Sweet Little Lies Page 2

“You don’t get to care about me anymore,” she sobbed.

  He took a step towards her, and without even thinking, she grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter next to the wine bottle. Maybe if she scared him, he’d leave. He stopped short and held his hands up.

  “Kel—”

  “Mark, I swear to God…just get…the…fuck…OUT.”

  “Okay, I will, but first, baby, just put the knife down. Please.”

  “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me,” she bawled, gripping the knife. “You’re such a bastard,” she whispered through her tears. Kelly closed her eyes, trying to contain the fury inside her. She hated him so much right now. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone to feel sorry for herself and cry and grieve in private?

  She opened her eyes and saw he was still standing in front of her, a pained look on his face. Kelly waved the knife in his direction.

  “Go,” she said.

  “Kel, please, come on, let’s go in the living room before one of us gets hurt.”

  She took a deep breath and shook her head, the black plastic handle of the knife sweaty in her palm.

  Mark swallowed, and his own tears began their inevitable slide downward. “I never wanted this to happen. I was terrified this would happen,” he whispered.

  “Oh, I’ll bet you never wanted me to find out. You’d have kept on screwing her if I hadn’t found out.”

  He shook his head. “No. No!”

  “So what was today, one last screw for the road?”

  Mark pursed his lips and held out his hand again. “No.”

  “Oh, planning to go at it again? When, tomorrow?”

  “Just listen, for one minute, please. If you let me explain—”

  Kelly waved the knife at him again. “I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t you get it? I just want to be left alone.”

  Almost as fast as it had come, the fight oozed out of her, and all of a sudden, she felt tired. She placed the knife down on the butcher-block table in front of her, her hand resting on the handle. She placed her other hand over her eyes and began to cry again. She heard him coming toward her and, not wanting to feel his hands on her flesh, turned abruptly.

  “Mark, just leave me the hell alone!” she screamed as she swung around, the knife still in her hand.

  It was like a dream. No, more like a nightmare that would nestle deep within the recesses of her mind and play itself over and over again, like a DVD stuck on repeat. She saw herself spin around in a kind of half arc to stop Mark’s advance towards her; he was closer to her than she realized. How had she not realized how close he was? And Mark—so determined to get her to listen to his lies, to charm her, sweet talk her into taking him back—walking into the knife. They’d both gasped at the same time, locking eyes with each other at the moment of impact. Both their eyes glimmered with fear and shock.

  She saw the blade slice into his stomach, felt the rip of his body as he came apart at her hand. She yanked on the knife, trying to dislodge it from her husband, succeeding only in twisting it further into him. He grunted. She wheezed. His face coiled into a distorted mass of lines and circles. She tried again. Her hands were so slippery. Soaked, in fact. The handle swam in her hands. She felt her feet shuffle a bit, knock into his. They danced, him moving forward one step, she moving back a step. They were welded together now, she unable to let go of the knife and he unable to disengage from the cold, hard clench of the blade.

  He groaned and closed his eyes, a soft hiss escaping his lips. He looked at her again, tears and sweat sliding down his face. He shook his head, just a little.

  He knew.

  And so did she.

  “Kelly,” he whispered.

  The End…

  It broke the spell.

  Kelly plunged back into the horrible reality in front of her. For the first time, she looked down at what she had done. Blood was spurting out of the wound and soaking into his white t-shirt.

  Crying, she finally wrenched the knife out of him and watched as Mark stumbled backwards. Flailing, he tried to grab the marble countertop for balance. Instead, he slipped on a shard of glass on the floor and managed to knock over the bottle of wine Kelly had set down earlier. The deep violet liquid splashed down onto the floor like a waterfall and slithered across the white tile. With arms thrashing, Mark fell back against the pantry door and slid down, clutching his stomach, trying to catch the blood pouring out of him.

