The Serial Killer's Wife (22 page)

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“I
T
’
S
NOT
WHAT
you think.”
 

“What don’t I think?”
 

“The scars.”
 

Todd hadn’t moved from his place on the bathroom floor. She could see his erection pushing against his boxer shorts and averted her eyes.
 

“I don’t care about the scars.”
 

“That doesn’t matter. I do.”

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T
HEY
EXITED
THE
tunnel and followed the traffic toward Sixth Avenue. They made a left and headed uptown, the rain seeming like it was falling even harder, the tires of the cars around them hissing like snakes.

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“Y
OU
’
RE
THINKING
EDDIE
gave them to me.”
 

“No, I’m not.”
 

“I can see it in your eyes.”
 

“Elizabeth—”
 

“I did this to myself.”
 

Todd was quiet for a long moment. Finally he asked, “Why?”
 

“As punishment.”
 

“Punishment for what?”
 

“For wanting to kill my son.”

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T
HEY
CAME
TO
a red light and stopped, watching the people with umbrellas moving from one sidewalk corner to another.
 

Todd whispered, “What if this doesn’t work?”
 

Elizabeth stared out her window at a homeless man standing against a building, a Styrofoam cup in his hands. “It has to.”

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•

“Y
OU
...
YOU
WANTED
to kill Matthew?”
 

Elizabeth ignored the question. She turned away and kept cleaning up the rest of the discarded supplies.
 

“Elizabeth,” Todd said, attempting now to stand. “Why did you want to kill Matthew?”
 

She paused, staring down at the bloody gauze in the trashcan. Eventually she looked up at Todd, tears in her eyes.
 

“I thought he had it in him, whatever it was that made Eddie a killer. I thought ... I thought Eddie had somehow passed that evil onto our child. And I couldn’t in all good conscience let him grow into a monster. But just ... I couldn’t do it. Every time I considered doing it, I took one look at my son and realized he was no monster. I realized he was never going to be a monster. And so I ... I started cutting myself, every time I had those thoughts. It eventually came to the point I started having those thoughts just so I would have an excuse to cut myself.”
 

Todd stood leaning against the wall, putting all his weight on his left leg. He watched her without a word.
 

“So it’s not what you think. Eddie had nothing to do with it. Eddie never laid a finger on me. He was never abusive. In fact, I never thought he would be capable of it. When I was with him ... I felt safe.”

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T
HEY
PASSED
RADIO
City Music Hall, went up another block, made a right onto East 52nd, then made another right onto Fifth Avenue. The light had just turned red and here Elizabeth got out, the rain tapping at the brim of her baseball cap. She watched the church as she crossed East 51st, walking to the statue of Atlas with the world on his shoulders. She waited there against the corner of the Banana Republic, directly across from the church, watching the people walk by, most of them with umbrellas, and she cursed herself for forgetting to purchase an umbrella of her own.
 

Her gaze was so focused on the church that, five minutes later, she didn’t see the man before it was too late. He had come up and grabbed her arm and squeezed it and said her name. She started and stared, wide-eyed, thinking this was it, Clarence was through playing games and was finally here to kill her. Only it wasn’t Clarence, was instead the furthest thing from that psychopath.
 

Jim, her brother, said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

CHAPTER 42

T
HE
LAST
TIME
she had seen her brother was when she had driven him to the airport. He had been living down in Maryland then, just outside of Baltimore, and while he could have easily taken the bus or a cab to BWI, she had insisted on taking a day off from school to drive him. He had entered the Peace Corps, a last-ditch effort to do something meaningful with his life, already now past thirty with no real job or relationship, and he had decided he wanted to get into non-profit work and thought the Peace Corps would look great on his resume. And besides, he would get to travel, or at least he would be put up somewhere out of the country for two years, even if it was in some small African village whose name she would always have trouble remembering.
 

She had become pregnant six months before, and she had begged Jim not to go, at least not until the baby was born. He had said sorry but he had already committed, and besides, he would email and call as much as he could, which he did, off and on, until the day she disappeared.
 

The car ride to the airport had been a quiet one, the only noise between them the radio playing at some monotonic level. It wasn’t until they had actually arrived and Elizabeth insisted she park and wait with him in the terminal did he become animated, telling her she didn’t have to do that, he appreciated the ride and everything, but to pay for parking, especially at these rates, was ridiculous. She wouldn’t hear it, though, and found parking and went in with him but of course she couldn’t wait in the terminal, not without buying a plane ticket herself, the rules and security having become much stricter since that infamous day in September.
 

She had stood there then, smiling and trying not to cry. He was her brother, her big brother, who she had shared everything with since they were kids, and she was going to miss him more than she had thought she would.
 

He set his bag aside (he’d already checked his suitcase) and pulled her into an embrace. “You take care of that little bun in the oven, okay?”
 

She nodded her head into his shoulder, holding back her tears.
 

