Derailed (42 page)

Stay awake to help Norman out: While I can count on Norman’s devotion to me, I cannot say the same about his competency. I was right – Norman showed up jumpy and spaced out. “Norman, are you fucking high?” I demanded, annoyed as hell.

With a huge grin on his face, he held his thumb and forefinger close. After rolling my eyes, I motioned him to follow me up the stairs. He pulled out a .38 and silently followed me. Outside Bradley’s door, I looked at him.
Ready
?

His response was to cock the gun. With a nod, I quietly opened the door and we entered the room. While I crept in next to Bradley, Norman placed the recording of Rival’s voice on the open windowsill.

That recording of Rival’s voice caused Bradley to stir. He opened his eyes and slowly tried to sit up. “Rival?” That would be his last word.

When he saw Norman standing in the room, gun pointed at him, he turned to look at me. Even though it was dark, I saw realization in his eyes. I nodded at Norman.
Do it!
Even though I expected Bradley to be shot next to me, I was jarred by the magnitude of it. Traumatized by it, actually. My screams were genuine, and it spooked Norman. (In hindsight, it was a good thing I screamed that loudly, because Mabel the hag heard them.)

Norman looked at me, confusion in his eyes. “Did I shoot you?”

I shook my head and put out my hand. “Do it quick!” I squeezed my eyes shut.

He fired and the bullet tore through my hand. My scream was louder than the first. 

“Shut the fuck up, Scarlett!” Norman hissed.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I cried as I shook from shock. 

At that moment, my nosey neighbors’ lights came on. 

“Go!” I said. “Quick, before they see you!”

He started to run away.

“The recorder!” I shouted.

He ran back to the window, retrieved the recorder, and started running away. 

“Norman, wait!” I cried, jumping out of the bed, and even though my hand was shot and bleeding,
I
had to find and gather the shell casings and give them to him, because the idiot was so high, he forgot to pick them up as instructed. Me, with a bullet in my hand, traumatized as hell, had to remember to pick up the hot shell casings. Imagine that.

“Dispose of them right away,” I ordered.

“Yeah, yeah!” he said and ran off.  

For a few moments, I sat shaking in the dark. When I looked at Bradley, all I saw was a bloody hole where his head used to be. When I was sure his chest was not rising and falling, I took my phone and dialed police emergency.

“Help us! Please!” After talking for about a minute, I ended the call mid-sentence and dialed Ritchie. Of course I didn’t tell him that Bradley was dead, as I didn’t want him to tip off Rival. I ended my call with him mid-sentence and called police emergency again.

Why did I call Ritchie? Because I didn’t want Rival to have him. I figured that once he was my first responder, and seeing my distress, he’d find it really hard to tear himself away. Pile on some guilt (Bradley will be smiling down on you for caring so much), and throw in some damsel-in-distress (Please officer, I want Ritchie to accompany me. I feel safe with him). And it worked – he’s been with me just about every day.

No links to Noman: I knew the cops would seize my phone, comb through my call records, and try to link Bradley’s death with someone I was in contact with. Luckily, I was astute enough to only talk to Norman on a secret phone. He provided me with that phone after he purchased it on his wife’s credit card.

Yes, Ritchie discovered that phone and yes, he was nosey enough to answer it, but I’m not too worried, because he’s really smitten with me. Not only that, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, as you may have noticed. Then there’s my seduction skills – they never let me down thus far. 

As for Norman, he’s not to see me until after Rival’s arrest. Then too, I will have to see him in another city to be on the safe side.

End of my lesson in ax-sharpening.

If you’re judging me, tsking away at my plan to kill Bradley, you shouldn’t. Bradley was an ungrateful soul, who reneged on our wedding vows –
for better or worse
. Not only that, but when Bradley and I arrived home from the fabulous party, do you know what he did? He refused to have a drink with me. Shook his head from side-to-side and walked towards the spare room. It hurt that he could be a loving husband one minute, and cold and distant the next. Especially when he shut the door on me, underscoring my loneliness and pangs of rejection I was suffering. I was doing him a favor, making a tremendous sacrifice by giving him back his house, yet he refuses to have one measly drink with me? Ungrateful, unappreciative and ungracious, I tell you.