  She realized she was still holding the knife. Trembling, she dropped it, the clink of the metal blade echoing throughout the kitchen as it crashed against the cool ceramic tiles. Forgetting about the glass and pool of red wine all over the floor, Kelly ran to where her husband lay bleeding. She stroked his head and face, the now familiar tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Oh, God, Mark. Mark. Baby, I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” Her mouth was on fast-forward as she tried to get out the words. “You know I could never do anything…even though you…I just wanted to scare you, make you leave…I didn’t—”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know, baby, I know,” he whispered.

  She swallowed. “Mark, I’m going to call an ambulance,” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. “Just hold on, okay, baby? Hold on. Please. Hold on for me.”

  He gave her a feeble nod. Shaking, she grabbed the kitchen phone, dialing.

  “911.”

  “Yes, hi. There’s been an accident. My husband is hurt.” Kelly ran her hands through her hair and knelt down next to Mark. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, relieved when he pressed back ever so slightly.

  “What is the nature of the injury, ma’am?”

  “He’s…he’s been stabbed.” My God. I stabbed my husband.

  “What is your location, ma’am?”

  “Um…um…I’m at 1043 Lake Shore Drive, number 5304. Please hurry, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  She dropped the phone on the floor and looked at him. “Mark, the ambulance is on its way. Just hold on, baby.”

  He gave her a faint smile. “I love you, Kelly,” he whispered. “I’ll always love you.”

  And then, he closed his eyes.

  Kelly’s own eyes got wide as she realized what was happening. “Oh, shit, Mark. Mark, damn it, wake up. Wake up!”

  His eyes flashed open for just a second before fluttering closed, and he sighed, just a little, like he’d given up.

  And that was it.

  He stopped breathing.

  Kelly ran her hands along his wrist, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Nothing at all. She looked up at him, wild-eyed. She grabbed the collar of his t-shirt, as if that would wake him up, make him come back to her. She slapped his face, trying to bring him around, but he never stirred. She felt along his neck, hoping a pulse would spring out at her.

  Nothing.

  She’d killed him.

  She’d killed her husband.

  It was an accident. It wasn’t on purpose.

  Who was she kidding? She’d found out her husband was cheating on her and then he turned up dead. Who in the hell would believe it had been anything but malicious?

  She couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop convulsing with vicious sobs as she leaned against his chest. How many nights had she lain against him in the drowsy warmth of their bed, thinking she was the luckiest woman in the world to have found a man who made her feel so safe, so loved?

  She slumped against him, clutching him to her, half expecting him to sweep her into his arms as he’d done so many times.

  Never again.

  The phone rang, and she jumped. It was the front desk letting her know the paramedics were here.

  What should she do?

  Stay?

  Leave?

  Stay?

  Leave.

  Run.

  Run.

  Run!

  Trying to catch her breath, Kelly grabbed the pantry doorknob and struggled to her feet. Moving on autopilot, she scram
bled over to the ringing phone.

  “Mrs. Monroe, did you call—?”

  “Yes—let them up!” she screamed before shutting off the phone.

  Still moving by instinct, rather than rational thought, she scooped up her keys, purse, and cell phone from the occasional table next to the front door. She just needed to think, pull herself together. Then she’d go to the police, tell them what happened. She’d get a lawyer—moments ago, she’d been thinking about a divorce lawyer. Now she was in need of a defense attorney. Oh, sweet Jesus.

  Kelly flung the door open and peered outside. She’d use the service elevator to get to her car, parked in the garage since yesterday. Her heart pounding in her ears, she propped her front door open with the vase from the occasional table, ran to the service elevator, and jammed the down button. She paced, willing the damn thing to hurry up and get there. Finally, the doors slid open and she popped in. Just as the door closed, she heard the main elevator ding down the hall and the paramedics storm out. She punched the “Close Door” button, impatient. Scared.

