Burned Page 6

  I’m so angry at Sage for doing this – to Taylor and Lennon first and foremost – but also to all of us, especially to Lexi and her baby. I never expected Sage was capable of being so heartless. I guess that’s the point. You never know what someone is capable of until something happens. Until a person becomes so desperate they think taking action – any action – is their only choice. Once they’re pushed into a corner with no way out and something snaps. Maybe it’s her true colors shining through, or maybe it’s just a side effect of feeling desperate and heartbroken and feeling that was the only solution. I can’t say for sure. I don’t think I want to spend enough time talking to her to find out.

  All I know is Sage was eerily composed during this entire endeavor. In general, she didn’t appear unhinged, though I’m sure inwardly she was going wild with rage. It’s the calm that makes everything creepier. It would be understandable if she went crazy and acted the part. But her sitting there, proud and without an ounce of regret...I shiver at the thought.

  “Have any of you talked to Grayson yet?” Kennedy’s soft voice permeates my thoughts and snaps me out of my reverie. I look at where Kennedy is perched, her eyes glued to the screen despite talking to all of us.

  Our husbands are evidently immersed the news story, their eyes unable to leave the TV. I’m apparently the only person lost in my own head, not paying one damn bit of attention to the reporter blabbing away at the scene of the crime.

  I tell Kennedy no, I haven’t reached out to Grayson yet, and the men also state they haven’t tried to call him either. Gritting her teeth, Kennedy manages to pull her eyes from the screen and glare at us. She’s trying to remain calm but her exasperation is evident. At least, to me it is. Men are so clueless.

  “Babe, can you please call Grayson and see if he is home so you can invite him over? We need to talk to him about, well, everything.” Logan kisses Kennedy on the head and complies, going into the other room to make the call.

  A few minutes later, Logan returns and tells us Grayson is on his way over. “He was actually just leaving the sheriff’s station, so he’s heading straight here.”

  “He was just leaving? As in he was kept there all night or he went back this morning? And why? They won’t allow him to see Lexi while she’s in custody, especially considering she’s a murder suspect.” Everyone in the room turns to look at me, their expressions confused, with raised eyebrows and curled lips. “What? I watch a lot of cop shows. Guilty pleasure.” I shrug, looking expectantly at everyone now. “Pun intended.”

  There’s a knock on the door that saves me from hearing a myriad of sarcastic retorts from everyone else. Grayson walks into the room appearing disheveled and exhausted. His hair is mussed from constantly running his fingers through it in frustration and the bags under his eyes would give a raccoon a run for their money.

  “Hey, man.” Logan greets him, and all we get is a mere nod of acknowledgment out of Grayson.

  “This is probably a stupid question, but...how are you doing?” Kennedy asks while worrying her lips and spinning her wedding ring repeatedly around her finger.

  “Well, let’s see. I found out my wife was cheating on me. And she got pregnant by him. And I decided to retaliate by playing house with my best friend. And one of them is a certified psychopath and murderer. So, how the fuck do you think I’m doing, Kennedy?” Kennedy blushes and diverts her eyes.

  “Take it easy on her, Gray, she was just asking.” I won’t let anyone talk to my best friend like that when she’s merely concerned. Plus, if I didn’t speak up, Logan was about to pummel him for talking to his wife that way, and I’m not in the mood for a fight.

  Grayson blows a breath out between his lips. I’m sure he didn’t mean to snap at Kennedy, but his emotions are running understandably high. And – wait. Holy shit.

  “Hold on a second, there, mister. What do you mean you were playing house with Sage?” Am I really the only person that caught that?

  It’s Grayson’s turn to lower his head and appear sheepish. Men. Bunch of fucking idiots.

  “We’ll come back to that. Why were you at the station? More questioning?” Kennedy is ever the pacifist and changes topics before anything interesting can be discussed.

