Hushed (14 page)

“Is that the only reason?”

No. How could he explain it? His thoughts so rarely made sense anymore. Just a jumbled train wreck of things he couldn’t put into perspective. He knew what he
felt
, though, and his feelings had simply said:
I don’t want to.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. His breath made a small circle of glass on his window fog up. “I wanted to get away. From her. From Vivian. I wanted to go home, not have to feel like everyone was staring at me, thinking I didn’t belong there.”

“Yeah, well... Screw them. You had a right to be there.”

Archer closed his eyes, trying to soak in the comfort his words offered.

And yet, he didn’t understand why Evan was steadily becoming some sort of safe haven, why Evan would
want
to be. They were two entirely different people. Archer was different from most, though. Vivian called him a control freak. Everything had its place, everything needed to be done in a certain way. He spent so much of his time nitpicking at the details in his life, and the rest of his time bending to Vivian’s whims, he wasn’t sure where there was room for anyone else. Or reason for anyone to find him at all interesting or appealing.

Archer touched a finger to the fogged part of the glass, leaving one lone little dot. “Evan.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me one reason you like me?” Another dot.

He couldn’t see Evan’s expression, but he could hear the bewilderment in his tone that suggested a raised eyebrow and a small smile. “What?”

“One reason.” He frowned at the slowly clearing patch. “Why you spend time with me. Why you bother.”

“I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Try?”

Evan was silent while he considered. Finally he said, “You have this air of sincerity in everything you say and do, even if it’s telling someone something they don’t want to hear. And the way you try to figure everything out. I look at a clock and I see a clock.
You
look at a clock and mentally dissect it to figure out how it works and why.”

He paused.

“You’re also really cute when you’re indignant.”

Not the answer he’d expected. Archer scowled and turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“Just like that.” Evan glanced at him, mouth splitting into a wide grin. “You’re always so indignant. If I put my jacket on the table, you get all huffy and move it to the coat closet. You glare at your meat if it’s touching your potatoes on your plate. Or when I tease you. Like the entire world offends your delicate senses…and I like it.” He shrugged.

Archer stared at him.

“Also,” Evan continued, “you blush when someone says something that makes you happy. Like right now.”

He twisted away again, face hot as Evan laughed. Still, it seemed such an odd thing for Evan to like about him. Things that irritated Vivian.

Before the window could clear completely, Archer added an upturned mouth beneath the two eyes and watched it slowly fade. After a moment he quietly said, “Your optimism.”

“What?”

“What I like about you. Since you answered my question.” He hunched his shoulders up.

Evan
hmm
’d. “You can elaborate.”

“You take everything in stride. Nothing is ever the end of the world for you. Always a light at the end of the tunnel and all that.”

“Glass is half full, yeah,” Evan mused.

“Mhm. You…keep me grounded, I guess.” His lashes lowered, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t think he could look at Evan and keep talking. Didn’t know why he started the conversation in the first place. “You remind me things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“Thanks, Archer.” Evan sounded like he had a smile on.

“…Even if you do leave your coat in all the wrong places.”

“See? Always nitpicking.” Evan started laughing again. “That reminds me… What’re you doing for Halloween?”

Archer raised a brow. “How does that at all remind you of Halloween?”

“Uh… It doesn’t. But given the mood the last few days, I couldn’t find an appropriate time to bring it up.”

Oh, well. Halloween was around the corner, but what did that mean to him? It’d been the last thing on his mind. Some years he went to a party with Vivian, but after being ditched at last year’s party, Archer wasn’t so sure he cared to go to another one. He gave a noncommittal noise and shrugged.

Evan bobbed his head into a nod. “I asked ’cause I’m going up to visit my folks. I thought I’d invite you if, you know, you wanted to get away for a few days. With everything going on…”

Archer didn’t want to spend his weekend around strangers, but he had to admit he was curious to see Evan’s home, meet his parents; see where he’d grown up. He had a personality that was hard to figure out. Maybe seeing behind the scenes would give him a better understanding. And, just maybe, the idea Evan
wanted
to introduce him to his family was…kind of nice. “Do I have to dress up?” he asked tentatively.