  She fidgeted with her keys and bit her nail, disturbed by the salty taste of Mark’s blood on her tongue. She stomped across the elevator, then ran the short distance to the bank of elevators for the garage. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long and jumped inside, still pacing the few short levels to the garage. The slick, hard bottoms of her flat black sandals smacked against the cold, greasy concrete as she made a beeline for her car and a certain temporary freedom. Mark’s black Escalade was parked next to her black S-Class Mercedes. She deactivated the car alarm and jumped in. She didn’t even know where she was going. Her fingers were so wobbly, it took her a while to get the key in the ignition, but finally she did and started the car. She couldn’t see due to the tears clouding her eyes, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to leave, had to be by herself.

  Kelly’s tires screeched as she backed out of the space and barreled toward the exit.

  Flight…

  It was five-twenty, and the early evening sun pierced her watery eyes. She always hated driving at this time of day, because it was so goddamned hard to see. Keeping one eye on the road, she rooted around in her purse for her sunglasses, finally locating them deep in the bottom. She took a deep breath, her head a muddle of thoughts and images. The paramedics were probably trying to revive Mark right now, and seeing it was useless, had most likely just pronounced him dead. Of course, they’d seen the mess in the kitchen and the pile of stuff in the living room.

  And soon, the police would be looking for her.

  Okay. She couldn’t go to any of her friends. Her parents were out of town, not that she would go to them either. She had a fleeting thought she should leave town for a few days, just to get her head together, until she could figure out what to do. She had apartments in New York and London—should she go to one of them? No. No. Those would be the first places they would look. Besides, she’d never get out of the city, much less the country, without being caught.

  Okay, focus, focus. A hotel. That was it. She would check into a hotel. Michigan Avenue, the Loop, out by the airport…? No. Something more anonymous. There was a Sunshine Inn over on Clark, noticeable only for its garish yellow sign beckoning patrons to come on in. Yes, that was it. Just for the night, and first thing in the morning, she’d turn herself in.

  She’d take Michigan to Chicago, Chicago to Clark, and then go the few blocks to the motel.

  Fixating on something as mundane as directions helped her stay calm.

  Kept her from thinking about what she’d just done.

  Michigan Avenue was teeming with the usual Saturday evening mix of tourists and locals headed out for a night on the town. A few hours ago, she’d been thinking about her own Saturday night. Now, she was a fugitive after stabbing her husband to death.

  She had stabbed her husband to death.

  “It was an accident,” she murmured to herself. She swallowed and shook her head several times to help herself concentrate.

  “It was an accident,” she said louder. She gripped the steering wheel and felt a slender trickle of sweat creep down her inner arm. She rubbed her arm vigorously against her side to make it disappear into her pink tank top. She touched her forehead and flinched at how hot she was. Yes, she was pissed off at Mark, but she’d just wanted to scare him, show him she was serious about him getting out.

  Wasn’t she?

  “Who are you trying to convince, Kelly?” she said aloud. If only…Jesus, why did he have to come walking up to her? Why hadn’t she let go of the knife before…oh, God.

  Kelly heard the unmistakable wail of sirens. She looked in her rearview. A patrol car was right behind her, lights glaring at her. Oh, no. They’d seen her flee the building.

  The panic washed over her body and her mouth went dry as paste.

  Should she pull over?

  Floor it?

  Frantic, Kelly’s eyes darted all around the car as she tried to figure out what to do. She began to hyperventilate, and her hands went slick on the steering wheel. She pressed down on the accelerator. The cops were getting closer, and the mirror was a blur of red and blue. The cars in front of her began to pull over to allow the cops to pass. Or stop her. Okay. Play it cool. Just pull over and act like one of the gang. Kelly eased over and held her breath, her whole body quivering. The patrol car raced past her and hurtled south on Michigan, obviously in pursuit of some other criminal. She put her hand to her forehead, her breath coming in heavy bursts. Okay. Okay. She was safe for now.