  “I wanted to see when they would be free to go. The detectives wouldn’t let me see either one of them — not even Lex. Apparently, it doesn’t matter that I’m her husband because it’s a murder case. They’re trying to extend their hold and leave them in custody longer before officially arresting them, which apparently is common and likely to get pushed through. Goddamn it.” Grayson slams his fist on the nearest object, which so happens to be a glass coffee table. I hold my breath, waiting for it to shatter by the force but luckily it holds up.

  “Wait...who are you talking about? You keep saying they?” My eyebrows pinch together. I look to see if anyone else understands what Grayson is talking about, but I find three faces that match my confused expression.

  “Lexi and Sage. You didn’t know? They arrested Sage too.”

  LEXI & SAGE

  Chapter 12

  LEXI – Friday – After the Murder

  I just watched my baby’s father’s body get dumped into the ocean. I can’t come back from that, and really, who could? Externally, I’m sobbing uncontrollably and dry heaving with my reality. Internally, I’m screaming at the tops of my lungs and cursing Sage.

  I’m watching the psycho wench have a moment of weakness, and I’m disgusted. How dare she feel even an ounce of remorse? She did this. She doesn’t get to mourn.

  We burned our clothes but the ashy scent continues to linger, infiltrating my nostrils and suffocating me. Some people love the smell of burning wood and bonfires, and once upon a time it brought me memories of campfires and roasted marshmallows. Not anymore. Today I only feel sick with the smell.

  The Bitch, also known as Sage, just up and left me to clean up her mess, even after I was kind enough to lend her clothes to drive home in. That doesn’t make much sense, does it? The fact that I willingly helped her by giving her clothes so she could leave the scene of the crime. No, it doesn’t make sense.

  I went back and forth repeatedly whilst deciding whether or not I should call the cops on her. Ultimately, I decided to play nice…for now. Why? Because I’m scared. God, I’m terrified. What if she’s right? What if she can spin this around on me and frame me? I’m pregnant. I need to do what’s best for my baby, and if that includes a deal with the devil then sign me up.

  Maybe I’ve gone utterly, clinically insane because of this entire situation but who can blame me? Put yourself in my shoes, and you’ll see it’s a lot more difficult than what you think.

  I don’t plan to buddy up to Sage and go on as if nothing’s happened – of course not. But I need to be smart about this. I need to be one step ahead of her, but she’s already twelve steps ahead of me.

  Maybe it’s my maternal instinct already kicking in, but a small, sick part of me doesn’t want Lennon to lose both of her parents in one shot – no pun intended.

  The thing that angers me so deeply is the fact that Sage had it all, and she just threw it away so callously. As if it meant nothing to her. As if her life, her marriage, her child means nothing to her. I can’t comprehend any of it.

  Doesn’t she realize this baby means everything to me? I didn’t even get a chance to tell Taylor. I can’t even begin to fathom how I’m going to tell Grayson. Regardless, she got what she wanted. She tainted this day – a day that should’ve meant the world to me. Finding out I’m pregnant should’ve been the best day of my life, and she ruined it. She took it all away from me. She took Taylor away from his children. She will pay.

  First, I need to clean up this damn crime scene the psycho left behind. I guess that’s my one blessing with the Eve accident all those weeks ago. It taught me how to properly clean and remove bloodstains. Now, though, it’s on a much bigger and more devastating scale.

  I allow myself to go numb in order to properly and m
ethodically clean up my house. Except, I have one painstakingly obvious, downright glaring question I have to answer: now what? What do I do? Where do I go from here?

  I certainly don’t want to stay here, but I can’t go home yet either. I have too much to figure out before I confront Grayson with all the information I learned tonight. I can’t call Kennedy or Caroline either because I’m sure they’re still pissed at me. I can’t imagine what they’re thinking and saying about me and this entire situation. I wonder if they went home. I wonder if they told Logan and Parker. Fuck.

  My hand is cramping and my fingers are prunes from the soap. I don’t know how long I’ve been mindlessly scrubbing the bloodstain off my hardwood floors, but they sparkle to the point I’d eat off this spot. Except for the fact it would be disturbing and gruesome to do that knowing a dead body was laying here mere hours earlier.