“Nah.” Evan grinned. “I mean, you can if you want, but we won’t party or anything like that. Just the standard puppy sacrificial ceremony, and you can always sit that out.”

This time, it was Archer who laughed, and the sound felt so blissfully foreign rolling off his tongue. Despite everything—laughing at something so ridiculous felt like a cold rain after a drought. “Who would want to miss that?”

Friday, October 24
^th

Archer ignored Evan’s protests and went to class. Life had to move on. He couldn’t bring his world to a halt because of Marissa’s death, and he was tired of listening to his phone ring. The distraction classes offered kept him away from Vivian for just a little longer.

He finished up close to four, stopped by home to get a few things, and left again.

There were still two names in his book. He’d take care of one tonight, whether he liked it or not.

Hector and Bobby were the last things he owed to Vivian Hilton, and when they were gone, he could get on with his life. Whether she wanted him or not, he wanted,
needed
this to be done. Hector Barnes lived three hours away and had been elusive enough that Archer couldn’t get to him without drawing attention to himself. What made him decide to do it now? He didn’t know.
I could be running out of time
. Eventually, Richter’s murder could be tied back to him and his job would go unfinished.

But more than that, there was Evan. It was getting increasingly difficult to look Evan in the eyes without wanting to spill all the details of what he’d been doing. Just to get it out there, just for
someone
to know the truth.

Hector might as well have dropped off the face of the planet after the night of Vivian’s rape. It took some digging for Archer to even figure out where he’d gone. He’d started training to become a firefighter, which told Archer he must’ve cleaned himself up. Got his head on straight.

But he wondered—did Hector ever think back to Vivian and what he did to her? Did he realize the damage he’d done?

Hector’s apartment building was upper-class; Archer would never get past the doorman. So he had to figure something else out. He parked on a back street between some old buildings and the park, rolled down the windows to listen, waited. Watched. Right on time, the steady clip of Hector’s footsteps coming down the path from the park. In his jogging suit, out for a midnight run. A man of routine. Archer knew this from months of driving up here and observing.

But unlike the other kills, he didn’t have anything planned. Hector would cross the street right in front of his car. Did he get out, hold him at gunpoint? Shoot him? Did he make it look like a hit-and-run or a mugging gone wrong? Both could be traced back to him, but what other options did he have?

The gun felt heavy in his coat pocket.

“Think anyone else will die?”
Evan had asked.

He closed his eyes. Richter’s bloody face came to mind and with it, the overwhelming nausea he’d felt that night. Numbness from fingertips to head to toe. Hector’s footsteps closed in and he…

Couldn’t move.

Had Evan rendered him completely incapable of killing? Was it his slipup with Richter? Or was it Vivian, and the ever-expanding chasm between them? Why was it so hard
now
, after all this time, after the other lives he’d taken?

Hector was coming. Archer took a breath. The
slap-slap
of sneakers left the sidewalk, hit the asphalt. He passed in front of the car and crossed the street. Archer couldn’t budge. Hector disappeared around a corner up the road.

‘Monster. You monster.’

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It didn’t keep them from trembling.

A cop knocked on his window twenty minutes later, making him jump. He rolled it down and stared at the uniformed lady. She leaned in, surveying his car before staring into his face. “You lost, son?”

I’m always lost.

He flexed his fingers, forced them to relax. Offered a small smile. “Yeah, which way is the freeway?”

The cop pointed him in the right direction. Her motorcycle followed him until he hit the on-ramp.

When he got home, he killed the engine and didn’t bother heading upstairs. It was long past Evan’s daily swim-time, but he sat in the gazebo and stared out over the dark pool anyway, imagining him there.

What would he say if he knew where I was tonight? If I told him what I was about to do?

What he’d failed to do. First his kills getting frantic and sloppy, and now he couldn’t do them at all? It didn’t make sense. He had to finish it. If he didn’t, he’d be tethered to Vivian forever. The harder she hung on now, the more he drowned, pulled underwater again and again by the weight of his guilt for not keeping her safe when it had mattered the most. She wouldn’t be like this if he’d protected her from them.

