The Replacement (28 page)

“No,” I stop him, bringing my hand up to kill that memory. The way he calls me his girl makes my stomach churn. I struggle to bury the endearment. “I’m serious, Christian. Like we’re being followed or something.” I haven’t been able to shake the feeling since we arrived at the ball—another reason I’ve been sneaking out for cigarette breaks. The persistent inkling has been following me around all evening, and I’m not sure what to make of it other than perhaps I want to be seen. Perhaps I want to be sought out.

But I only want to be found by one person, and even if he truly is seeking me out, I wouldn’t know what to say to him. I’ve made my choice. This is final.

“Okay, I think someone’s had enough champagne for the evening,” Christian says, bending to kiss me on the forehead. “I say we take this back to my place.”

I don’t think that’s the source of my intuition, but I agree, anyway. I have had a lot to drink tonight, and it’s probably wise to head home for the evening. “Okay,” I sigh, combing my fingers through my hair as Christian leads me down the hallway, back out to the main corridor. We round the same corner we passed before, and a chill crawls down my spine, pricking lightly as it slithers along each ridge.

“Elise?” Christian’s voice makes me jump. “Are you coming?”

I realize I’ve stopped cold, like a rabbit honing in on the sound of a predator. Christian’s arm is still snugly around my waist, his eyes searching mine curiously. “Yes, sorry.” He tightens his hold on me and gently guides me forward. We disappear through the lobby doors and wait for the valet to bring Christian’s car around. The feeling slips away as we wait, and some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. Maybe the champagne really has been going to my head.

***

Christian’s house is cool and dark when we step through the front door. A single porch light illuminates the front hall, creating a bare glow on the dark wood floors.

“Head upstairs, baby. I’ll bring us some water.” He gives me his million dollar smile and slips out of his tux jacket, loosening his tie. He strolls away toward the kitchen and the downstairs glows brighter when he flicks on the kitchen lights. I start up the stairs, stretching my neck and back, my feet aching from my heels. I go to reach for them as I reach the top of the stairwell but stop myself. Christian will want me to leave them on.

A pool of cool moonlight bathes the master bedroom as I enter, pouring in through the opened curtains. My shoulders tense at the doorway, my gaze landing on the plush armchair in the corner of the room near the dresser. It’s nestled to the left of the window, where a sliver of moonlight casts a faint spotlight over its silhouette. A shadow covers the chair, the pale blue light illuminating only half of its form.

My hand slowly extends to the wall, searching for the light switch.

“Don’t,” a voice says, sharp and short.

I freeze. Icy daggers scrape down my back.

“Not yet,” the woman’s voice warns. Fear sinks its fangs into me and my lungs seize up, my hand hovering just below the light switch. “Wait for him.”

I swallow and the sound is audible in the quiet room, making the silence even more razor sharp. A soft rustling sounds from behind me in the hall. Christian is approaching, humming to himself.

“Elise? Are you up here, baby? I brought you some water. I don’t want you to have a headache in the morning from all that champagne.” He strolls up behind me, nearly bumping into my back. “Hey,” he laughs, resting his hand on my hip. “What are you doing up here in the dark?” His arm extends behind me, flipping on the light switch, and my eyes are glued to the armchair, unblinking and filled with dread.

“Hello honey,” the woman says, her voice dripping with disdain. It’s not just any woman. It’s the woman in all of Christian’s picture frames. The woman he told me he was leaving—who he swore was no longer in his life. I’ve worn her silk pink bathrobe and tried on her Jimmy Choos. Kylie, his wife.

The fact that she’s sitting there elegantly, with her legs crossed and arms draped naturally on the armrests, is not nearly as alarming as what is gripped tightly in her right hand.

A gun.

A shiny revolver that looks much too large to be held with her dainty fingers.

“Kylie,” Christian chokes, his body stringing tightly against my back, “my God, what are you doing?”