  Standing, I wipe the suds on my jeans and carry the bucket of dirty water to the bathroom. I should really sit down and take a breather. I need to constantly remind myself that I’m carrying another life I need to care for. It doesn’t help that I don’t have an inkling of an appetite despite not eating or drinking anything for several hours. Just the thought of food is making me nauseous. Reluctantly, I grab a bottle of water and head upstairs to take a shower and wash this horrible day off of me.

  I let the water pour over me and make a mental list of all the things I can currently control. One, I know I need to be strong for my baby. I can do that. Two, I need to tell Grayson, and sooner rather than later. Three, even though I know it’s going to suck, I need to talk to Kennedy and Caroline.

  Ironically, my calming tactic has the opposite effect. Every item is anxiety-inducing.

  This day has been exhausting to say the least, and the mere thought of my pregnancy is overwhelming me. I can’t help but fall into bed. I can only pray I miraculously manage a decent night’s sleep after this day.

  *****

  To think I actually thought I’d be capable of a restful night of sleep is laughable. My nightmares were filled with my future child asking about her father and a decomposed Taylor appearing to say, “Tell her what you did to me, Lex.”

  Naturally, I woke up screaming. Then, I got nauseous and barely made it to the toilet in time for my stomach bile to violently erupt out of me. Not a good look. Not that I have anyone to impress.

  Taking my amateur psychology knowledge into account, I’m sure the fact that my dream-child is a little girl that looks exactly like Sage means something. However, it’s what Taylor says that is lingering in my mind. I can’t stop repeating the words over and over again in my head.

  Why am I subconsciously blaming myself for his death? Consciously, I know it was Sage’s fault. She pulled the trigger, not me. But evidently, on some level, I feel guilty.

  And I do feel a lot of guilt for a lot of things, but not his death. That was not my fault.

  The thoughts clouding my mind aren’t helping my nausea subside. I trudge downstairs to grab some water, and I manage to find a box of Triscuits. It will have to do.

  I can’t help but feel paranoid in my own home. I double-check all the doors and windows are locked before making my way back up to bed. I know I need to think of a plan, but my lack of sleep is fogging my brain.

  I crawl under the covers and turn on the TV, browsing the channels. It’s just after ten a.m., and I see The Hangover is starting. I turn it on and cry through the whole movie.

  Chapter 13

  Does it make me selfish if I say that vomiting my guts up with no one to hold my hair back is making me miss both Grayson and Taylor? I’m totally alone. I’m sick. My hormones are raging. I can’t be held accountable for my thoughts.

  However, I’m feeling refreshed. I fell asleep after my sobbing fit, and now it’s nearly four p.m. I’m feeling more determined and less weepy compared to earlier.

  I need to eat, but the house is pretty skimp on groceries. The problem is, I’m irrationally terrified to leave the house. It’s ironic – the fact that this house is where I feel safe, and yet, realistically, this is the most dangerous place for me to be.

  All I want to do right now is order pizza, but what if the delivery guy can tell a man was murdered here less than twenty-four hours ago? Like I said, I’m being irrational. But I can’t stop.

  The loneliness is playing into my fears and if even one of my friends were here to support me, it’d be okay. But they’re not. I’m totally alone. And I’ll most likely be alone for my pregnancy. And raising my child. Fuck.

  How did everything get so screwed up so fast? Fucking Sage. As a firm believer in karma, I can’t wait for this to bite her in the ass.

  If there’s one positive I can look at – aside from my baby – it’s the fact that I succeeded. I destroyed Sage. I broke her to the point she went crazy and killed a man. Her own husband. Her world has been shattered by me. And a love child to boot. God works in mysterious ways.

  My stomach grumbling pulls me from my thoughts. I pull open the fridge to find three bottles of water, a single orange, and a box of baking soda. The freezer isn’t much better – an old container of rocky road ice cream and a bottle of vodka. Despite truly needing a shot right now, I can’t exactly drink it. The cabinets have a smattering of canned goods, but it looks like I’ll be going to the store after all.