“And Mom,” he said. “I’ll call her when I can, but you take care of her too.”
 

Their mother was a sore subject between them, a woman barely even into her fifties who was dying more every day from the cancer inside her.
 

“What about Eddie?” she asked, gently pushing away from him. “He’ll want to hear from you.”
 

Her husband was on another one of his business trips, currently somewhere in the Midwest.
 

“I’ll give him a call while I’m waiting in the terminal.” Jim smiled. “I’ll call collect from one of the payphones. Eddie will accept the charges.”
 

She smiled but said nothing. She didn’t want to tell him just how worried she was about him, how she feared for his safety. She had been reading articles about the gangs in Africa, about the wars, the violence, the awful things that happened to the women and children and even some of the men, and she didn’t want to think that her big brother might get stuck in the middle of it.
 

The terminal was filling up, people passing them on either side, and Jim said he had to go. He hugged her again, kissed her cheek, told her he loved her and that he would email as much as possible and call when he could. Then he grabbed his bag and walked away from her, making it the very last time she would ever see him.
 

Until now.

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J
IM
WORE
SLACKS
and a dark blue rain slicker, and he looked good, a little more tan than she remembered, and he had begun to lose some of his hair in front, but he had it cut short enough that it came across well, not at all hurting his features. He stood right beside her, holding an umbrella above their heads as he continued to grip her arm.
 

He said, “Well?”
 

“Well what?”
 

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
 

“What,” she said, “is that how you say hello these days?”
 

“You need to go to the police.”
 

“How did you find me?”
 

“Foreman called. He told me everything. Christ, Liz, this guy
attacked
you?”
 

Her body went rigid, instantly going into defense mode. “He abducted my son. He has a bomb strapped around my son’s neck.”
 

Something flickered in Jim’s eyes, the anger fading away. “Even if you get this guy what he wants, do you really think he’ll let your son go? He’s going to kill you and your son and probably that guy that’s with you—Foreman told me his name but I forget it now.”
 

“Todd.”
 

“What?”
 

“The guy that’s with me, his name is Todd. He’s”—she hesitated—“my boyfriend.”
 

The rain tapped an inconsistent beat on the umbrella above their heads.
 

Elizabeth asked, “What are you doing here anyway? And how did you even
find
me?”
 

“Foreman told me where you were going. I’ve been waiting out here for over an hour, ready to talk some sense into you.”
 

She stared across the street, past the traffic, at the front doors of the church. Foreman. Goddamned Foreman. When she saw him next she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He was just trying to be helpful, sure, okay, she could see that, and yeah, she had brought a lot of trouble his way recently, but why bring Jim into this mess too?
 

“Hey.” Jim had let go of her arm but now touched it again. “You really need to stop this and go to the police. They can help.”
 

“No.”
 

“Liz—”
 

In her purse, one of the phones rang. Immediately she thought it was Todd, calling to check in on her status, but when she opened the purse and looked at the two phones, she realized it wasn’t Todd who was calling, but Clarence.

CHAPTER 43

“W
HERE
ARE
YOU
?”
 

She stared at the church across the street, not seeing the traffic or the people moving past her.
 

“Elizabeth, I asked you a question.”
 

Jim lightly touched her arm. She blinked and saw him standing in front of her, the pole of the umbrella against his shoulder, his face filled with worry as he mouthed,
Is that him?
 

Elizabeth turned away from her brother, mumbled into the mouthpiece, “I’m here.”
 

“Yes, Elizabeth, I know you’re there. Obviously you’re there, as you are now speaking to me. That, however, wasn’t my question.”
 

Despite the heavy rain the city breathed life around her: that ubiquitous stench of garbage and exhaust, the distant sound of sirens, every other car or taxi passing by on Fifth Avenue honking its horn like it were some kind of game.
 

“I’m in New York City,” she said, because she knew he already knew her location. He could track her with the cell phone; this whole thing was just to get under her skin, so why lie?
 

“And what, pray tell, are you doing in New York City?”
 

“I’m trying to get you what you want.”
 

“I certainly hope so. Because you know what will happen if you don’t.”
 

She closed her eyes—she couldn’t help herself. “Yes.”
 

“Good. Just keep that in mind. Oh, and Elizabeth? Say hello to your brother for me.”

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W
HEN
SHE
HIT
the
END
button, Jim said, “Was that him? What did he say?”
 

She threw the BlackBerry into her bag, pulled out the throwaway already preloaded with Todd’s number. “He’s here.”
 

“What?”
 

Flipping open the phone, dialing the resend number. “He’s close by somewhere, watching us. He knows you’re with me.”
 

She caught only a glimpse of Jim’s face—his sudden ashen face—before she turned away and held the throwaway to her ear.
 

Todd answered after the second ring. “Elizabeth?”
 

“Where are you?”
 

“On Central Park West. I just passed the Dakota. Why? What’s wrong?”