Well, I am moving on. No time to let grass grow under my Manolo Blahniks. No sir, not at all. I have a ton of film and thousands of photographs to sell to the press. Well, my
daddy
will shop them around on my behalf, but I will rake in the cash. There will be a documentary on our lives and I will ensure by drip feeding the world with my photos, that I will never be forgotten. That’s important to me – to be remembered.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

SCARLETT

I’ll let you in on a secret. At the funeral, my tears were genuine. I grieved, not just for Bradley, but for what should have been. After all, my hopes and dreams died with Bradley too, remember? In fact, my hopes and dreams began a steady demise the day Rival threw a toolbox of spanners into the works of our happy union. Life with Bradley was never the same. He became a stranger to me and I suffered a miserable life of loneliness. I mean, for the funeral, they asked me what flowers Bradley liked. I had no idea. He did not share that with me. Isn’t that sad?

They asked me what music Bradley liked. I had no idea. He chose not to share that with me, either. Sad, very sad. Of course I couldn’t tell them that, so I went ahead and played it safe – red and burgundy roses.

As for the music, I thought about “Arms of an Angel”
by Sarah McLaughlin? It was overdone.

That song by Mariah Carey and Boys to Men?
Some Sweet Day…One Sweet Day…?
Whatever, it may be old, but mournful enough. It could work, I thought. 

Wendy Matthews, “The Day You Went Away”?
Also overdone.

In the end I settled for that Paul Walker song – “See You Again
,
” by Charlie Puth and Wiz Khalifa. It was fresh and current. Trendy even. But it made me cry, it made Ritchie cry, and it made Rival
sob
.

For added measure, I included “Time to Say Goodbye” by Sarah Brightman and Andre Bocelli. The rest I left to the funeral director to choose in keeping with the State’s theme. Sad, isn’t it?

As for this house, I have to sell it. Even though I like it, it feels different now. It feels big and…
empty
. There are no children’s voices, no wafts of Rival’s cooking, no scent of Bradley anymore. All I have is the strong smell of bleach that assaults my senses each time I enter the house.

Do you want to hear something crazy? I miss the brats. Surreptitiously, they grew on me. I miss their laughter, the sound of their footsteps, their excited voices. Rival is lucky to have them. Maybe having children isn’t a bad thing after all. In hindsight, I wish I had had children with Bradley. Even if it were just one child, I would still have a part of him. How I wish I had. 

I study the photo of Bradley and me on the wall – a blithe power couple in love, smiling and looking into each other’s eyes. Taken in the early days of our marriage when we really were a power couple in love. It’s sad that love could turn rancid overnight. Bradley didn’t have to die. We could have overcome the glitches in our union had he decided to try.

Unfortunately, in the months leading up to his death, Bradley betrayed me with his lack of faith in me, with his inability, or shall I say,
refusal
to handle obstacles life threw at us.
He
eventually
became
the obstacle in our lovely marriage. Petulant, pernicious, and somewhat pestilential – hell to live with. It’s sad.
I’m
sad that I had to kill the only man I have ever loved. Despite what you think of me, because I sense an internal judgement being made by you, I truly am saddened by Bradley’s death. 

SCARLETT

Finally, everyone has left my home. I look at the clock. Ritchie will be here any minute. Look what you made me do! Regaling you has made me lose track of time and now I’m going to be late for Ritchie. 

Quickly, I run upstairs, slip on a short black Victoria’s Secret negligee, brush out my hair so that it shines, spray on some perfume, and apply a mulberry lip tint. (By the way, I’m a huge fan of lip tints – they make it seem like you aren’t wearing lipstick. And they last so much longer than lipstick. I choose mulberry because it makes my teeth appear whiter. You should try it sometime.)

Tonight, I plan to kiss Ritchie. Nothing too deep, just a little face sucking with my hips pressed to his. He’s the type to scare easily—a slow burner, but when he burns, he burns bright. Though, if I had my way, I’d fuck his brains out. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid, and I really could do with some release.

Footsteps. I smile. Ritchie hasn’t knocked – probably looks at this as his home. Wouldn’t it be cute if he announces his arrival with,
Honey, I’m home!?