He laid down on one of the benches and stared up at the night sky, fingering the prescription bottle from Dr. Romero in his pocket. He hadn’t taken one even though he knew he should. Marissa took anxiety meds; she probably would’ve told him to try it.

Archer wondered what Marissa would tell him to do about everything else. Would she tell him to stick with Vivian until the end? He’d come this far with her, had never once let her down. Or would Marissa tell him to free himself for a change? To grab this second chance at life and bask in Evan’s world, even if it meant leaving Vivian behind?

To stay or let go. To keep going and see where his past decisions took him, or try grasping that second chance.

Do monsters get seconds chances?

Sunday, October 26
^th

“You need to get out of the house,” Evan prodded him on Sunday morning. “The Grove’s got a great breakfast menu. I’m sure everyone misses you.”

Archer gave him a long look. He doubted anyone had noticed his absence. Well, maybe Roxy, if the occasional text she sent to check on him was any indication. Otherwise, the only messages on his phone were from Vivian.

Kudos to him, he’d managed to keep his distance. And he felt better for it. Maybe that was why he reluctantly agreed to go along to The Grove. Not so much for
him
to get out of the house, but for Evan’s sake. Evan hadn’t left him alone for days. He was the only company Archer cared to have and Vivian wouldn’t have taken that well.

The early-morning fog that settled atop the ocean was a beautiful, calming sight. They missed breakfast, but food wasn’t really why they’d come. He was more content to sip his soda and watch Evan down his meal like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. And when he was done, he looked at Archer’s breakfast-slash-lunch, at him, and back again until Archer nudged the plate over. “Where does all the food go?”

“Dunno. Guess I burn it off.” Evan took the barely touched meal with a grin.

“One day your metabolism will screech to a grinding halt and you’re going to get fat.”

Evan met his eyes, purposefully and slowly placing another bite into his mouth. Archer clicked his tongue but couldn’t help a smile. The backdoor to The Grove swung open before he could lecture further and Roxy stepped outside. Her dark hair bounced across her shoulders in tight curls, and Archer marveled at how she could stand to walk around in this weather with capris and a tank top. Girls would do anything for fashion. He offered her a small smile.

But Roxy’s expression fell when she saw him.

“Oh, hey guys.”

Hey guys?
Archer took a sip of his drink, raising a brow. “You don’t look happy to see us.”

Roxy shifted from one foot to the other before reluctantly sinking into a chair across the table. “I didn’t say that. It’s always nice to see you.” She squinted. “I don’t suppose you talked to Vivian last night? She was looking for you.”

Vivian. Why does it always come back to Vivian?

Suddenly the ocean was a lot more interesting to look at than Roxy. “I haven’t spoken to her much. She might’ve texted me.”

“You avoiding her?” Roxy asked. Archer shot her a wary look.

“What does it matter?”

She held up her hands. “Don’t get snappy with me, Archer Pond. I have no idea what’s up with the two of you, and I know you’ve both been going through a lot lately.”

That didn’t sit right with him. If there were ever a conversation Archer didn’t want to have with Evan sitting right there, he had a feeling this was it. “I don’t even know what that means, ‘what’s up with the two of you.’”

“You know what I mean. She took a break from Mick and suddenly all she talked about was Archer-this, Archer-that.” Her dark eyes narrowed and she lifted a hand to shield them from the sun. “But doesn’t seem like you’ve been together much.”

He wanted to zero in on that last comment. To tell Roxy he
was
avoiding Vivian because—see, this guy, sitting right here?—he’d found someone he wanted to be near. Someone who didn’t make him feel so fucking crazy all the time. If that meant distance from Vivian, then so be it. But something about her words rubbed him the wrong way.

“What do you mean,
took a break from
Mickey
?”

Roxy shifted. She crossed her legs, looked uncomfortable, and crossed them the other way. “Archer…”

“What do you
mean
, Roxy?” He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted it to be a slip of the tongue. The look on her face was so helpless.

