Escapement (7 page)

“Have you tried to kill yourself?”

“Twice. And then I got a lecture so long and strict from Rosemary that I decided it really wasn’t worth going through that again. Plus, she’s onto me now, so she takes all the medicine out of the house.”

“She’s keeping you alive so she can help you die . . . peacefully?”

“Something like that. It makes more sense when she explains it.”

“But you have that gun . . .”

His eyes lit. “I can tell you where it is, if you want to use that instead.”

Ugh, ugh, ugh. This guy was killing me.

I noticed a Bible and a silver cross on the small table beside him. “So you’re religious now?”

“I’m . . . Yeah, I guess you could say that. But I haven’t ever been to church, so I don’t know what that makes me.”

“The thief on the cross.” I shrugged. “My grandmother was religious. She told me a lot of Bible stories when I used to garden with her.” I eyed him. “They’re stories, that’s all. As far as I can tell, God’s not watching over us.”

“I can’t really explain it,” he said, “but I do feel different. I feel more . . . peace. I feel the full impact of my wretchedness while at the same time feeling completely free of it.” He grimaced again, his hand moving toward his stomach. I kind of wanted to help but figured there wasn’t much I was going to do, besides putting a pan to his temple, and right now, that didn’t really seem like it was going to fulfill my need for revenge.

“Tell me about Beth,” he said softly.

“Why?”

“Sounds like you love her.”

“I do. I really do.” I looked away. “She gets me. She’s always accepted me for who I am. Even when I gained weight, she encouraged me to not give up. She never seemed . . . repulsed. She seemed sympathetic. She has this great smile. Kind of lights up the room. And shiny eyes, like everything is delighting her.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“And, um . . . your wife?” I cringed. It seemed like the natural progression of the conversation, but I could tell you one thing, this lady was no Beth. More like Lady
Mac
beth.

“Angela.”

“Angela.”

“Yes.”

“Was Angela always so . . . cold?”

“Angela is misguided, like the rest of us, I suppose. She just doesn’t see what matters.”

“You’re awfully forgiving.”

“Not always. Not always . . .”

“Let me guess. Rosemary.”

“She’s helped me see a lot of things differently.”

“In a ‘Jesus loves me, this I know’ kind of way.”

“Something like that.”

“Hm.” I checked the pocket watch. “Well, my friend. Time is running out for you.”

He looked hopeful again.

“Okay, look. I need to think some things through. So I want you to just . . . just sit here and don’t talk, okay? I’m going to go into the kitchen and think.”

I rose and walked straight to the fridge, opening it just like it was my own home. Some people think best in the shower, but I think best in the cool air of the fridge hitting my face, as I stare down all the choices, shelf by shelf.

How was this all going to work? I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t go out in a blaze of glorious revenge if I just let nature take its course. But killing him . . . well, that seemed too merciful.

My eyes caught on a tub of pimento cheese. But my stomach passed. I still wasn’t hungry.

I heard a noise behind me. Had Abbott made his way to the kitchen? Trying for his getaway? Ha! I could tackle him. Yeah, that’d kill him instantly. But maybe that was the way to go. Crushed to death by the guy whose weight you used to taunt. Deliciously ironic.

I turned quickly, ready to pounce.

Instead, I was staring right into the face of a plump woman with dark, curly hair and deep-brown, soulful eyes. She looked surprised. I was pretty sure I wet my pants.

“Who are you?” she asked.

I swallowed. “Don’t move. I’ve got a bomb.”

I don’t think Rosemary believed I had a bomb. Instead of not moving, she hurried to the other room to find Abbott. I rushed after her.

Abbott was trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. Rosemary, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

She eyed me as she stood by him. Her fingers were on his wrist, taking his pulse. Abbott seemed fine. It was my pulse that was skyrocketing.

Abbott looked at me as he spoke. “This is Mattie. He’s an old . . . high school acquaintance.”

“With a bomb,” she said, half-terrified, half-annoyed.

“Okay. If he says so. He’s here to kill me.”

The blood drained out of Rosemary’s face. She raised an eyebrow at Abbott. “Did you hire a hit man? Is that what this is?” She turned to me. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it if you leave.”

“I’m not a hit man,” I said, now the one annoyed. “I’m here on a revenge killing.”

