The Writing Retreat(99)

I gazed back, impassive.

“Anyway.” Roza crossed her arms. “I’m giving you girls the opportunity to finish this sordid tale. You’ve heard of the Oedipus conflict? The Elektra conflict? Basically, in order to grow, to evolve, you need to unconsciously kill your mother or father. We don’t have your wretched parents here today, but no matter. You’ve mapped onto each other. And given that both of you are miserable, I’m giving you the chance to heal.”

Dizziness swept over me again and I pressed my feet against the floor.

Focus. It was Daphne’s voice, rising up from the depths of my mind. Be still and focus.

“How are you helping us heal?” Wren finally asked, her voice hoarse.

“You can’t finish your stories,” Roza went on, as if she hadn’t heard. “Not without annihilating the other. I see that now.” She slowly stood. “And maybe you need an example.”

She looked back and forth between Chitra and Taylor. Chitra stared back warily while Taylor waited with barely contained enthusiasm.

“Chitra, dear,” Roza said, her voice soft. “I’m going to need you to kill Taylor.”

“What?” Chitra stuttered, going rigid.

“What?” Taylor chuckled.

“You have a knife right there.” Roza nodded to the steak knife on Wren’s plate. “And every second you wait, you’re losing the element of surprise.”

Taylor laughed again. “You think Chitra’s going to commit an act of violence? She’s too good, Roza.”

Chitra appeared stunned, her lips slightly parted.

“No?” Roza swiveled her head. “Okay, then. Taylor, I’m going to need you to kill Chitra.”

“Really?” Taylor rose immediately, clutching my greasy steak knife.

Chitra jumped up so fast, she knocked her chair over. Taylor stalked around the front of the table and Chitra turned, stumbled, then ran for the door.

I’d once watched blood fly from Wren’s hand in a wide, perfect arc, gleaming in the bar’s fairy lights. But this time the arc was much larger. As Taylor grabbed Chitra’s hair, pulled her closer, and drew the knife across her throat, red sprayed out with the power of a fire hose, covering the doorway in a graceful curve.

With a strangled squawk, Chitra sank to the floor.

I realized I was half standing in my chair, mouth gaping.

Chitra’s eyes fixed on me and she gasped like a fish as the red ran down her neck onto the floor, a deep vermillion color that reminded me of a beautiful nail polish I’d used before.

I smelled the now-familiar scent of pennies.

Breathing hard, Taylor walked back to the table. She pulled out her chair with a scraping sound and sat. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks dotted with red droplets.

“Whew!” she cried and laughed. “That was fucking crazy.”

Wren sat frozen, dumb, staring into space.

“See?” Roza asked us gently. “Two cannot survive in the same space. Chitra was fading away anyway.” She studied Chitra’s crumpled body and the spreading pool like it was a not particularly interesting work of art. “But I’ll support her daughter. I promised her that.”

The hysterical words bubbled up: Roza, this is madness. Roza, let us go.

Shh, Daphne said. Quiet now. Let her think you’re seeing something new.

So I looked down at my plate, studying the wet, pinkish tinges of the bloody steak Chitra had expertly prepared such a short time ago. I gave a slight nod.

“Good.” Suddenly, joyously, Roza clapped her hands. “Let’s retire to the parlor, then, shall we? It’s time for our final game.”





Chapter 39




In front of the roaring fire, two dark lacquered tables awaited. They held our laptops as well as a stack of papers neatly arranged beside them. On the buffet table near the wall was a decanter of dark wine and a few wineglasses. The room was dim, lit only by candles on the mantel and the coffee table. What a nice tableau.

“Have a seat.” Roza settled on the overstuffed couch facing the desks, about ten feet away. Taylor sat next to her, nearly bouncing with eagerness, like a kid at her first Broadway show.

I walked over to the farther desk and sat. Wren perched on her chair, shoulders hanging.

Red. Shiny. Pennies. The image of the growing scarlet pool made a helpless moan rise in my throat.

Stop. Daphne firmly shut the image away. Chitra’s wide, pleading eyes became less distinct, then blurry, then were gone altogether. Concentrate, Alex. You’ve seen the depths of her madness. If you don’t focus, you’re not going to make it.

“Now.” Roza folded her hands over her knee. “You are both very close to your endings. As you know from our meetings, you need two things: a resolution and a final scene. I think both could be done in three thousand words or less. But I leave that up to you.”

The fire warmed my knees. My mind felt very still.

“So the final game,” Roza went on, “is to finish those final scenes and print them out there.” She indicated a printer on a side table near the sofa. “And then decide amongst yourselves who the winner will be.”

“What?” Wren looked up and squinted back at me. “You mean, read…”

“No,” Roza said. “I mean destroy. I know you’re both squeamish about physical violence, so I’ll allow the manuscripts to be proxies.”