“If you’re going to get this upset, then I don’t think—”

He slammed a hand down on the table. Evan and Roxy stared at him in stunned silence. “
What’s going on?”

Roxy shrunk back. “She came by last night. Mick showed up. She didn’t think he’d be here, I swear, he never comes around anymore. But he…y’know what he does. He sweet-talked her and she left with him back to her place. I pulled her aside and tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m really sorry—”

Archer had stopped listening. He shoved his chair back and headed for the door. If Mickey had gone to Vivian’s, then he was probably still there. Evan was hot on his heels but waited until they hit the sidewalk before he grabbed Archer’s arm.

“Archer, seriously, what’re you gonna do, huh?”

He jerked free. “I’m going to see if he’s there. She promised me she wouldn’t. I want to see how far she broke that promise.”

Whether it was his words or the fury he couldn’t seem to contain showing through the surface that made Evan let him go, he didn’t know. But Evan looked away, mouth drawn thin. Archer immediately regretted it. He’d been doing so well, turning away from Vivian every time she tried to get his attention. All his hard work, ruined in a matter of seconds.

“C’mon,” Evan muttered. He circled around to the driver’s side of his car. Archer lingered on the sidewalk, swallowed his guilt and got in.

§

The parking lot of Vivian’s complex was nearly empty. No doubt all the churchgoers were still out. Archer saw Vivian’s white convertible in her assigned spot and, a few stalls down, Mickey’s beat-up Jeep. Evan brought the car to a halt.

“Well…what do you want to do?”

The possibilities were endless. He wanted to cry. He wanted to beat the hell out of Mickey. He wanted to grab Vivian and shake her, ask her how it felt to do this to him time and time again. He didn’t think any of it would make him feel any better.

He unbuckled, opened the door, and got out.

“Archer—God dammit…”

The door shut, cutting off anything else Evan might say. He’d apologize later. Evan deserved that much. But he needed to see for himself. Maybe the Jeep was someone else’s. Maybe he needed to give Vivian the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed to make sure she was all right.

“Don’t be there,” he whispered as the elevator took him up. He wanted to be crazy. He wanted to be paranoid. Please, God, let him be crazy and paranoid. He just didn’t want to be
right
. But as soon as he knocked and heard heavy steps approaching, he knew that he was.

Mickey answered the door in sweatpants and a white tank top. Sleep clothes. Because he’d been there all night. Because Vivian had possibly never made him get his stuff out of her apartment. He took one look at Archer and scowled. “What do you want?”

Vivian appeared in the living room behind him. Her face paled.

Archer slammed his hands into Mickey’s chest and sent him stumbling back, just enough for him to get inside. “You promised.” His voice wavered. He couldn’t help it. She’d lied to him. Made a promise and tossed it out the window.

Vivian took a quick step back.

“
You promised.
” He caught her by the shoulders. “What was it, Viv? Just something you said to placate me? Something you said so I’d be at your beck and call and you could keep screwing him behind my back?” His fingers dug into her arms. Her eyes squeezed shut. She ducked her head.

Mickey grabbed him in a bear hug from behind and tore him away, throwing him to the ground. Archer knew how to fight, but Mick was twice his size, and the weight pinning him face-down to the floor rendered him helpless. He reached back blindly, caught a handful of Mick’s hair and yanked, but it got nothing more than a furious snarl in response. Mickey grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. A few more inches, he’d pop it right out of its socket.

He didn’t see Evan, but he heard him shouting and Mickey’s weight vanished altogether. Vivian screamed and something—someone—slammed against the wall. Archer rolled to his side. Evan had Mickey pinned near the kitchen door, hands fisted in his shirt. But he looked away, at Archer, for fractions of a second, and Mick punched him square in the jaw. Evan staggered back.

Archer lurched to his feet.

Don’t—

Mickey grabbed Evan by the shoulders, slammed a knee into his gut and down he went, crumpling to the ground.

Archer didn’t think; he pitched himself forward. He slammed into Mick and they missed the wall entirely, hitting the tile of the dining room floor. His knees pinned Mick’s arms to the ground on either side of him.