  When I get in my car, the panic begins to overwhelm me. I merely drive to the nearest fast food chain, grab something deliciously unhealthy, and speed home. Could I act any more suspicious? And I’m already giving my child fried, fattening foods. Damn it.

  I eat the food in bed, not caring if I make a mess and drop crumbs everywhere — that’s the least of my concerns at the moment. The TV is on whatever channel it’s been on all day, but I don’t pay any attention to the movie on the screen.

  The background noise is comforting and distracting from the creaking noises the house makes as it settles. I have my bedroom door locked and the lights on because it’s the only way I’m able to stay in this house at all. Any semblance of control I can muster I welcome with open arms.

  It’s time to make a plan, although I dread it. How does one go about tackling the multitude of problems I’m experiencing? It’s not like I can just call someone and ask for advice — I have a very unique set of problems on my hands. I’m sure I won’t find a support group for “women knocked-up by their best friend’s husband who just got murdered.” So I’m still alone. Awesome.

  I decide the least intimidating option is to reach out to Kennedy and Caroline first. I have the message typed out and everything. It took me a solid twenty minutes to find the words to say to them, but I just can’t send it. It’s too… impersonal. Tacky. We’ve been friends for years. I need to buck the fuck up and go see them.

  Chapter 14

  I tried to drive home first. Really, I did. But my car decided to park at Kennedy’s house instead of my own, so I’m facing her first. And it’s perfect since Caroline is here as well. Two birds, one stone.

  But Caroline. Is. Pissed. And truly, I can’t blame her. We didn’t exactly have the opportunity to hash out all of our shit. Not to mention the fact that I lied to her about stealing her earrings Parker gave her. I still need to make that right, but for the moment, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. She’ll get her earrings back and everything will return to normal. I hope.

  Logan and Parker awkwardly maintain what they’re deeming a safe distance. It’s as if I have leprosy or something. I guess I do look a bit of a mess, but it’s not like it’s contagious. And it’s not like I’m trying to sleep with one of them. Plus, I’m not the murderer of our friend group, I want to remind them.

  My time with the girls is … emotional. Aggravating. Abrupt. I can’t tell if my reactions are genuine or if they’re spurred on by my excessive hormones. Thanks, baby.

  I have anger trying to burst my seams, swirling around inside me, caused by a variety of factors. First and foremost, and sucking up the majority of my dwindling energy
, is Sage. The amount of fury I’m feeling toward that bitch is enough to set a city on fire. At least then she could actively live in hell where she belongs instead of waiting until she dies to rot.

  I’m also experiencing an immense amount of wrath toward Grayson. None of this would have happened if he could’ve just kept his dick in his pants and Sage at arm’s length. Both of those things are items I have yet to discuss with Grayson. Hell, I have a lot of shit I need to discuss with my husband, like the newfound bun in my oven.

  Speaking of the unborn child, it reminds me that, despite how fucked up everything is, I’m actually a little pissed at Taylor too. It’s not fair to him, and he’s not even here to feel the brunt of my ire or to defend himself. But how could he lie about the vasectomy, and then go on to not use a freaking condom? Men. Bunch of idiots.

  Lastly, of course, there’s Caroline and Kennedy. Caroline vibrates with her own anger toward me. Kennedy continues to fire off accusations. The amount of hostility fueling my veins can’t be good for the baby.

  To put the icing on the cake, I never even considered the possibility that Sage would be the one to run immediately to Grayson after the murder. Of course she would. God, I’m such an idiot. Sage has always been so far up Grayson’s ass I swear she could speak through his mouth. It’s sickening. And irritating as hell.

  The drive to my house is long and troubling. My anxiety kicks up yet another notch when I find the house empty. I quickly discover the emptiness of the house is preferred to the retching betrayal I feel at what happens next.

  Don’t get me wrong — my husband and his best friend have always been … cozy with one another. But there have always been boundaries. When I see them huddling together, being overtly touchy-feely — the hair on the back of my neck raises as if I’m a wolf raising her haunches or a mama bear protecting her babies.