Page 123 of Dark Ugly Places

“Listen to me, I have to,” I tell her and take her by the shoulders. “If Martha comes back, she will destroy everything. She will never stop.”

“Isn’t there medication, something you can take?”

I smile sadly at her innocence. I’ve tried all the medications in the world, and it didn’t matter. Martha found a way. She will always find a way. I somehow always knew it would come to this. “I can’t take that risk, Emmy. She’s hurt so many people already, and if she returns, I won’t be able to stop her again.”

Emmy bawls, her eyes swollen and red.

I hold her and rock her in my lap. Her little sweaty fingers press against my back. She cries quietly. “I will always choose you,” I tell her. “Forever and always.”

Here in the light, things are different now. I can look at my life without the deluge of anger rising. I can feel the truth and not want to run in the other direction. It’s all within me. The darkness and the light. The ugliness and the beauty. And it’s all okay. I’m okay. We are okay. Or at least we will be.

Emmy pulls back from me and points to Bambi wilting in the corner. “She’s hurt,” she says simply, and I nod. When I see Bambi lying there, I’m reminded that she’s not the accomplice I once imagined, just a sad and hurting woman who needs help. I have been her, and, in many ways, I still am her.

“We have to act quickly, Em. I need you to drive Bambi to the hospital. You are going to tell them that I did this, understand? I did all of it. You never mention Martha to anyone.”

Emmy nods. She takes out the keys from Bambi’s pocket. They jingle as her hand shakes. “What about him?”

“He’s gone,” I tell her. “You tell them it was me and say nothing else. I will take care of the rest.”

Emmy hugs me, hard this time. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Bambi needs you,” I whisper. “Her baby needs you, too.” I kiss her head and breathe her in one last time. “I love you, baby girl,” I coo to her and resist the urge to hold on to her and never let go.

We help Bambi up and into the foyer. At the door, Emmy and Bambi put on long coats to cover their clothes, caps, and sunglasses. Outside, I watch as Emmy helps Bambi into the Beetle. Emmy turns just once before I nod and open the gates. She mouths, “I love you,” then turns, shades down, and drives through as the lights flash and cameras encircle them.

Inside, door shut, I wander up to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. Up here, it smells of lavender and cleaning solution—sterile but not unpleasant. I run the tap and place the knife down at the edge of the sink, the blade glinting at me in the light, taunting. Bambi’s bathroom has perfect lighting, so I take myself in one last time. My thin nose, the hollows of my cheeks, now fuller since Martha has been eating. My eyes, determined.

I rinse the knife in the cool water until the traces of blood run off and swirl round and round, round, and round.

I’ve been through a lot, this poor body, this wretched time-worn mind. But I don’t hate myself. I don’t hate what I have become. My reflection stares back at me. Mother, Wife. Woman. I have loved and suffered greatly, and now it’s time for one last act.

Behind my ears, I can hear Martha screaming.

“Quiet, Martha,” I tell her. “You always knew it would come to this.”

Perhaps that is why she lived the way she did. Reckless and wild, as if nothing would ever stop her. Perhaps that is why she was fiery venom and revenge all rolled into one. Perhaps that is why I needed her.

I lean toward the sink and close my eyes, then open them and steady myself, knife poised at my jugular. I don’t want to make a mess. Their carpet is so white up here.

“Too bad,” I say out loud and smile. But I don’t really believe what I’m about to do is bad. Besides birthing Emmy, this release will be the single greatest of my life.

A breath. A single moment of focus. There is courage in meeting death. I think this and smile as I fall into oblivion.

Epilogue

I wear scarves now almost daily because Emmy insists on it. People sometimes stare, she tells me. Today, I’m wearing a red-and-white scarf that reminds me of everything that brought us to this day. It peeks out of the black dress that Emmy and I picked out from Nordstrom just enough to hide my scar. I don’t mind the scar, but I know it bothers Emmy, the last reminder of what happened that night.

“Is it going to be weird?” Emmy asks me.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, we have to pay our respects to him and everything …”

“It would be weirder if we didn’t go.”

Emmy nods, seeming to understand. She walks close by as we head up the steps to the church. The doors open. Bambi Redfern is standing with her baby bump visible, greeting the few guests as they file in, heads bowed respectfully, despite what the tabloids have said.

Of course, we pinned it all on him. We would have been stupid not to.