Archer hit him. Mick tried to lift his head and the punch sent the back of his skull cracking against the tile. His eyes rolled back, dazed. Another hit. And another. Until blood trailed from the corner of Mick’s jaw in a thin red ribbon. Only then did he stop; his hands went around Mickey’s throat and squeezed.

“You don’t touch him,” he said, voice barely a whisper, so cold and calm. “
Nobody touches him.”

Mickey gave a raspy, choked noise, trying to work an arm free. Archer bore down on him harder, keeping him in place. Strangling him. Killing him. Savoring the tint of blue creeping into his face. Vivian wouldn’t shut up. She never stopped screaming. He didn’t care. But Evan had gotten up, his voice winded.

“Archer, don’t.”

And he stopped.

His hands slipped from Mick’s throat, and he rose. Stepped back and away. Mickey gasped, chest heaving. There was blood on the floor behind his head. Archer’s heart pounded, the adrenaline quaking his nerves. He didn’t want to turn around, but he did.

Vivian slapped him.

She shoved him hard enough he staggered back and caught himself against the wall.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she shrieked. “You could’ve killed him!”

God, everything was so blurry, out of focus. Archer stared at her, lost somewhere between angry, numb, and betrayed. Aware he should feel
something
beyond the burning desire to slam Mickey’s head back into the tile for hitting Evan.

“He shouldn’t be here,” was all he could muster. “You promised…”

“I promised because I thought
you’d
be there.” Vivian shoved him again, the heel of her hand glancing off his collarbone and making him wince. “But you weren’t! You’re always too busy, never enough time, always off with
Evan!
” Her dull eyes flicked askance when she spoke. “I lose my brother, I lose my mom, and all you can do is worry about yourself!”

For some reason, he wanted to laugh. Brody? Like Vivian had given a shit about his death. “Brody did the world an immeasurable favor with nothing more than stolen meds and a bottle of Vodka. You were glad to be rid of him.”

They were details. Little details he shouldn’t have known, because Vivian never told him. Details that were not public knowledge. It was the right thing to say. Or the wrong thing. Both. He didn’t know. Either way, Vivian’s hand halted just shy of striking him again. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes were so big, so blue. But not beautiful. All he saw was a girl who would say anything to hurt him. A girl he didn’t recognize at all.

Archer met her eyes easily this time, daring her to push him again. Mickey had gotten to his feet, and he staggered over, grabbing Vivian’s shoulder and yanking her back. The fist connecting with his jaw? He hardly felt it. But for a moment, there was a collision of bodies—Mickey trying to get at him, Evan shoving himself between them. Grabbing Archer, staggering with him out of the apartment.

As they headed down the hall, Archer looked over his shoulder. Mickey stood poised, looking ready to knock Vivian aside at the slightest provocation.

And Vivian met his eyes, wondering. Frightened.

Knowing.

§

The darkness of his apartment was welcome, and the silence encompassed him and soothed his throbbing head. It did nothing for the lump on the back of his skull or his bruised jaw and bleeding lip, but it was something.

Evan got him out of his coat and sat him down on the edge of the couch. From the kitchen Archer made out the sounds of the fridge and cabinets opening, closing. Then someone rustling around. When Evan returned it was with a Ziploc back of ice and a damp washrag.

“Here,” he murmured. Archer took the bag and gingerly touched it to the back of his head. His eyes closed, savoring the feel. Evan gently took his chin in hand to hold him still while he dabbed at his bottom lip. When Archer looked at him, there was less worry on his face and more uncertainty. Not anger—not exactly. But it wasn’t what Archer had hoped to see.

“I’m sorry.”

Evan breathed in deep, held it a few seconds, and exhaled through his mouth. He finished wiping away the dried blood and sat back, tossing the rag onto the coffee table. “Did you kill Vivian’s brother?”

Archer looked down at his hands.

“The truth,” Evan said tersely. “I think I’ve been pretty good about not pushing you on it, but I want to hear it. All of it. Now.”

You don’t want to hear it. You won’t like it.
He felt sick. “I can’t…”

Evan stood. “Then I’m leaving.”