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“And have another murder pinned on me? No thanks. I’ll stick with the one. You, on the other hand, need to pay for what you have done to me. You need to suffer. You need to feel what it’s like to have your life taken away from you.” What does he mean? Then it dawns on me.
“Are you going to tell the police I stabbed him? Is that it? You’re going to frame me for Lewis’s murder.” Carl taps out a slow clap.
“I have the knife that killed Lewis. All you need to do is take it,” Carl explains. “Then you’re going to make some cuts in your wrist. Not enough to kill you, but enough to make it look like you’ve tried to commit suicide…” his eyes widen as he continues, “… because of the guilt. You must take responsibility for this, Chloe. This is your mess. If you hadn’t lied all those years ago, none of this would have happened. It’s time you paid for what you did.”
I’ve stopped listening. His ravings have melted into the background, white noise that’s more of a hindrance. His plan sounds great—genius, in fact. I’ll be found half-dead by the police. It will look like attempted suicide, using the knife that killed Lewis, and all from the guilt of having been the real culprit in Lewis’s murder. I have to admit, it would look very convincing and would exonerate Carl, except for one tiny detail that Carl is clearly unaware of. And before I have a chance to think, I’ve said it.
“But the CCTV shows you stabbing him.”
The silence is ugly. Carl’s face appears to age several years. I think I’m saving myself from a false accusation and some nasty wrist wounds when, in fact, I’ve just signed my death warrant.
“What did you say?”
“I… forget it… I wasn’t thinking,” I stammer.
“No, no, no,” Carl demands as he strides over to me. “Don’t you dare. You know exactly what you said. You said CCTV. Are you telling me there was CCTV behind the shop?”
I don’t respond. The blood rushes to my brain as my head spins, thinking about what he’ll do with this new information.
“Well, that puts a whole new spin on things.” He places both hands on his face and pulls them down toward his chin as if trying to pull the skin from his skull. His face tightens, and he looks ill. Shit. What will he do? How will this end?
“I’m only left with one option, Chloe.” His eyes dart to the floor. I follow his gaze, and my stomach flips as I clock the gun. He kicks it over to me. He grins.
“You’re going to have to shoot yourself. It’s the only way.” Now it’s my turn to laugh, but I stop quickly when I realize this is no joke.
“And how does that solve everything?”
“It doesn’t, not really. But you still get your life taken away from you, and I will not be the one to do it. You brought this on yourself, so you must end it. My prints are not on the gun. There will only be yours and that Italian guy.” Carl takes a step forward. “This could work in my favor. The Italian guy has something against you. That’s why he agreed to bring you to me.”
“It’s to do with his brother.” I don’t know why I’m helping him, but my mouth is running faster than my brain.
“Even better. A family grudge. So, the brother brings you here, tells you why you must die, and then makes you shoot yourself. Nothing to do with me.”
Carl is grinning to himself as if he’s the master criminal, but he’s right. This is what it will look like to the police. They’ll investigate. They will speak to witnesses, and Casey saw us leave the coffee shop. They’ll figure I’d been made to leave at gunpoint. I was brought here in Piero’s car. He came into the house with me. He told me why he had to hurt Gianni and why it had to be through me. There will be some evidence somewhere of the affair between Piero and Gianni’s wife, and if there isn’t, will Gianni tell them? Either way, it will all point to Piero.
There’s a chemical smell in my nostrils. There’s grit in my eyes that I can’t seem to blink away. A pain in my chest makes me feel as if I’m already dying.
Carl walks toward me, and I see everything for the last time. I don’t want this to be the last thing I see. I want to see Gianni. I want to breathe fresh air and feel Gianni’s hand on my face. I want to visit strange and exotic locations with Gianni holding my hand. I don’t want to die here in this place with Carl.
He crouches down and reaches behind my back. He smells rotten, so I move my face away from him. He pulls at the bindings, loosening them. I should throw myself at him. I’ve been here before. The sense of déjà vu is frightening. But he will expect it. Before I have time to lunge, a sound from outside stops us both in our tracks. We crane our heads toward the boarded windows as the voice bellows outside, the loudspeaker sounding like something from the movies.
“This is the police. The house is surrounded. If there’s anyone inside, make yourself known. I repeat, this is the police. You’re surrounded. If there’s anyone inside, make yourself known.”
Carl glares at me. I stare at him. He knows I have no idea what’s going on.
“Shit, that fucking Italian.”
“Piero wouldn’t have,” I say, and I’m sure of it. This isn’t Piero’s doing, but who?
“Maybe you were seen by someone?” I suggest, but Carl is frantic. He grabs the gun and holds it against my head. I shudder, my whole body fighting against the inevitable. Is this where he pulls the trigger? Instead, he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet, the rope behind me dropping to the floor.
“Get up!” he hollers, even though I’m already standing. “Shit, fucking shit,” he spits out.
He pulls me over to the window. His grip is vice-like, and the gun barrel is cold against my head. I don’t like how jittery he is with a loaded gun so close to my head. I want to scream. I want to tell them I am here, but that will be the end. He would probably pull the trigger just to stop my screaming. He studies the window, but it’s useless. The boards are thick, the gaps too small to see through. He pulls me toward the door. My legs are like string, and I stumble as he pushes me over to the door and into the hallway. He shoves me forward, pressing the gun into my lower back. My face hits the front door as he yells at me to open it. I do as I am told, the handle slippery under my shaking hands, my eyebrow hot and stinging. I pull open the door, and the daylight attacks my still-sore eyes. Carl pushes me out of the door.
I stand on a small patch of brown grass, the houses opposite look normal, and the clouds move overhead as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. It’s only when I see the row of armed police standing like little toy figurines behind their cars, weapons trained on Carl, and the guy with the megaphone crouched behind the open door of his police car that I realize the extent of what’s happening here. It’s surreal. Then I hear my name.
“Chloe!” My head flips toward the noise. It comes from a police car near the back of the barricade. It’s Gianni. He’s fighting to reach me, but two officers are fighting hard to hold him back.
