Hushed (21 page)

Wednesday, November 19
^th

Archer hadn’t been home since leaving for college. Why his mom didn’t move, he had no idea. Seemed a waste to keep a house drowned in bad memories. Especially one with so many rooms and no one to occupy them. Evan waited in the car. He didn’t ask why Archer wanted him to come along. It just seemed right to have him there.

He half-expected his key not to work anymore. Mom was terrified of him, so why wouldn’t she have switched out the locks? But the key slid in and clicked, and Archer slipped inside after one last, forlorn look at the car.

The aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin spice greeted him inside, and dishes rattled from the kitchen. The washing machine whirred. He shut the door louder than necessary, and the kitchen faucet turned off. His mother stepped out into the entryway slowly, drying her hands on a towel.

What would it have been like to come home for a visit greeted with a hug and a kiss? Missed by a mother who fussed too much over stuff that didn’t matter, like his ruffled hair or the clothes he wore? Instead they stood there, both awkward. Both wary.

“Hi, Mom.”

She pursed her lips, turned, and disappeared the way she came. “What are you doing here? You didn’t call.”

Archer followed. The kitchen had been repainted recently from its dull brick red to a brighter eggshell white, like the sun had risen on the walls. He wondered what else she’d changed, or if she’d cleared out his bedroom. Not that he’d left much behind. “Sorry. I just wanted to see you.” His voice didn’t come out as steady as he would’ve liked.

His mother tossed the rag onto the counter and turned with her arms folded. Couldn’t she smile? Weren’t moms supposed to be happy to hear that sort of thing? “Why? What do you want? Do you need money?”

A cold reception wasn’t unexpected, but if any comment could have annoyed him, it was that. He’d never asked her for money. She wanted him out of the house, so she gave him funds monthly. After bills it wasn’t much, but he’d never asked her for more. “No. I don’t want anything.”

“Then what is it?”

He thought of Marissa, always happy anytime he visited. He thought of Mrs. Bishop, giving him a tight hug and straightening the collar of his shirt before he and Evan left. His mother had been like that, once upon a time. She wouldn’t like what he had to say, but he wanted to say it. He wanted her to know him. His reasons. His motivations. Maybe this was more his fault for hiding everything for her for so long.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said.

Mom’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. But she didn’t sound entirely disinterested when she asked, “Is that right?”

He pocketed his hands, shrugged, nodded slowly. “It’s a boy.”

“I figured.” Pause. “The one from the funeral?”

She remembered. Something…other than nearly giving him a nervous breakdown. Another nod. “His name is Evan. I’d like you to meet him sometime.” A proper meeting, not what it had been before. And maybe she wouldn’t want to. Maybe
Evan
wouldn’t want to. Archer had no illusions a meeting between them would go over well, but he was there to try nonetheless. Try to reach out to her. To make certain that no matter what happened, she remembered she was his mother. He
loved
her. Even if he didn’t know how to show it.

She tapped her fingers against the counter. One, two, three, four. A range of emotions slid past her eyes, never quite managing to settle between uncertainty and confusion. “You didn’t drive all the way here to tell me you have a boyfriend, Archer.”

No. No, he hadn’t.

“I killed Dad.”

The confusion melted away. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted but no words came out. Archer didn’t want to upset her. He wanted to hug her and tell her he loved her, that of course he could never hurt her. She’d been distant. Hurtful. But she had never
hurt
him, never let him go without the things he needed in life. He could never have done to her what he’d done to his father.

But as soon as he saw that look on her face, he wanted to explain himself, tell her everything and the words came tumbling out. He’d spare her the details of how he’d come home from school to find his dad passed out on the couch, a full syringe still on the cushion beside him. Archer hadn’t even injected him with the intent to kill; just a raw, overwhelming want to get back at him for everything his mother had suffered for.

“He hurt us.” Archer took a step forward. “You cried so much. I heard you tell someone on the phone that the reason you stayed with him was because you were afraid of leaving. And no one would’ve helped. Dad seemed so…so
normal
to everyone else.”

She shook her head slowly, disbelieving. “You killed your own father, Archer.” As though she didn’t already know. Denial was a powerful thing, and he was all too aware how different it was to think something and actually hear it.

“I wanted to protect us.” His chin dipped. The paramedics had carried his dad out this way on a gurney to a van parked along the side of the house. “We had the life insurance policy, you could finally go to school and work like you always said you wanted. And you did. And you seemed happier—just not around me.”

His mother’s eyes were unreadable. He hated that look. Hated that she was too much of a stranger to him to know what she was thinking.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“You needed to hear it. I needed to say it. And to tell you… I would never hurt you. I would never let anyone hurt you.”

Her eyes glimmered. If she cried, he didn’t know what he’d do. He never did well with her tears.

