Torn (17 page)

Stepping out of his pants, Tyler tossed them onto the bed where they joined the already discarded T-shirt. Bile. That’s what he tasted in the back of his throat. He was so disgusted with their so-called marriage and himself for not leaving before it turned ugly, that he felt nauseous. So much for the counseling sessions.

Naked, he sat down on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. Gently massaged his temples in an attempt to lessen the headache already pounding behind his eyes. While he told himself he didn’t care, her words still cut him. In hindsight, he knew that Meredith had used him and spit him out when she was finished, chewing up his heart in the meantime. But that was a long time ago and his heart had since healed. Now Jennifer was doing her best to do the same, only the difference was, his heart didn’t belong to her and probably never truly had. But why?

Tyler stood and sighed. He opened the closet door and grabbed one of the garment bags that hung within. Several costumes hung neatly inside each bag, each labeled for the scene in which it would be used. He ignored Jennifer. Ignoring her used to be a surefire way to get her to go away; maybe it would work again this time.

No such luck.

“So where were you last night, Ty? And don’t give me that cock-and-bull shit about camping.”

She sat perched on the exact spot he had just vacated, her legs crossed, one smooth, tanned calf over the other. Her head was propped on her fist as she studied him with the gleaming eyes of a predator. Had she always been a shark? Or was this a recent change? Tyler frowned, remembering how Julie had warned him, way back when he and Jennifer had started dating. Not recent a thing… But for some reason Jennifer had taken off her gloves. His frown deepened. Should he do the same?

No. The only thing he should do, and would do as soon as his lawyer returned from her vacation, was file for divorce. It was obvious from where he stood that Jennifer was no longer in love with him and hadn’t loved him for quite some time. The feeling –– or lack thereof –– was mutual.

Divorce.

While he hated the idea, Tyler understood the necessity. Jen needed to be with someone who loved her. That person wasn’t him. Just as he needed to be with someone who loved him.

Chelsea.

A soft, tender look came over his face and he paused in the action of pulling up his leather pants.

Seeing it, Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do last night, Ty? Or should I ask
whom
did you do?”

Instantly, he tensed, his blue eyes darkened with anger and annoyance. His fists clenched. Then slowly, by degrees, Tyler forced himself to relax, rolled his head from side to side. He slipped on his shirt and methodically buttoned it, all the while, counting to ten. “Like you care.”

Jennifer shrugged, a dainty movement that belied the edge of steel in her tone. Then she laughed, the threat of retribution dispelling with the jaunty sound. “Touché, Ty.” Sighing, she stretched out over the mattress. “But I’m sure you can understand my curiosity. After all, it’s not as though you were panting to join me this morning. In fact, you nearly tripped over yourself to get out of the room.”

She sighed again. “No sex for Jen Benson.” She rolled over onto one side and eyed him up and down. “Which is truly a shame, because…” She licked her lips suggestively. “It is one area where you
truly
excel.”

Rolling his eyes, Tyler grabbed the leather duster that Paul wore from the closet and shrugged into it.

“Instead, you went running to cry on your lesbo-friend’s shoulder:
Julie! The big, bad, wifey is coming to get me! Help!
”

Not even bothering to hide his smile, Tyler stepped down from the caravan. Julie. Bless her heart. He owed her for this. “Let’s go.”

~ * ~

“Where’s Chelsea?”

Julie glanced over her shoulder at the Ty when he whispered directly into her ear. “That’s it? That’s all the thanks I’m gonna get for getting you away from the barracuda you married?”

“I keep telling you, Chelsea’s a natural. She played the scene beautifully.
Beautifully
! One take! I still can’t get over that. Just like your love scene with her. Well, we did have to do a retake of part of the rape portion of the scene––“

“Whoa, what?” Tyler’s gaze sharpened, focused in on his friend. “I thought you’d changed your mind about that, saying the rape of a black woman by white men was cliché.”

Julie’s shoulders lifted. “Yeah, well… As a plot point, it is. But it’s also the truth. Tina’s a gorgeous woman of color, flaunting herself with one of their own. They’ve already stripped her, whipped her, and you think they wouldn’t rape her?” She rolled her eyes. “Come
on
.”

“Did Chelsea know about the rape factor?”

Julie’s golden gaze brightened with mirth. “Are you serious? She’s a
Sister
. She ain’t stupid. She knows the score. She also knows how things were for women like us back then. In fact, she asked me where that part was in the lynching scene, why it wasn’t in there anymore. It was
her
idea to put it back in.”

His deep blue eyes lifted towards the house. “I’m gonna go see her.”

With surprising strength, Julie turned him around. “Oh, no you don’t. Like I said. She needs to play
dead
.
You
put
life
into her eyes. And I also want to catch your initial expression when you
do
see her. Drew outdid himself, and I want your first reaction to his handiwork on film.”

~ * ~

Nude, save for a flesh-colored G-string, Chelsea climbed onto the stool and gingerly put her head through the noose. Placing her hands behind her back, she allowed one of the prop people to tie them together. Another prop person carried a bucket up to the trees where she waited to be “hung”. She glanced at it and grimaced, knowing what was inside. Tina’s miscarried fetus. Ugh. She knew it was just a sculptured, silicone mold made by the special effects crew, but still… Ugh. It touched on memories better left alone.

From her vantage point, she could make out Tyler coming out of the makeup trailer, a woman from props handing him a timeless bouquet of fresh Montana wildflowers. The woman must have said something funny, because he tipped his head back and laughed, the slight breeze bringing the sound to her.

