapsed, curled up and used his hands to shield his stomach. Crimson fluid invaded the carpet, exploded on the walls.

"
Tell me, Tyler
!
Tell me how it feels
!" Stab stab stab stab stab stab stab.

I'd lost it. My mind was gone, floating god knew where.

"
Tell me Tyler
!
Tell me, goddammit
!" To and fro the needle soared, blurred and streaked. Didn't matter his hands were in the way—I merely stabbed those too.

"
How does it feel
?
How does it feel
?" My tears merged with his blood.

And as I stabbed him, I pretended to stab his brother as well.

Yes. His brother. The one I'd never stop loving. Stab stab stab.

God damn you too, Brandon. God damn you for making me fall in love with you! I hate you! I love you! I hate you! I hate you both! Screw you and your family! You're all goddamn lunatics!

Stab stab stab.

I screamed as I hurled the spike through his body, every bit as insane as the Levine men. They'd driven me to this. Driven me insane. Driven me to kill. My hunger for retribution wouldn't be sated till there was nothing left of Tyler. Absolutely nothing.

"Tell me. Tell me how it feels, Tyler." I barely heard the words gasping from my lips. Exhausted, I let Alicia pry the weapon from my hand.

I fell backward and sprawled across the floor.

My breathing slowed after a great deal of time. Off and on I dozed, noticed Alicia's footsteps and had no idea what she was doing. Sometimes
I
forgot what I'd been doing or why I was here.

Strange how quiet it was.

Then came the sirens.

* * *

T
rue to her word, Alicia explained to cops the circumstances in which Tyler was killed. We told them what occurred in the prior four days, not leaving out a single detail.

Of course they'd done a quick search of the home and found the belts used to bind my limbs and drug paraphernalia in the trash. One officer phoned the hospital to check Alicia's story about the miscarriage and that was confirmed. Afterward he examined my bruised thighs, wrists, ankles, asked if I wanted to get an examination at the hospital. I told him I would, figuring it would help my case.

Red and blue lights flared atop a police cruiser parked along the curb. Alicia and I stood next to the vehicle, sometimes gazing ahead at the Levine mansion, incredulous that such an elegant French home had become a house of horrors.

Particularly in the upstairs bedroom.

Tyler's body had been rushed off and by now he'd be in the morgue, lounging on a metal slab.

It was where he belonged. Sure, I entertained
some
guilt but sadly it had to be done. Tyler had to be killed or he would've hurt Alicia and me. He
tried
to hurt me despite my expecting a child.

I didn't have a choice. It was either me, my baby and Alicia—or one sick psychotic who didn't deserve to live.

I didn't look forward to Doris's or Robert's reactions to the death of their firstborn. I also wondered how Brandon would take it.

Alicia and I stood near the curb for two or three hours, at first talking to the E.M.T. responders and then speaking with police. Alicia called Doris to tell her to get home but didn't say why. Meanwhile police contacted Robert.

I dreaded and despised facing Tyler's parents, looking in their eyes while knowing what I'd done to their son. Would they forgive me? Or understand why I did it?

Doubtful. And having a son of my own, I didn't blame them.

Doris, especially, was the one I was truly sorry for. I absolutely hated that I killed her son, self-defense or not. She was the one I'd gotten close to and the one I considered a substitute mother. From now on it would be painful just to
speak
to her.

Guilt would haunt me forever, knowing how I'd hurt Doris and broken her heart.

Two hours passed before Doris and Robert arrived. I grew dizzy with trepidation when I saw the vehicles pull up.

Alicia took my hand to comfort me and maybe comfort herself too.

Late afternoon weather fit the general sense of melancholy. Grey skies, dreary clouds hung low and threatened to burst.

Hugging herself, Doris waited in front of the mansion and shivered though it wasn't cold. Her tall husband lumbered over and threw his arms around her. A police officer tarried among them, jotting something in his notepad.

Doris's shrieks of anguish resonated as Robert held her and stroked her back. Her legs buckled but Robert caught her before she could fall.

Alicia tightened her grasp on my hand. Tears flooded my cheeks and for a split-second I wished Brandon were here.

Would I be doomed to having bad luck forever? Would things always turn out as worst case scenario?

Doris's eyes met mine and I detected the understanding in them. But Robert tossed an arm around her, twirling her back to him while he eyed me above his wife's shoulder.

Robert's eyes flamed with raw, pure hatred. His hateful glare caused me to cower and huddle against Alicia. She noticed his look and wound her arm around me to express sympathy.

Alicia and I. We were like prisoners of war.

Shell-shocked.

D
uring the aftermath of Tyler's death I moved back home with Dad and Tina. Dad was happy to take me in. Tina remained her usual sullen self.

I hadn't exchanged one word with Doris or Robert since that day and I hadn't heard from Brandon either.

Alicia and I kept in touch but not often. Most of what we had in common regarded those tragic events at the Levine place and whenever we were together we discussed it. I realized that we'd bonded because of the tragedy, which meant we'd never be allowed to forget if we kept our friendship. Seeing each other was a constant reminder of that awful day.

With reluctance we decided to part ways.

We promised to always remember each other, however, and remember that bond we'd formed. We just wouldn't be able to move on with our lives if we remained close. Awful memories were shadows hanging over our heads.

The day of Tyler's funeral had come and gone.

I didn't go.

Police said they'd completed their investigation into Tyler's death and evidence proved his killing was done in self-defense. They were smart enough to know that two petite teenaged girls (one being six months pregnant) wouldn't likely murder a six-foot-three-inch tall, 200 lb. man without justifiable provocation.

I began seeing a therapist. Dr. Bradley suspected I had post-traumatic stress disorder. I
did
tell him about the recent events.

But I'd never tell him about Brandon.

And in the following year on the twenty-fifth of February, a son was born.

"P
ush," Dr. Truman said, hovering among my outspread legs. "Push, Mia!"

Oh god I'm so tired. I don't wanna do this shit anymore.

Too much white surrounded me and the delivery room's sickening odor of bleach didn't calm my nerves. Everything was too sterile and cold.

"Just a few more pushes," a nurse informed, oval face framed by graying hair. "Soon it'll be over and you'll have your baby in your arms. Isn't that what you want? After nine months aren't you ready to see him?"