“Why…?”

“Because I know you only hate me because I did what you wanted to do and were too scared to.” He hunched his shoulders. “And because you’re my mother, and I may not like you most of the time… But I love you.” That was it. That was the heart of everything he’d ever wanted to tell her.

She didn’t say anything. Archer didn’t expect her to. They were both to blame; he could accept that. But it wasn’t entirely his fault and he wouldn’t let her—or Vivian—make him think otherwise.

He left the deafening silence behind. Even if he knew she wouldn’t follow, some small part of him had held out hope that she would. That same part of his heart broke when he stepped outside and in the kitchen he could hear her resuming dishes.

Archer cleared the porch, briskly heading for the car while the world became blurry all around him. Evan was waiting.

§

Evan asked him if he was all right, and when Archer struggled with what to answer, Evan left the subject alone. He wanted to help, but he did so by being there. Nothing made him feel better quite like Evan stretching out on the couch like some big, lazy dog with his head in Archer’s lap.

They ate pizza, breezing through homework neither of them wanted to do and putting on a movie they’d watched more than once together already. Archer knew every line that Evan would laugh at, and there was comfort in the familiarity.

He slept at some point. When he woke it was nearly midnight, and Evan was messing with his phone. A deep frown creased his brow. Somehow he knew this had something to do with Vivian. Somehow.

“What’s wrong?”

Evan looked past his phone and smiled faintly. Hesitating. “You should go back to sleep.”

What better way to wake him up completely? Archer pushed himself to sitting. “No, what is it?”

Evan opened his mouth, closed it, sighed. He turned his phone around for Archer to see.

Unknown:
Your in over your head.
Sent: 11:50 p.m.

No name on the text. He didn’t need to look twice at the number. For someone studying to be a nurse, he’d always thought her ability to spell would be better.

“She’s going too far,” he hissed.

“Don’t worry about it.” Evan set the phone aside. “I can have her number blocked.”

Archer didn’t like it. What was she thinking? Texting
Evan
. What was more—“She must’ve gotten your number out of my phone when I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” He brushed a finger over Archer’s bottom lip. “Even if we get into a hair-pulling cat fight over you, I think I’ll win.”

Vivian fights dirty,
he thought.
“I’ll call her tomorrow. Or go over there if I have to.”

Evan shook his head. “She
wants
a reaction. Don’t give her one. Eventually she’ll let it go. The more she makes a scene, the worse all this will look on her.”

Archer set his jaw. Evan didn’t know Vivian like he did. He hadn’t seen her the last time she’d come to his apartment. He didn’t trust her not to do something completely and utterly crazy.

He’d deal with her himself. She wouldn’t hurt Evan.
His
Evan.

Archer moved forward, catching Evan’s mouth against his own. Leaning into him, pushing him back onto the couch. Evan made a soft, pleased sound, arms winding loosely around Archer’s shoulders. Archer clung to him, kissed him, slid his hands beneath clothing to map out planes of skin and muscle while Evan breathed deep and arched into his touches.

This was
his
. His happiness, his life. He wouldn’t let her take it away.

Saturday, November 22
^nd

Despite his better judgment, he grudgingly ignored the texts from Vivian. Evan didn’t tell him about the ones she sent to him, but Archer caught glimpses of them on his phone before they were deleted. Finally, Evan did what he said he’d do and called his cell provider to have Vivian’s number blocked.

Archer thought about doing the same. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, maybe he felt better at least knowing what she was saying, but he never got around to it.

Early Saturday morning came several in a row:

Vivian
: You need to answer your phone.
Sent: 12:02 a.m.

Vivian:
Call me. Its important.
Sent: 12:10 a.m.

Vivian:
I know your awake.
Sent: 12:30 a.m.

Vivian:
Your not answering because your with him right now.
Sent: 12:43 a.m.

His skin crawled.

Evan slept soundly beside him. It was stupid to read too much into it; of course Vivian would assume he was with Evan. Didn’t take a genius. For all he knew, she’d come by his apartment and found he wasn’t home.

He deleted the messages and inched down under the covers, rolling toward Evan. He slid his arms around his waist, face pressed against the slope of his neck and shoulder.

She doesn’t know. And it wouldn’t matter even if she did. What can she possibly do?

Monday, November 24
^th

Detective Stevens was waiting by his car when Archer came out of his last afternoon class. He shoved a chem book into his backpack, refusing to let his steps slow.
No big deal. Nothing to worry about.

“Larry,” he greeted. Detective Stevens straightened up, his no-nonsense expression ruined by a wry smile.

“I’ll make this quick. I don’t suppose you’ve been in contact with Vivian since we spoke last?”