Kylie’s bobbed blonde do skims her shoulders, her sleek pencil skirt hugging her lean, shapely legs. She smiles like a serpent, her eyes rife with a million conflicting emotions. I notice a slight tremble in her grip, where her fingers brush lightly against the cylinder of the gun. Her eyes might be welling with tears, hardened from anger and hurt, but one thing is clear and cannot be mistaken.

They are unstable.

My head is lead on my neck but my gaze darts around the room, searching for signs of booze or pills—anything that might explain her alarming behavior. I see nothing, only a woman scorned and a weapon in hand, aimed right at Christian and me.

“All evening you’ve been so attentive,” Kylie says. “So careful with her. My God,” she chokes, her voice cracking, “you can’t keep your hands off of her.”

“Kylie, let’s talk about this. We can talk about this. Elise, give us a minute, will you?”

“Don’t you dare move,” Kylie snaps, suddenly sitting up to bring her posture straighter. Her hand rises with the movement, bringing the gun higher. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your lovely evening. Do carry on.” She juts her head to the side, gesturing to the bed. The gun sways in her hand, following the movement. “I’m sure it will be quite the show.”

“Kylie,” Christian speaks up, gently raising one hand to plead with her. “Please, put that down and come speak with me. You don’t have to do this. It’s not necessary.”

“Not necessary?” She laughs, a dry, biting laugh, and it grates straight down to my toes. “Oh, you mean like flaunting her around at that ball of yours tonight? Or nearly fucking her like a cheap hooker in an alleyway down a secluded hall? Or how about bringing her to our home—like you have so many times before—to tell her more lies? To tell me more lies? Is any of that
necessary
?”

My heart constricts, my lungs nearly imploding. The haunted look in her eyes isn’t just anger. It’s more than hurt, more than betrayal. It’s 100 percent vengeful.

“I haven’t lied to you, Kylie,” Christian speaks cautiously, his hand still raised in defense. He holds my glass of water in the other, and there’s no masking the tremor in his fingers. “You know that things have been over. It was mutual. You agreed. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand this—” he carefully gestures to the gun, “whatever you’re doing. But I want to help you. Let me help you. We can put this behind us. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“Oh, we’re way past that, honey. Help? Hurt? Are you kidding? The damage is done, Christian.” She rises from the chair fluidly, remaining if front of it, raising her arm to aim the gun at my chest. Christian carefully shifts to the side, stepping next to me to place himself in the line of fire.

“How noble of you,” Kylie hisses. “And water, too? To make sure she doesn’t get a headache? So kind and considerate of you,
darling
.”

Beads of sweat tickle my forehead and I can’t swallow. The tears burn my throat, spilling slowly from my ducts like quiet raindrops.

“Why are you doing this?” Christian asks. “Why now? Help me understand, Kylie. It’s never too late for help. We can repair this, we can find a way.”

“Why now?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Why
now
?” she repeats, making a move for the dresser for the television remote. Christian’s shoulder bumps mine as he flinches, causing me to gasp. The sound of the television flicking on jolts my nerves like static electricity. “Let me enlighten you.”

In seconds, the DVD player clicks on and an image of me and Christian having sex in his office chair appears. We’re not alone. There’s low chatter mixing with our moans, and two of Christian’s friends are seated on the edge of the desk, watching us. One of them turns back to glance at the camera with a wink, and my stomach rolls. My eyes squeeze shut.

I know what’s coming next.

Just like I know the camera man. Chad, another one of Christian’s friends. I know everything that happened in that room that night because I was a willing participant, and seeing it unfold on the TV before Kylie sends bile rushing up my throat. My brain rejects this reality. This can’t be happening. Isn’t happening. Not fucking happening.

“Kylie, stop it,” Christian demands, his chest heaving. His breathing is growing frantic, and I’m suddenly afraid I might pass out before Kylie kills me. I might not even get to say any last words, because I’ll be out cold on the carpet. These images, my dirtiest of sins, might be the very last images I ever see. “Turn this off. Don’t do this.”