Julie had given her strict instructions to not let Tyler see what she looked like; she wanted the element of surprise. That explained his absence from the set that morning during filming. Still… Too bad she wouldn’t be able to see the look on his face when he saw what Drew and the special effects crew had done to her. One eye was so worked over by Drew’s combined talents of makeup and effects that she could barely see out of it. Her other eye would just be closed.

“Places!”

Chelsea tensed. This was the part she liked least. She knew that the noose wasn’t really a “hangman’s noose”, and that she would only have to dangle for a minute at the most ––Julie was nothing if not a realistic director–– while she waited for Tyler to do his initial discovery take. But the sensation creeped her out. Yes, there was a special wire attached to her waist; she wouldn’t truly be hanging by her throat, regardless, she shuddered.

“Marks...!”

She braced herself. In a second, Julie’s assistant would give the silent signal to have her support removed. Remembering the freak, tragic accidents of actors who’d accidentally died filming violent scenes, Chelsea sent a brief, silent prayer to the patron saint of whoever watched over such things. Good thing she wasn’t superstitious, or she’d be
really
nervous.

“
Action!”

~ * ~

Paul swung open the back door and stepped inside the kitchen, his grin wide and anticipatin
g.
“Tina! Honey? I’m back!”

Using his booted foot to push the door shut, he strode across the small cooking room and into the living area, turning his head to try and catch sight of his wife
.
“Tina? Sweetheart, where are you?”

The smile faded into a worried frown and he set the bouquet of wildflowers on the dining room table. He searched each room, and still no sign of her.

Hearing a scratching sound coming from the living room, he hunkered down to one knee in its center, where the whines were the loudest
.
“Max?”

Paul pulled back the coiled rope rug and the scratching and whining grew louder. He lifted up the wood planks that made the trap door and a huge, canine beast flew out from the cellar, alternately barking and whining, even as it jumped onto Paul and licked his face. It was Max, their Wolf-Husky cross. What was he doing in the cellar? Tina must have put him there, but why? Something wasn’t right
.

“Tina!” he shouted, more than a touch of panic coloring his tone.

The echoing silence that followed made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise and Paul stood up, lifting a hand to rub at them. With the action, he glanced out the window. His heart stopped. The blood in his veins turned to ice. No.

No.

His hand slowly came down to hang at his side, his eyes locked on the image through the windowpane. Max wouldn’t stop barking, he paused only to growl as he tried to claw, then chew through the front door. Paul didn’t even hear him.

He took one step toward the window, then another, his heart pounding frantically, fearfully, against his ribcage. No.

The wind shifted, turning the body that hung lifeless from the sweet pine at the front of their property, so that it faced Paul staring horrified from the window.

Tina.

“
NO!”

His fist went through the glass. One piece sliced through the skin of his knuckles to the bone. He didn’t notice.

Tearing open the door, Paul ran from the house, Max racing ahead, across the pasture.

“
TINA!”

He yanked the long knife from the sheath strapped to his right thigh, jerked to a stop just in front of her bodyHe forced himself to look away from the dead fetus lying in a pool of blood –– Tina’s blood –– below her feet. It still dropped from her body, running in rivulets from the shredded skin of her breasts, her back.
.
“God… Tina…” he whispered, dropped to his knees. “Oh, God… Our baby… Tina…”

“
Tina…”
His voice thick with an aching blend of rage and sorrow, Paul came to his feet, his hand clenching the knife. He had to cut her down. He looked up, into her beautiful, loving face, and blanched, stumbled back, choking on bile.

Her face… The bastards had cut off her face… He was going to be sick.

Taking in gulps of air, Paul waited until the wave of nausea had passed. Bracing himself, he looked again at the body of his wife. They hadn’t cut off her face, but
whipped
it off. The right side of her face and head was hamburger. The left, tragically flawless. The spray of blood on her left bicep explained why; she’d tried to shield her face against her arm.

An ember of rage glowed within him and, raising his knife, Paul hacked at the rope that had choked the breath from her until she was free, falling into his arms. That same fury stayed with him as he sawed the bonds around her wrists.

But when she was free, the fury left him, leaving behind a grief so acute, so raw, that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. He clutched her body to him, heedless of the blood that soaked through his clothes, gathering her into his arms, he rocked her.

Crying so hard he could barely see, he somehow managed to stand, holding Tina and their baby in his arms. Each unsteady step back towards the house was more grief-stricken than the last; he walked with unseeing, wet eyes.

The camera panned back out to Max, in full-throated howl at the lynch-site.

~ * ~

He stopped and released her legs, but kept an arm around her back. With a gentle touch, Chelsea brushed his tears away. She could feel his body’s tremors even as he held her. “Remember, Tyler… It’s just make-believe. Not real. I’m fine.”

Her faint amusement stopped him. Inhaling a deep breath, he nodded. “I know. It’s just…
Jesus
! Does Drew have to be
that
good at what he does?”

Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, crushing her body against his. “I’m going to
kill
Julie for not warning me about what you looked like. And what was with that fake fetus? That’s downright macabre! Is she psychotic or what?”

“Probably,” Chelsea answered, her voice muffled by her lips against his chest. “But I think she’s more militant. Certain histories get buried and forgotten. I guess this is her way of bringing skeletons out of the closet and shoving them into your face.”