Slipping into seduction mode, I drape myself over the love seat in my bedroom, thighs strategically exposed and slightly parted, a shoulder strap falling, hair draped over one side of my face, satin straining against my hardened nipples, a tortured heroine look on my face – old-school, basic seduction. But hey, it works.

“Hello, Scarlett.”

With horror, I look into Norman’s face.

“What the…” I leap to my feet and pull up my shoulder strap. “Norman, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you, Scarlett,” he says, his eyes fixed on my erect nipples. 

“But…but…I told you never to come here, Norman.”

“Why? There’s nobody around.” He pushes up his glasses with his index finger as his eyes sweep over me. “Sex…y!”

“Norman, listen, we can’t be seen together. I told you that. You don’t know who’s watching me. I told you—”

“Relax,” he says, inching closer to me. “You worry too much. They’ve pinned the murder on Rival Murdoch.”

“No, they haven’t, Norman,” I say, resisting the urge to scream at him. “Not yet. She hasn’t been arrested, has she?”

“They probably waited for the funeral to be over, but now they will. Relax.” He pushes me on top of the bed and climbs over me.

“Don’t tell me to relax!” I say. “And Ritchie is coming over any moment now.” I try to push him off me, but he’s surprisingly strong and holds me down.

“Is that why you’re dressed like this?”

I don’t answer.

“You’re seeing an awful lot of him recently. Not falling for him, are you?”

“No! I just want to know what’s going on in Rival’s camp. That’s all.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Norman.”

“Okay, but I need you now,” he says. “And since I can be a one-minute man…” He pulls down the straps of my gown and sucks on my nipple, pulling and stretching it as if it’s play dough.

“Norman, not –”

His mouth clamps over mine as his hips dig into me.

“Did you bring me any coke?” I ask as he molests me.

“No, sorry,” he says.

“Money?”

“No, sorry,” he says.

I glare at him.
Then why the hell are you here?

Ritchie is going to be here any moment and I’m panicking. The only way to get rid of this moron is to give in to him. I part my thighs and roll down my G-string. “Quickly, then.”

“That’s better,” he says, thrusting his pinkie into me. Well, it isn’t his pinkie, but it sure feels like it is.

He moves slowly in and out of me. Frustrated at his feeble fucking, I raise my hips, grab his arse, and bring on the dirty talk. “Oh, yeah, baby, fuck me harder!” I buck and moan, “Ooooh! Norman! Oh God, Norman! I’m coming – ”

Less than sixty seconds after he enters me, he squirts hot liquid into me, then collapses over me, wetting my lovely black negligee. 

When I hear the squeal of Ritchie’s Jeep in the driveway, I shove Norman off, pull off my soiled negligee and grab a towel. “I’m going to take Ritchie to the pool,” I say as I drape the towel around me. “The moment we’re in the water, you sneak out through the front door, okay?”

The fucker lies so still, face down, with his hands neatly at his sides, you can easily mistake him for one of those oversized diabetic babies.

I run downstairs and head for the pool. Shedding my towel, I jump into the pool, ensuring I make a splash. When I see Ritchie walking toward the pool, I relax.

Norman the idiot. How could he show up like this? Without even bringing me any coke and any money. God, I could kill him.

“I needed water to soothe my troubled senses,” I say to Ritchie as I tread water. “Please don’t make me swim alone.”

He runs his hand slowly over his mouth as he takes in my bare breasts.

“I…I don’t have any trunks.”

“Me neither. I’m in my birthday suit.” I shrug.

Behind Ritchie, I see Norman creep toward the front door, shoes in hand.

“C’mon!” I say to Ritchie, hoping to distract him so that he doesn’t turn around and catch Norman in my house.

Ritchie shifts around in his shoes. 

I splash him. “Strip.”

To my absolute delight, he strips, and in all his wonderful glory, dives into the water with me. Ritchie and I are naked in the pool. Is that progress or what?

We swim for a while, before I move toward him and circle his waist with my arms.

“You feel good,” I whisper as I take in his muscular form. 

“So do you,” he says. “You’ve got a rocking bod, I must say.”

With a smile, I reach up and drag his head down to mine. His head descends, but just as he is about to kiss me, he jerks away.