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Mother got up to leave, heading for the back door. She was readyto slip away the same way she’d slipped inside. She issued her orders and I was to obey them, just like old times. And of course, she always got the last word.
But not this time.
“Wait,” I blurted out. She looked back at me with her pursed lips, still pretty and full and bright red. She was curious and amused at my defiance, throwing up her hands, awaiting what I would say next. “I want an apology. I deserve one.”
She went quiet for what felt like a full minute, stoic and still, weighing not what would be best for me, but for her. So rarely were they the same, but in this moment they happened to be in alignment. Mother’s eyes softened as they’d done in the past, only once in a great while, her sharp edges falling away. Her shoulders released, rolling down her back. She walked closer to me and slowly her arms reached out. I let her touch me; she gingerly placed her hands on either side of my waist, then she slid them to my stomach and finally up my body, brushing the hair along my face, sweeping it over my ears.
“You’re right,” she said. “You were just being a teenager and I took my anger out on you in an unacceptable way. I can admit that. But that man was just an empty threat, bunny. I would never hurt you or let somebody hurt you, you know that.” She said all of this wistfully, as if what happened in Las Vegas was an isolated incident, like my whole childhood with her as my mother wasn’t where it all went wrong for me. “And I’m so sorry,” she finally said. “I’m sorry, Bea.”
I wanted to believe her. Like a stupid little girl, I wanted to believe she was being sincere and wanted my forgiveness because she was a mother who had wronged her daughter. She even used my name, the name I chose for myself. But I knew it was a performance because she was Mother and when we were together, I was still me, we were stillus, and we only knew how to put on a show. For the world and for each other.
She didn’t wait for my response. I watched her walk out the door immediately after uttering the words and shut it behind her, fully expecting my loyalty and obedience in return.
Mother always did get the last word.
CHAPTER
22
COLLIN ARRIVED HOMEaround eight o’clock. I had dinner waiting once he texted me he was en route back home. I ordered in, obviously—as if I was in any sort of mental state to prepare a sumptuous meal from scratch. I even allowed myself a piece of crusty bread with a pat of butter. I rationalized that if there was ever a time I deserved to indulge, it was now.
Collin mentioned that he’d received a strange phone call to his business cell—someone unfamiliar implying a security breach at the company, a threat of personal information leaking that would be a detriment to the family, and he was all out of sorts. It was the appropriate response for a man in his position, but I took care to assuage his fears with plenty of ego boosting, telling him that a man with power like his would never be fully infiltrated, it was likely a hoax. The security team had the details and they’d take care of everything as always.
“Everyone wants to be a part of your life, Collin,” I said to him. “These things happen, but you’re protected. We’re protected. No one could ever pull a fast one on our family.”
Was I saying it all for his sake or my own?
As we ate dinner in front of the television, my mind raced with musings on murder. Was this the eventual culmination of my life’s events? The unavoidable ending? Was it fated? My mother wanted me to be a killer, too. She thought I had it in me. I know she did, but how could she be so sure? I had to do it if I wanted to keep Collin, his name, his security, his safety. But if I did it, my worst fears would be confirmed—I really was just like Mother—and wouldn’t that be its own ghastly ending?
So, what if there was another choice, if I was brave enough to see it through? What if I was willing to bet on Bea Case and tell Collin the truth in the hopes that he would protect me from whatever Gale was going to do or say to take me down? We were untouchable as the Case family, weren’t we? Money can make anything go away, even my past, but did he love me enough to know my truth? The real me? I didn’t know the answer, so how could I risk it?
That scenario had an outcome much more difficult to predict so I started to envision the first, which was simpler, not on an emotional level but on a logistical one, on a basic level, especially with Mother at my side. How would I do it? How wouldwedo it? If I walked myself through the steps, could I wrap my head around it in a tangible way? Distance myself from the heart of the matter and focus on the facts only. Yes, the facts would be a good place to start. Facts were facts. Facts were calming. Facts informed decisions. Okay.
There are a multitude of ways to murder someone, none of which are necessarily easier than the other. There’s DIY—guns, knives, a blunt object, even hand-to-hand combat. There’s no denying theperson is dead because they were physically harmed to the point where they could no longer breathe, but it’s imperative that absolutely zero roads can lead back to you until you yourself shuffle off this mortal coil. No easy task. That couldn’t be the road we take. No. Check it off the list. Not happening. Next.
You could also hire someone to perform the murder on your behalf, but the trust level there has to be beyond compare, and who canreallytrust an assassin service, no matter who the referral is? Chances are, if you’re looking to murder someone, you aren’t the most trusted individual as it is, so how can you trust someone to do your dirty work when they inherently may not trust you due to the enormous ask in question? Mother never even considered outsourcing for that reason alone. We didn’t trust anybody.
My greatest teacher. My greatest enemy.
And that’s why she wantedmeto do it and she wanted to watch. She wanted a show. Another show. Always a show for Mother. Always a show for someone. She was right. I was exhausted. I was tired. But wouldn’t it always have to be a show, in one way or another? I couldn’t see another way. Not without knowing what would happen to me.
Okay, okay. Another route, let’s see.
Mother’s preferred exit strategy for her husbands was always via a good old-fashioned poisoning. It’s sneaky, understated. And mostly undetectable depending on the chosen substance and the speed at which it’s distributed. Mother mixed it up in that regard, playing on a spectrum, from low and slow to instantaneous and painful, depending on her mood and general affection, or lack thereof, for the man.
Of course, Mother would have her own suggestions, her own way of wanting to take care of our entanglement with Gale. She’d know exactly what to do, tell me exactly what to do, but would I do it? Ididn’t think poisoning was what Mother had in mind. She’d want us to make it look like an unfortunate accident or at Gale’s own hand. I’d already nearly strangled Gale to death so perhaps she wanted to run with that. Gale couldn’t handle Collin and me together. A bundle of joy to arrive in a few months’ time. Our endless happiness was her cross to bear and she would not bear it anymore. But would someone like Gale feasibly end it in such retro, not to mention painful, fashion, her lifeless body adorned in her beloved Everlane, hanging from her marvelous, vaulted ceiling? That didn’t seem right either.
Of course, an internal debate like this was futile because Mother would take the lead and I would follow. She knew I didn’t have the strength to defy her when my only option was Gale’s demise and she would not do it for me under any circumstances, even the most dire, because she wanted to teach me a lesson. Always the hard way. The lesson was that I needed her, that I was just like her, and once I admitted that, she’d take care of me once again.
She thought that was what I wanted, too.
She’d be in charge again. She said she’d let me take the lead with the Cases, but I was no idiot when it came to Mother’s ways. She would know how to manipulate me, and through me, she would learn how to manipulate them. All of them. Would she hurt them, and not just financially? Would she hurt Collin? For her own thrills, to satiate her own sick appetite? When it came down to it, when I really thought hard about everything, for all of the Cases’ faults, they didn’t deserve that. I wanted to protect them from Mother, their demise too big of a price to pay for my own preservation.
Even Gale Wallace-Leicester’s.
Right?
And what would be left of me to preserve ifshewas back in my life?