“I found a copy of this in with my DVDs. You know, when I began moving some of my stuff out. As you can imagine, it was quite the shocker. Not that your little girlfriend here is a filthy whore, of course.” She fixes hard eyes on me. I can see her hatred through my tears. “That much I knew. But the fact that you were willing to share her like that, with Chad and Brent and...Carl, was it?” She looks to the ceiling, as if recalling the memory. “My, my.” She tsks and shakes her head. “For such a dominant, possessive man as you, I must say I’m stunned. Seemed they enjoyed themselves, feasting on your girlfriend, here. How generous of you.”

“That’s enough,” Christian steps forward, moving for the TV, but Kylie beats him to it, leveling the gun with his chest.

“Christian,” I manage to whisper, terrified for this man, this man I have no right to hold any claim to.

He retreats, raising his hands, and I hear a sharp sob break from his chest. As he backs away and returns to my side, I sneak a peek at him. His eyes are filled to the brim with fear, just as potent as my own, and I realize right then that he has no hope of talking Kylie down. Not now. Kylie’s wild eyes glisten as she grins wider. She doesn’t pry her eyes from Christian as she clicks a button on the remote, killing the video footage.

“Oh thank God,” I cry, clutching my chest. “Please, Kylie, I’m begging you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Resorting to begging so soon?” she cracks, her eyebrows lifting. “What a shame. I thought you two would do me the honor of giving me a little show first. What do ya say? For old time’s sake?” She laughs erratically, waving the gun toward the bed. “Go on.”

“Please, no. Oh my God, please no.” I beg again, my chest constricting with each syllable. My plea only amuses her more.

“Both of you on the bed. Take your clothes off. Move!” She walks to the edge of the bed, her hand shaking uncontrollably now. “Even better, I’ll make a little home movie of my own, how does that sound? I bet your friends will love it, Christian.”

“Oh Jesus, please God,” Christian grinds out, dissolving into sobs. “Kylie, no. No, no, no.”

“Calling on a lifeline now, are you? Isn’t that funny.” Keeping the gun trained on us, she reaches down for a box at the end of the bed, retrieving a small digital camera.

“You’ll go to jail. You’ll lose everything. Everything, do you hear me?”

“Shut up,” Kylie quips, turning the camera on. “Suddenly you care about what happens to me? Suddenly you’re crying out for God to save you? I won’t say it again. On the bed. Now!” Her shrill voice sends me jumping, stumbling over to the edge of the bed. My shaky fingers begin to fumble with my gown zipper, but I can’t feel a thing. Christian moves next to me slowly, our eyes locking.

“Ah, there we go,” Kylie sings, grinning with satisfaction at the camera. “Now Elise, you’re on top. Go on. Your favorite position.” My entire body quakes as my gown slides down my flesh. I feel Kylie’s crazed eyes flare as my bare skin is displayed before her. Christian’s unsteady hands are still working on his pants, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of mine. He’s telling me something—what, I don’t know. I stare right back, willing him to do something, to say something, but all I see is pure, helpless terror.

A vague echo bounces in the back of my skull, wondering if he ever knew his wife was capable of such horror. If he ever knew, even a little, way deep down, that she was sick. Maybe she was never sick. Maybe he’s terrified because this is the first glimpse he’s ever seen of this unsteady, reckless side.

Maybe I made her sick, just like my mother’s cancer.

“Sit down on the edge, Christian,” Kylie commands the minute he’s nude. He complies, and I see the desperation, the pause in each step he takes. “Now you, Elise. On his lap.” A hard wail rocks me as I step in front of him. My body is on autopilot, because I sure as hell am not telling it what to do. Somehow, my panties fall to my feet and my quivering, naked body is crawling onto Christian’s lap. Goosebumps spread like wildfire as I grip his shoulders for support. He’s mumbling incoherently. I make out a few sorrys. He’s saying them over and over again, as if they can somehow save us from what is about to happen.

Kylie’s suddenly gone quiet, and I feel her presence looming at my side. The camera is staring me in the face, her gun inches from my head. Time stops and I see flashes of everything, a myriad of images that take my breath away.

Christmas morning when I was three years old.

My first puppy.