Chapter 5- The Silence After
1160 Words
The knock comes as I'm throwing the last blood-stained towel into the trashcan on top of the chunks of broken glass. I knew it would— I just have to play my part and stay calm.
Calm.
Calm despite my boyfriend's dead body downstairs.
Because I put him there.
My head reels and I almost lose my composure. I just killed the son of the state attorney, Scott Ashford. He is known for his bloodlust in the courtroom, he could make a defendant with a late parking ticket fee look like an absolute menace to society.
So what would he do to the woman who murdered his only son?
"Maybe he would understand, if I explained what happened.." I whisper out loud as if I'm trying to rationalize my actions to myself.
Daniel had such a promising future before he met you.
I hear Scott Ashford's voice in my head as if I'm already on the stand in court.
"He was supposed to go to Harvard law to carry on the Ashford legacy," Daniel's father has said to me dozens of times. "Then he was domesticated, he settled. All you do is take, and reap the benefits of being tied to our family name. I swear my son will come to his senses one day, and then you will be out on the street where you belong."
There is another sharp knock at the door, and I jump so hard that pain flashes through my ribs.
“Moorville Police,” a man’s muffled voice calls from the other side. “Open the door, please.”
My hands begin to shake.
I smooth my hair over the worst of the injuries on my face and drag the sleeves of my oversized sweater down over my bruised hands. It does little to hide the cuts, but it is the best I can do.
Stay calm.
I approach the door slowly, my heart pounding so violently that I can hear it in my ears. For one dizzy second, I imagine it forcing its way up my throat and landing on the floor between us, still beating and betraying me.
I turn the knob and open the door only a few inches.
The bright beam of a flashlight strikes my face.
I flinch and raise one sleeved hand against the glare. From what I can see, there is one officer standing on the porch and another waiting near the patrol car.
Daniel’s truck sits in the driveway behind them.
My stomach drops.
They will ask to speak to him.
“Can I help you, Officer?” I ask softly.
My voice cracks. I pray he mistakes it for exhaustion.
“Lucy?”
I recognize the voice immediately.
The flashlight lowers.
“Peter.” Relief rises so quickly that it nearly resembles happiness, and I manage to shape my mouth into a small smile. “How are you? How’s Maryanne?”
Maybe familiarity will make him careless.
Maybe if I can remind him that we have known each other since kindergarten, he will see the girl he grew up with instead of the woman standing between him and a dead body.
Peter stares at me, surprise giving way to concern.
“She’s good,” he says slowly. “The baby’s due in about six weeks. It’s a boy.”
“A boy?” I brighten my voice, forcing warmth into it. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you both.”
The pride on his face hurts more than it should.
Maryanne works at the hospital. Peter organizes fundraisers and pulls frightened children away from stray dogs. They are good people living the kind of life I once believed waited for everyone who behaved well enough.
“If either of you needs anything after he arrives, you can call me,” I say.
The moment the words leave my mouth, panic twists through me.
Don’t invite him back, you i***t.
“Thank you,” Peter says.
His answer is polite, but there is hesitation beneath it. His eyes move over my face, stopping briefly near my temple.
I shift farther behind the door.
An awkward silence settles between us.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “did you need something?”
Peter seems to remember why he is here.
“Right. Yes.” He reaches for the small notebook tucked near his vest. “We received a nine-one-one call from this address.”
His gaze slips past my shoulder toward the dark hallway behind me.
I shift my weight, blocking his view before I even realize what I am doing.
The movement comes naturally.
Too naturally.
As if I have spent years learning how to place my body between Daniel and anyone who might see too much.
What is wrong with me?
I should open the door.
I should tell Peter everything.
I should let him walk inside and find Daniel lying at the bottom of the basement stairs.
Instead, I tighten my hand around the edge of the door.
Peter’s eyes return to me.
“Lucy,” he says gently, “is Daniel here?”
My mouth goes dry.
I shouldn’t be hiding this.
I shouldn’t be making small talk while my dead boyfriend lies barely twenty-five feet away.
I will bury you.
Daniel’s voice whispers the threat directly into my ear, soft and clear.
For one terrible moment, I almost expect Peter to hear it too.
But he doesn’t.
Of course he doesn't.
“He left,” I say too quickly.
Peter’s gaze shifts toward Daniel’s truck in the driveway, then returns to me.
He doesn’t say anything.
“He went for a walk,” I add. “We had a fight. I broke something of his that meant a lot to him.”
Yeah. My neck.
Daniel’s voice seems to rise from the basement stairs, making the skin along my arms crawl beneath my sleeves.
“It was an accident,” I whisper, nearly choking on the words.
Peter’s expression changes.
“What was?”
For one horrible second, I forget what I told him.
“The thing I broke,” I say. “It slipped out of my hands, and Daniel got angry.”
Not a lie.
Not entirely.
“We argued, and then he left to cool off. He had a couple of beers with dinner, so he didn’t take the truck.” I force myself to meet Peter’s eyes. “He wouldn’t drink and drive.”
If I say anything that contradicts the man everyone believes Daniel to be, Peter will know I’m lying.
They all will.
If they only knew.
Peter studies me for a long moment before giving a slow nod.
Relief unfurls inside my chest, fragile and cautious.
He believes me.
Or at least, he wants to.
Then his eyes drift toward the bruising near my temple again.
“Lucy,” he says, his voice quieter now, “may we come inside?”
- Writer
