Jane shuddered at the thought of returning to that grisly scene. “Oliver, no,” she whimpered. “You won’t get away with this. You know that, don’t you? Detective Willis will come after you. He’ll send you back to prison.”
“Don’t worry, Jane. I’ve got a plan. I’ve always got a plan.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” He lifted a hand to squeeze her breast—hard, the way he had when he’d tied her up. “I’ll be gone before Detective Willis even knows you’re dead. And Kate will be with me.”
He had blood on his hands. Jane’s blood.
Oliver used the brush he kept under the bathroom sink to scrub his knuckles and fingertips, but they wouldn’t come clean. Every time he turned off the water and reached for a towel, he’d spot more red under this nail or that, on his neck, on his arms.
He checked the mirror. See? It was in his hair. When he stabbed her, blood had sprayed all over him.
He shuddered, wanting it off as soon as possible. Jane’s death had been ugly, not quick and efficient like the others. Not thrilling, like when he’d punished that bully who’d harassed him in school. She’d fought like a she-devil, had even almost overpowered him at one point. He hadn’t expected that.
Shaking from the residual panic, he remembered the power of her grip as she’d grabbed his hand and nearly turned the knife on him. Before that, she’d been crying out for Willis and Skye, as if they cared about her, as if they’d save her. Then, suddenly, a hard gleam had come into her eyes and she’d said, “This is for Kate.” And she’d cut him before he could get everything under control again.
He hated the mess. But he deserved this. He hadn’t planned it out well enough, the way he should have. He hadn’t expected her to walk in on him when she did.
He’d botched it, and now he was upset and couldn’t seem to settle down. He’d have to write about this, figure out how he could do better.
That was what he’d do. It’d be okay. He’d have time to fix everything.
But the cut on his chest kept him agitated. It oozed so much blood he no longer knew which was Jane’s and which was his. And it hurt. He felt dizzy, nauseous—probably because he wasn’t as strong as he normally was. He hadn’t fully recovered from what T.J. had done to him.
I’m going to kill you! You’ve ruined my life! Jane’s words echoed in his ears. She’d hated him, would’ve followed through with that threat if she could. The depth of her intent had surprised him because she was the one woman he’d thought would always love him, always stand by him.
Had she been pretending the whole time? Like the others who smiled politely when he approached but snickered with their friends once he turned away?
He wasn’t sure. Everything seemed distorted. He couldn’t separate fantasy from reality anymore, wasn’t even convinced he’d killed her. He wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t kill Janey. Then he’d have no one to take care of Kate. Then he wouldn’t be able to regain what he’d lost.
He’d made a mistake. Or maybe it was only a bad dream. He’d dreamed that he’d killed Noah, too. He’d asked his brother to go for a drive, brought him home and coaxed him into the bedroom by claiming he’d found the diamond earrings Noah had given Wendy for Christmas in Jane’s jewelry box. Then he’d stabbed him in the back. Noah had never seen it coming. He’d groaned and twisted to see Oliver’s face before he collapsed. And that was it.
It had angered Oliver that it’d been so easy. That his big brother, who’d always been strong and confident, sure of himself and everyone else, could die in a matter of seconds. So he’d stabbed him again and again, trying to achieve some satisfaction.
Jane had been much more formidable. That was how he knew it was all a dream. Jane was supposed to be the weak one.
He squinted at some droplets on the floor. Where was all this blood coming from?
He had to change his clothes again. He’d changed twice already, but he couldn’t get clean. He’d look and there’d be nothing. Then he’d look again, and there’d be blood!
Maybe he should take another shower….
“Mommy?”
Oliver froze. Kate was home.
“Mommy?” she called from the front door. “Lara’s mom has to get her hair done. Can Lara stay with us so we can play some more?”
Oliver waited for Jane to answer. Answer, damn it! Tell her Lara can stay. We don’t mind. We’re friendly neighbors, the type of people anyone can trust.
But Jane said nothing. She just lay there on the bed next to Noah, letting Lara and Lara’s mom think the worst.
“Mommy?”
Kate was coming down the hall. He had to do something, or Jane would get him in trouble.
“Daddy?”
Finally, Oliver moved to intercept his daughter before she could come any closer. But when he stepped out of the room, he saw that she wasn’t moving anymore. She was standing very still, staring up at a red swipe along the wall.
Jane had made such a mess. She’d never been as neat as he was. His mother had always said he was neat as a pin.
“Are you hurt?” she asked when she saw him, bewildered.
“My wound’s bleeding again.” He shrugged off the blood smear that had made her eyes go round. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh.” She sighed in relief but still looked concerned. “Do you need a Band-Aid?”
“I just got one.”
She smiled brightly. “Good. Where’s Mommy?”
“Taking a nap.”
“Oh.” She shoved her glasses higher on the bridge of her little nose. “Can Lara stay here with us for a while?”
He wanted to say yes. He believed in being a good neighbor. But there was all the blood. And that was a problem. “Not today, honey.”
“Why not?”
Because he had to clean up the mess, get rid of Noah and Jane. “We’re leaving, too.”
“Where’re we going?”
“You’re going to Grandma’s. I have some things to do.”
“But I’m hungry. Mommy would only buy me one doughnut this morning.”
“We’ll get you a burger on the way.”
When she didn’t answer, he was afraid she’d beg him to let her stay. But she took one more look at the blood on the wall and went back out to give her friend his answer.