He Started It(88)

This is how I’ve convinced myself Nikki is still alive, because I can’t face a world without her. And I can’t face what I did. Moving to Florida, following Cooper, writing the journals—it was all because I wanted to find her. Had to find her.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

One time, I thought about telling Felix everything. It was when we were engaged. He knew nothing about Nikki and he thought my parents had died in a car crash. It sounded so commonplace that he didn’t question it.

We had just been to the movies, one of those Oscar-nominated dramas that’s all about family secrets and regrets and no one ends up happy. I guess that’s what made me want to say something—the fear of ending up like that. During the drive home, I thought I should tell him everything. Well, most of it. Not the part where Eddie shot the private investigator.

As fate would have it, Felix’s favorite song came on the radio. It probably won’t surprise you to know Felix was a big fan of eighties music. There he was, belting out Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and I knew the moment was gone.

I never tried again, but that doesn’t mean the guilt has gone away. If anything, it has grown over the years—multiplied by a billion after I saw my mother. It was just like one of those melodramatic movies.

But, finally, the second road trip would let me fix what I had done.

That’s what I believed, as much as I believed Nikki was out there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing she would one day get her chance at revenge, maybe against me, but definitely against Eddie. It’s why I’ve never stopped looking, why I moved to Florida, why I wrote that diary in her words.

It’s why I’ve done everything.

I fall to my knees on the ground, in front of Eddie.

A lie, all of it. The worst kind of lie, because I made up an entire story about Nikki being out there, still alive, and then I convinced myself it was true.





I look up at Eddie, that shiny gun in his hand, and I know I’m ready. It doesn’t matter if I die now. I don’t even care now that I know Nikki is dead.

Except for one thing. Eddie would win.

“You can’t shoot us,” I say, standing back up. “You’d never get away with it.”

He smiles a little.

“We’re the only ones here,” I say. “You think the police won’t figure out who did it? Because I don’t think self-defense is going to work against two unarmed women.”

Eddie continues to smile.

Portia’s voice rings out over the desert. “Button, button, who’s got the button?” She singsongs the word to that old children’s game.

I turn to see her holding that gold button, flicking it up in the air, and catching it like it’s a coin.

That button came from Calvin Bingham’s jacket. She kept it all these years.

“This isn’t over yet,” she says. “We’re just getting started.”



* * *



–––––

The shift in focus is tangible, like the wind has changed directions. All the energy directed toward Eddie now flows to Portia. So does Eddie’s gun. He now points it at her instead of at me. “Where did you get that?” he says.

Portia stops tossing the button long enough to look insulted. “I’ve always had it. Of course, I know it doesn’t mean anything now. It’s not like it could be used as evidence or anything.”

“Then why keep it?” he says.

“So I never forget what an asshole you are.”

“Me? What about Nikki?”

“You’re asking the wrong question,” she says. “The right question is, how long have I been waiting for this moment?”

Her eyes twinkle and it isn’t from the sun.

“No guesses?” she says. “Well, then I’ll just tell you. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was six years old.”

Eddie backs up a step and I do the same, which is saying something considering her only weapon is a button.

“You assholes,” she says. “Both of you. All you did was use me. I was abused by Grandpa, but it was a lie. I was the ally you needed depending on who was in charge, and I was the one who put pills in the cocoa but didn’t even know it—”

“That was Nikki,” Eddie says.

“Shut. Up.” Portia takes a deep breath. “And you’re going to want to hold up on shooting anyone until you hear what I have to say.”

Eddie hesitates, thinking about it, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. “About what?” he finally says.

Portia smiles. Grins, really. “Your financial situation.”

Eddie shifts his weight a little, says nothing.

“You see,” Portia says. “Given my current line of work, I’ve learned how to do a few things. Other than take my clothes off, of course.”

“Take your clothes off? You’re a waitress,” Eddie says.

“She’s a stripper,” I say. “Keep up.”

“That’s right, I am,” she says. “And one of the many things I’ve learned in my profession is that people aren’t very good at keeping their secrets.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. “Most of them are kept right in here.”