The Last Housewife (100)

Dirt. I was encased in it.

The realization was like an electric shock to my chest, and all conscious thought fled. I clawed, kicking upward, pushing against the ground that wanted to choke me. My lungs were burning, vision blurring, but I scratched and scratched. Just when I thought there was no hope, when I sucked in dirt and it coated the roof of my mouth, one arm wrenched free, and with that I dug at the earth covering my face.

Suddenly there was air, sweet and rich with rotting leaves. I gasped, sucking it in, and ripped myself out of the ground, shoving dirt off my legs until I tumbled into the grass, choking, coughing up black. I opened my mouth and screamed.

My cry dissolved into the sound of someone laughing. I turned, swiping dirt out of my eyes, and found Don sitting in a lawn chair, one leg crossed over the other, chuckling. His tuxedo jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He raised a glass of scotch to me. “I wasn’t sure how this would end.” His voice was silky and amused. “But good for you.”

When I opened my mouth, the voice that came out was a feral creature’s. “You buried me in the garden.”

His smile stayed fixed. “A little taste of what it’s like.” He gestured at the shallow grave where he’d buried me. Next to it, a vined plant’s arms stretched toward me like it was pleading. “You said you came for my daughters. Well—here they are.”

“Somebody help!” I screamed.

Don laughed and rose, towering over me as I crawled backward. “Dearest. No one can hear you. That’s what the band’s for.” He grinned up at the mansion. “And it’s Wagner. Perfect.”

“Jamie!” I screamed. “Help!” But it was futile, of course. Jamie was inside, on the phone with his producers or the FBI. He’d never find me in time.

Don jerked his hand and his scotch flew out, hitting me in the face, burning my eyes. “Enough.”

I tried to stagger to my feet, toward the Hilltop, glowing with lights, but Don was already on top of me. He kicked me lightning-fast, and I slammed back against the grass, unable to breathe against the radiating pain.

He crouched and peered down at me. There was no pity on his face, only curiosity. Over his shoulder, the first stars were visible in the dusky, orange-violet sky.

“Let me go,” I whispered, though speaking made my chest ache. In my head, I told the stars, If you feel a single ounce of compassion…

“Never,” Don said and cracked his scotch glass against my head.

***

I was aware of being dragged. Of being a thing that bumped and bounced across the grass. But then Don picked me up, wiping the warm, sticky blood from my temple. He carried me through the door like a newlywed carrying his wife over the threshold, and we were back in the warm, stifling basement. Don sat me in the same chair the Lieutenant had dumped me in only yesterday.

My head lolled back, but he seized my chin and righted it, dropping to a knee. When my vision sharpened, I saw he was staring intently at my face.

“You’ve always liked it so rough,” he murmured, stroking my face. “Strange creature. Eight years is a long time to wait for you. But there’s nothing better than delayed gratification, is there? You learned that from me.”

He kissed me gently on the forehead, then rose, walking to the wooden weapon chest. Almost absently, he pulled the drawers open, one by one. I knew what he was looking for before he found it—same as Laurel, of course, because so much of who we were was an echo of him. This man who’d reached into our brains when we were young.

There it was, the blackened dagger with the needle tip.

He turned with the knife, looking down at me with heat in his eyes, the way a man looks at a lover. His strong jaw was even more pronounced with a five-o’clock shadow. He looked almost love-drunk.

My hands weren’t bound, but the moment I shifted in my chair, Don was beside me, pulling off my jacket, seizing the thin cotton of my shirt and rubbing the dagger against it until the fabric tore. He ripped a line up my shirt, rending it in two.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” His voice was low. “All this time away has made me needy.” He pressed his lips to my chest; I felt the heat of his mouth on my skin when he spoke. “Did you ever guess one day I’d fall on my knees for you?”

The words were intoxicating, each a little cup of wine. Eight years ago, I would have drunk them until I was senseless.

“You need me,” I murmured into his hair. “Because you’re nothing without us.”

He leaned back and grinned, placing the point of the pugio in the dip of my collarbone and dragging down, drawing a razor-thin line of blood between my breasts. The tip of the dagger came to rest against the underwire that held my bra together. “I love you and your games,” he murmured. “Running away, telling your teachers I’m a bad man, showing up unannounced after years. What will you think of next?”

“You used to say I was pathetic, but you were the pathetic one. Just as desperate for validation as us.” My throat was raw. “You did everything to make us think we couldn’t live without you. You knew that’s the only way we’d follow you. You were a parasite.”

“Look what I did.” Don flung his hand at the ceiling. Above us, music swelled, and raucous applause broke out. “I built you a kingdom. I’m remaking the world. I’m close, and once I’m there, you can have it, too. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”