“Revenge for what?”

“Meanness.”

“Meanness.”

“That’s right.”

Rosemary wasn’t smiling, but if she had, she’d have had a “jazz-hands” smile. Large. White. Showing both top and bottom teeth. Real Kathy Najimy–like, in her
Sister Act
days. I always thought Kathy was attractive in that habit, which bothered me because I was pretty sure it was a sin to be attracted to nuns.

Rosemary put her hands on her hips. “Well, looks like you stabbed the wrong guy.” She gestured toward my stomach. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh . . . that. No, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Your shirt is soaked.”

“Look, enough about me. You need to sit over there in that chair right now.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t question me!” I shouted. Rosemary sat down. I picked up the broken piece of plate from the table where I’d set it. “I’ll cut his throat. Don’t think I won’t.”

“He’s serious,” Abbott said, slicing his eyes to Rosemary. “Real serious.”

“That’s right,” I said, inwardly wishing Abbott wasn’t so calm and agreeable.

“I’m concerned about that puncture wound or whatever that is,” Rosemary said. “I think I should take a look.”

“Don’t get up out of that chair.” I walked closer to Abbott. “One move from you and he’s dead.”

Rosemary looked exhausted. “Mattie, right? That’s your name?”

“It’s Matthew. I prefer Matthew. But I want everyone in this room to call me Mattie because that’s helping my cause.”

“What is this about? Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s really none of your business. I just want you to sit there and shut up.” I paced, checking the pocket watch.

Abbott was grimacing again. Rosemary was watching him. Then she looked at me. “He needs his pain medication. He’s in a lot of pain.”

“I know that! I’m a nurse too!” I shouted.

I glanced at Abbott. He did look tortured. And I didn’t come here to torture. I was hurting too. The wound in my belly was starting to throb pretty badly. “Fine. Give him what he needs. But I am telling you, one false move and you’ll regret it. Do you understand me? And I don’t want him sleeping. I want him wide awake. You got it?”

I backed away from Abbott and watched Rosemary open the bag she’d brought in with her. She pulled out a medicine bottle, drew something—probably morphine—into a syringe, and put it in his IV. Almost immediately, Abbott seemed to relax.

Sure. Super. That’s what I wanted. Him all relaxed and comfortable before I killed him. That was going to make more of a statement.

“Better?” Rosemary asked Abbott, who nodded. His eyes fluttered, but he didn’t fall asleep.

I wished I didn’t have time to kill. I hated this. I was having to keep my eyes all crazy and my scowl on, just to keep Rosemary in line. Of the two of them, she seemed to be the one less affected by it and the least worthy of being terrorized. Plus, she was a nurse, so it was like we were kin.

“Well,” she said. “Let’s get some light in here, shall we?” She stood and zipped the curtains right open. The light flooded in, causing Abbott and me to squint. Outside, Mrs. Cavington was walking the other direction, her cane thumping steadily along with her.

I let my eyes adjust to the light. I realized I had only one more hour to enjoy beauty. I gazed out at all the trees and bushes and grass and the dimming blue sky. I’d never thought much about nature, but I thought I might actually miss it now. Rosemary sat on one side of the window, Abbott on the other, and I stood between them, looking through the glass at a bluebird.

“So,” Rosemary said, “is this some kind of nervous breakdown? Are you having a bad moment, Mattie? Because I don’t think you want to do this. You don’t seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

“Don’t I?” I gave her my harshest serial-killer glare.

“No,” she said plainly.

“Rosemary,” Abbott said, “just be quiet. Let the man be crazy if he wants.”

“He just doesn’t seem like a murderer.”

“I’m not,” I said, turning to her. “I’m actually quite a decent man, despite all that this guy put me through when we were kids.”

“What did he do to you?”

“The list is endless,” I said, “but to put it bluntly, he tormented me because I was fat.”

Rosemary leaned to the side, looking around me to Abbott. Her eyes scolded him. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s come a long way in the last couple of months, coming to terms with all the things he’s done.”

“Yes, well, death can bring a lot of things into perspective.”

Rosemary sighed. “But look at him, Mattie. He’s only got a short time to live anyway. What’s the point?”