  She looked up and realized she was at Chicago Avenue. Make a right. A few more blocks to Clark. Breathe, breathe, breathe. She hit a light. It would be okay. It was just a light. Turn. Turn! The green came, and Kelly peeled off. Okay, make a left onto Clark. She could see the big yellow sign. Almost there.

  Kelly made a jerky right into the covered parking lot of the Sunshine Inn. She found a space in the back, and when she parked, she turned off the ignition and sat quietly for a few minutes. The car was filled with the sound of her heart thundering inside her chest. Just go upstairs, get a room, take the night to collect herself, and then surrender first thing in the morning. Easy.

  Right.

  Hidden…

  Kelly took a deep breath, pulled the keys out of the ignition, picked up her purse, and opened the car door. She didn’t remember walking into the lobby; she just found herself standing at the front desk.

  “Ma’am? Can I help you?”

  Kelly crashed back to the present. “What?”

  The pert front desk attendant with the shiny brown pageboy and dark blue polo shirt smiled. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Oh. Right. Uh, I need a room. Just for the night.”

  The girl frowned as she looked at her. “Ma’am, are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Kelly snapped.

  The girl’s hand flew to her throat. “It’s just that you’ve got blood all over your shirt and hands.” She peered at her. “Were you in some kind of accident?”

  She looked down at herself, and indeed there were huge splotches of blood tie-dyed across her pale pink tank top.

  “Oh, that.” She waved her hands as if to indicate it was no big deal. “I was just having dinner in this restaurant, dropped my water glass, and bloop! Cut myself. Stupid really, how clumsy I am sometimes.”

  The girl looked relieved. “Oh, sure, I understand. I’m really clumsy, too.”

  Kelly laughed her fake-party laugh. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  The girl rolled her eyes and laughed herself. “Tell me about it.”

  The woman turned her attention back to her computer and began to type on her little keyboard. “Two queen size beds okay?”

  “Um…yeah, sure, that, that’s fine.” She looked around the lobby, wishing the girl would hurry up and finish.

  “Okay, for the one night, that will be eighty-five ninety-nine. And what credit card will you be using?”

&n
bsp; “Oh, uh, Visa.” Kelly pulled out her wallet, and then as she reached for her credit card, her hand moved over to where she kept her cash.

  “You know,” she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Since I just need the room for the night, would it be okay if I used cash?”

  The girl frowned again. “Well, we aren’t allowed to do that…” The girl’s voice trailed off.

  She gave the girl a blank stare before she laughed again. “Oh, I won’t use the phone. I mean, I have a cell phone, so you won’t have to worry about me making any calls.”

  The girl hesitated a bit. “Well, I really could get into trouble,” she said as she chewed her bottom lip.

  Kelly went back into her wallet. “Tell you what. How about I give you an extra hundred…to cover any incidentals. Better yet, I’ll give you three hundred dollars cash for the room. How does that sound?”

  “Okay, but…are you sure you’re okay? Should I call the police for you?”

  Kelly felt fear pierce her like a needle through a vein, and as she fought to stay in control of the situation, the thrashing inside her chest resumed.

  “No, really. I’m fine. So. Do we have a deal?”

  Kelly could see the war raging across the landscape of the girl’s face had ceased and she’d won. She’d get her shelter for the night.

  “Okay, okay. Three hundred dollars for the room.”

  Kelly smiled. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah, sure. Happy I could help. And you promise you won’t use the phone?”

  She flashed the girl a smile of relief. “I won’t, I promise. Thank you so much—” Kelly looked at the girl’s nametag—“Julia. I really appreciate it.” She forced herself to give the girl a warm smile. Old modeling trick.

  “You must not be from around here,” Julia said as she tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard.

  Kelly flashed to Mark’s face at the moment she stabbed him. She licked her lips and gripped the front desk to keep from collapsing. “No. No, I’m not.”

  “Okay, three hundred please.”

  She pulled six fifty-dollar bills out of her wallet and handed them to Julia. “Keep the change.”