Archer unlocked the passenger-side door, tossing his bag in. He should’ve been anxious and wasn’t. Stevens hadn’t come back to question
him
. Their attention was on Vivian. In the last few weeks, he’d been trying desperately not to stress over it. Her word against his, and he was a far better liar. Right?

“We aren’t speaking.” He shut the door, turned, and leaned against it. “Though I’m considering putting in a complaint for harassment.”

Larry raised a big eyebrow. “She giving you problems?”

“She’s been texting me and my boyfriend.” Never mind how strange it sounded, saying that aloud. He shrugged. “She came over the other week. Drunk, I think. Got upset with me when I told her I wasn’t interested in her advances. She tore up my apartment pretty good and took off.” A small lie, but it covered his ass if anyone noticed him throwing out his things. “Since then he and I have been getting texts and calls.”

“I don’t suppose either of you would be willing to share your phone records.” The detective looked pleased by this new revelation.
More against her,
Archer knew. He wasn’t sure what he felt about that, but knew he couldn’t dwell on it or his lies would falter. By now, he wasn’t only lying for himself. It was for Evan, too.

“Sure, I guess.” He pushed away from the car, circling around. “Should I let you know if I see her?”

Larry followed him, handing over a card with his name and number. “Someone else has turned up dead, Mr. Pond. You tell me.”

Archer’s heart plummeted to his stomach. “Who…?” He received one of those
none of your business
looks.

“I’ll be in contact later; maybe you can help us out.”

Were they going to arrest her? Did they have something on her? Had she really killed someone else? If Stevens was right, Archer had to tell what he knew. Part of him felt guilty for doing the very thing he never would’ve done weeks ago: feeding them ammunition against her.

But that was before she’d dragged Evan into it directly. It was war, and if she wanted to play this game, he could play it. He had the upper hand, so what could she possibly do?

When he got home, there was a note sitting on his dining table in large, erratic letters. Familiar but eerily not.

I have it.

Evan didn’t have a chance to get through the front door when Archer thrust the note at him. He scanned the three words, blinked, looked up.

“This is from Vivian?”

“
My gun,”
Archer seethed. “She told me she got rid of it. She lied.”

Could have been Archer’s imagination, but Evan’s face seemed to pale as he slowly lowered the paper. Suddenly the odds didn’t seem so much in their favor. Would she try anything? Archer didn’t want to be dramatic and say yes, but thinking back on the texts, worry gnawed at his already frayed nerves. What would she have said or done if he’d been there when she showed up earlier? He needed to change his locks.

Evan sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “You said something about the detective…”

“They’re looking for her.” While Evan sat down, Archer couldn’t stop moving. He paced from one end of the living room to the other, crossing his arms, uncrossing them, pulling at his hair. “He said someone else turned up dead. Could be Hector or Bobby. They know she killed Mick; they just don’t have something solid to prove it yet. The fact she’s been bothering us isn’t going to make her look good.”

“We should give them whatever it is they want.” Evan’s eyes followed him. “It looks good on you right now—Jesus, Archer,
sit down
.”

Archer took a breath. Grabbed the black folder from the kitchen counter and tossed it to the couch. He forced himself to sink onto the coffee table across from Evan. “She wouldn’t do anything. Would she?”

Almost mechanically, Evan opened up the folder and stared down at the list inside.

Silent. Brows knitted together. He closed it again and took a deep breath. “Maybe, maybe not, but we don’t know for sure. Will you stay at my place until this is clears up?”

“She knows where you live.”

“But she doesn’t have a key.”

“Point.” Archer’s nails bit into his palms. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing. We’ll get past this, just…” Evan sighed. His hands cupped Archer’s face. “Just stay with me for now. We’ll go down to the station tomorrow and tell them what’s going on. Even if Vivian tells them it was you, what proof does she have? She’s obviously not all there, she has the murder weapon, and now she’s harassing you. You don’t have a motive, and you’ve got alibis.”

That was all well and true, but it still lurked in the back of Archer’s mind:
What if? What if she has proof?
He nodded mutely.

Evan’s thumbs soothed over his cheekbones before he drew back. “How’re you feeling? About…all of this.”

What did that even mean? He shook his head. “I’m not worried about me.”

“I am. You can tell me. I know this is hard. For both of us, yeah, but…Vivian…”

His chest tightened. “The Vivian I knew…she never would’ve done something like this.” There was nothing else he could say about it. Not without breaking down, and he’d done enough of that lately. Maybe Vivian wasn’t crazy; maybe
he
was the crazy one. He felt like it sometimes.

Evan took his hands and pulled him forward, off of the table and into his lap. Archer sat there, silent, thinking, playing things over in his head. From the look on Evan’s face, he was doing the same.

Just one more day and they’ll have what they need to bring her in,
he thought.
One more day.