“I’ve only got a short time to live as well.” The words felt heavy, like my tongue had to lift and throw each one out of my mouth. “Shorter than Abby over there.”

“You’re sick too?”

“Different kind of thing.”

“Tell me.”

“Trust me. You’re not going to understand.”

She focused on my belly. “The blood is dripping on the carpet.”

I looked down and sure enough, blood droplets on the carpet. It was starting to hurt even more.

“Let me at least bandage that up. Put some Neosporin on it.”

I would’ve said no, but I have a thing about clean carpets. This one was super plush and white and here I was ruining it by the second. I know, I know—I’m going to kill this guy but I’m worried about his carpet? It’s just one of those idiosyncrasies that Beth found adorable until lately.

“Fine,” I said. “But you’re not leaving this room without me.”

“I know exactly where the Band-Aids are. We keep all the medical supplies in the hall closet right there.”

I followed Rosemary down the hallway, watched her carefully as she opened the door. The closet had lots of shelves, neatly organized. As she grabbed some gauze and other things, I noticed a small white shoe box labeled “power cables.”

Rosemary closed the closet door. We returned to the living room.

“Just stay standing and I’ll get down like so,” she said, kneeling. She gently pulled up my shirt. I held my breath. I didn’t like my belly exposed. It grossed everybody out, including me. But Rosemary seemed completely unaffected as she blotted and dabbed and tore medical tape with her teeth. She put something cold on and the pain subsided. “This probably should be stitched up,” she said, putting the bandage on. “But this will do for now.”

She backed away from me, taking the Band-Aids and things, and sat in her chair, snapping her medical gloves off.

“Thank you,” I said. I sat down.

“Are we waiting for something?” Abbott asked. “Shouldn’t we just get on with it?”

“Mattie,” Rosemary said, shushing Abbott, “tell me what’s going on. Why has it come to this?”

I looked her straight on. “Rosemary, you seem like a really nice person. Genuinely nice. I wish more people were like you and less like Abby. But there is no way you will understand this.”

“Try me.”

“Okay,” I said stiffly. “Time personified—he goes by Thomas Constant—came to visit me this morning and told me I was going to die in four minutes. He gave me a choice . . . I could either go back and relive any seven hours in my life, or I could extend my life by seven hours. So I chose the latter. And yes, I am using the last seven hours in my life to murder this man. But I don’t want to kill him too early because I don’t want to wait around with the body, and now I’ve got you to contend with, which is making this even more complicated. Questions?”

Rosemary’s mouth was hanging open.

“Didn’t think so. Now, let’s all shut up,” I said, trying to get comfortable in the chair.

Mrs. Cavington was walking by once again, the other direction. “What is she doing?” I asked, gesturing toward the window.

Abbott turned to look. “She does that sometimes. Just walks down the block and back several times. Probably exercising or something.”

Rosemary leaned forward. “How much time do you have?”

My eyes cut to her. “Don’t pretend like you believe what I’m saying.”

“I’m just curious.”

I pulled out the pocket watch. “Forty-eight minutes.” I turned the watch to her. “See how it’s missing some of the numbers? It’s only got the exact number of hours and minutes I’m going to live.”

Rosemary leaned further forward. Her eyes glowed with confusion even though she was nodding. Was she or wasn’t she seeing it?

Whatever. It didn’t matter if she believed me or not.

“It’s probably going to be a heart attack,” I continued. “I’ve always had a premonition that I was going to die that way. And also a doctor telling me every six months that I was. So after I kill Abby here, I’m just going to drop dead right on this carpet.” I eyed her. “Don’t try to revive me. It won’t help.”

Rosemary nodded again, like this was all making perfect sense to her. She kind of reminded me of Beth in the early days, when all we had was hope for a great future. You know the era . . . when you’re broke and destitute, but you’re sure if you just hang in there long enough your life is going to improve.

“Rosemary,” I said, “will you do me a favor? Could you contact my wife after I’m gone? Tell her where the body is. And tell her that I love her very much. Her name’s Beth and she’s in my contacts list on my phone under Hershey Kiss.”

“Sure. Okay. Of course.”

I looked at Abbott. His eyes were glazing over. The medicine was probably putting him into a semicoma. “Abby! Snap out of it!”

He flickered to life.