Hushed (17 page)

Vivian stood there with the jacket dumbly, like she didn’t know what to do with it. “You aren’t coming with me?”

“No.” That single word came out harsher than he meant for it to. He didn’t want to be near Vivian. He couldn’t stand to look at her. “Nobody saw
me
there.”

The weight of his words took a moment to settle on Vivian and her expression hardened. She narrowed her eyes. “So, what, if they took me in, you’d let me take the fall for it by myself?”

Archer picked up her bag and shoved it at her. “If you’d followed my instructions, none of this would’ve happened. I told you I didn’t want to do it.”

“But
I did.
” Viv wrenched the bag out of his hands.

He didn’t skip a beat. “And it’s always about what you want, isn’t it?”

“What’s your problem?! You were fine killing all those other people!”

“I’m not doing it anymore, Vivian. Not for you, not for anyone.”

Vivian’s face softened, but there was no hiding how cold her eyes had become, gazing into his. Even with the tiny smile playing across her mouth, he didn’t trust her. “Just finish your list with me. That’s all I’m asking.”

Two more people and it would all be done. He could tell Viv he didn’t owe her a damned thing after that. But who knew if he was even physically capable of it anymore? Anytime he thought about Richter, and now Mickey and the redhead, he felt ten seconds from being sick.

Archer took a breath. “No.”

Just like that, any trace of niceness vanished from Vivian’s face. She looked disheveled, sleepless, and crazed. And when she shoved past him to leave, she made sure to slam the door as loud as possible.

She won’t hurt anyone else. She has no way to do it, and she’s scared to do it alone.
Hector and Bobby were safe. For now.

It wasn’t until he was halfway through packing his own overnight bag he realized—

Vivian still had his gun.

§

Archer knew the street and city by name, but not the house number. So he drove slowly, squinting at cars in driveways until he spotted Evan’s white Nissan. He parked on the curb and stared up at the two-story home painted a strange shade of warm grey. Evan was in there. But would Evan want to see him? Would he slam the door in his face? What would he say?

I’m sorry. I don’t want to do it anymore.

But how many times had Vivian told him that same thing in just the last few weeks? What reason did Evan have to believe him?

He forced himself out of the car, not bothering to get his bag from the trunk in case Evan didn’t let him stay. It was getting late; who knew if the Bishops were still awake. He knocked once, lightly. The air bit through his shirt and he hugged himself for warmth. Just when he thought no one would answer, someone came down the entryway and opened the door.

“Sorry,” Evan said, “I wasn’t sure I heard—”

He had a bowl of candy in hand, no doubt expecting ghosts and goblins with eager Halloween bags. But it was just Archer, shoulders hunched, with no idea of what to say.

I missed you. I’m sorry. Please don’t make me go.

He spoke without thinking, the first words that tumbled from his brain to the tip of his tongue and past his lips. “I don’t want to be a monster anymore.” God, he sounded so small and pathetic. He clenched his jaw, head dropping.

Evan sighed and stepped aside to let him in.

He touched a hand to Archer’s back—warm, so wonderfully warm—and ushered him into the entryway, placing the bowl of candy onto a small table in the process. The house smelled of pumpkin pie and ham. Archer’s growling stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t so sure he could keep anything down.

They passed by the kitchen doorway and Evan stopped. Three people sat at the table with remnants of dinner and dessert and a Monopoly board laid out with a game in full swing. Archer easily determined the two adults were Evan’s mom and dad; he looked just like them. All dark hair and dark eyes. The girl appeared about his age, with the same mousy brown hair, and Archer guessed it must be his sister. The trio stared at him, curious.

“This is my mom, Peggy, my dad, Tom. That’s Sam, my sister…uh.” Evan prodded him into the kitchen. “Guys, this is Archer, that friend I mentioned.”

Evan’s mom pushed her chair back and stood. “Oh! That’s wonderful; we were so disappointed when Evan told us you couldn’t make it this weekend.” Her smile was sincere. Archer cast a glance at Evan.

“Yes, uh, my plans changed. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Peggy gestured to the empty chairs. “Of course not, sweetheart. Sit down and we can start the game over if you’d like to play. Are you hungry?”

Either Evan noticed the way his shoulders went rigid or he wanted to get him alone to talk, because he quickly said, “No, it’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. We’re just gonna head upstairs.”

They said quick goodnights and Evan grabbed his wrist, leading him up the steps to a long hallway with five doors branching off. Archer didn’t have time to look around at the photos hanging from the walls before being pulled into a bedroom.

He hadn’t known what to expect out of a bedroom belonging to Evan, but unsurprisingly it looked a lot like his apartment. Not messy, per se, but a quick look around told him there was plenty he could’ve organized and cleaned if left to his own devices for awhile.

Evan shut the door and turned to him, releasing his wrist. Archer ached to have the contact back, but he had a hard time meeting Evan’s eyes.

“What happened?”

Archer folded his arms. He didn’t want to talk about it. The image was still so fresh in his head that recalling it would be reliving it all over again. He felt sick.

“You came here for a reason,” Evan said with obvious strained patience. “So either you wanted to talk to me, or something happened.”

He pinched his eyes shut. “Mick’s dead.”

Time all but stopped in the room. Evan didn’t move. Even the thudding of his heart seemed too quiet. Everything was silent. Still. The calm before the storm. But no storm came. Just Evan’s voice, pained and soft. “Did you do it?”

That was an easier question to answer. “No.” He forced his eyes open. “But it’s my fault.”

“I’m not following.”

No, Archer didn’t imagine he was. But how could he tell him? Would Evan judge him still? Were the two deaths tonight still on his hands even if he hadn’t pulled the trigger? He wet his lips.

“Vivian killed him.”

He sank down onto the edge of Evan’s bed, heavy with the weight of those three words. But the rest came easily. He recounted the events of the last few days, voice hitching only when he reached the part of Vivian pulling the trigger.

The look on her face…

“She didn’t regret it.” He stared down at his hands, which he’d scrubbed violently after Viv had left. They still didn’t feel clean. “She liked the rush.”

The mattress shifted where Evan came to sit beside him. “And what about you? What were you thinking?”

Nothing. Everything. He didn’t know. “I didn’t want to do it,” he murmured.

Evan nodded. “Okay. Why?”

“I just…didn’t want to. It felt wrong.” Archer uncurled his hands. Perfectly still, no shaking. “I wanted to protect Vivian from everything. But I wonder if by doing that, I made it worse. I made her think the world needed to bend to her whims.”

Evan sighed. “You really need to stop taking the blame for everything. Look, you did something bad, okay?
Really
bad. And I pray no one’s ever going to find out—and that’s probably pretty bad of me, too.” He leaned back, bracing his hands on the bed. “But Vivian’s no angel.”

“She used to be,” Archer said.

“People change. Not always for the better.”

“She changed because of
them.
Because of
me
. If only I’d stopped…”

“I don’t buy that.” No anger in his voice. Archer couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken about Vivian without it turning into an argument. Archer twisted around on the bed to face Evan, waiting for him to elaborate. Evan kept his eyes on the ceiling.

“Everyone’s had shit in their lives. Some people have it worse than others. But no one can turn you into a bad person, just like no one can turn you into a good one. We’re all dealt our hands in life, and how we choose to react is entirely up to us. That’s free will.” Evan finally looked at him. “When my sister was sixteen, the guy she was dating beat the hell out of her. Sam took so long to tell us the truth about it that we didn’t have any evidence to press charges, so he’s still out there. I can tell you not a day has gone by where I haven’t wanted to break his neck.”

Archer couldn’t think of a thing to say beyond a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “My point being, Sam’s a nice girl. She’d never hurt anyone. Never wanted anything bad to happen to the guy who did it, either. She chose a different road and got the help she needed to get better.” He held up a hand before Archer could say anything. “And I’m not saying it was easy, but Sam had me and Mom and Dad. And Viv had people who loved her, too. People who would’ve done anything to help her get through things. Instead, she chose to use you as her trampoline. There to give her a high when she needed it, and there to catch her when it got to be too much.

“You can’t make her go back to who she used to be. The way she’s changed isn’t your fault and you can’t keep answering for it. What you did tonight, Archer, it was the right thing, even if it didn’t end well.”

Archer could still hear the way Vivian used to laugh. The full, warm sound he remembered from when they were kids. The way she played with his hair and always talked him into tea parties and games he couldn’t care less about…but he’d done them because it meant time with her. It all seemed so far away now. A distant memory. Evan was right.
I can’t have it back.

Evan’s fingers touched his jaw. He had this, though, didn’t he? Whatever
this
was. This friendship, this companionship, this love. It was unlike anything he’d felt before, and he wanted to revel in it…even if he didn’t deserve it. Evan could say all he wanted that Vivian’s change wasn’t his fault, but he wasn’t so sure.

Archer turned his head into the touch. “I don’t want to do to you what she’s done to me.”

“I know you don’t,” Evan murmured. “You’re a good person, Archer. You’ve just spent so long with everyone telling you otherwise, you’ve started acting the part. One day at a time, all right? Let’s deal with all this mess and things will be okay.”

How can you be sure? What if they take Vivian in? She’ll tell them it was me.
Then where would he be? Would they take her word for it, or his? There were other murders they could tie him to.

Evan’s hand left his face and he stood. “Stay here for the weekend like we planned, yeah? Mom got all excited that you were coming.”

Archer sighed. After dealing with Vivian’s family, he wasn’t ready for it again. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You’re the first friend I’ve brought home since grade school.”

That gave Archer an odd, warm sense of pride. Evan had invited him, his family wanted to meet him. What they would think when they got to know him was another story, but… “I want them to like me.”

“Well, would kinda suck if they hated you.” Evan grinned crookedly. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. Just be yourself. I think they’ll love you.”

This place could be his safe haven, even if only for a few days. If he could just clear his head, think things over before returning home, he thought…maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

“Anyway…” Evan said. “It’s getting late. I guess if you’re gonna stay, I should get some food in you. You probably haven’t eaten.”

Archer shook his head. The nausea wasn’t so bad anymore, but he still didn’t feel like choking down food. “Could I get a shower?” Maybe if he scrubbed himself clean, he’d feel better. The last thing he wanted was for Evan to catch the scent of blood clinging to him.

“Yeah…sure. That door leads to the bathroom.” He nodded to the opposite wall. “Towels are in there and all that. I’ll bring up some snacks and stuff for when you’re done.”

No, no food.
But Archer didn’t tell him no. Maybe when he got out, he’d be in a better place to eat. So he nodded, heading for the bathroom door and pausing.

“Evan?”

Evan stood, running a hand back through his hair. “Yeah?”

Archer stared down at his hand on the doorknob. “Even without all of this going on with Mickey…” He trailed off. Evan waited. “…I still choose you.” He couldn’t think of any other way to word it. But he’d made his decision, perhaps long before he’d admitted it to himself. He wanted Evan, even if it meant severing all remaining ties between Vivian and himself. Starting over completely.

Evan averted his eyes. “One day at a time, Archer.”

Whether Evan didn’t trust him or he wasn’t interested anymore and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, Archer didn’t know, but his answer stung all the same. Rejection was rejection, in any form. He nodded and pushed open the door to slip inside without a word, not wanting the pain to show. Everything hurt too much.