Will's shift at the clinic dripped by so slowly on Saturday morning, he could almost hear the soft scrape of the clock's hand as it counted down the seconds until noon.
Though time moved at a glacial pace, Will's body moved at warp speed in anticipation of seeing Skye later that night. His body stuttered through the simplest tasks, and he clumsily spilled Marlene's precious coffee over a stack of freshly printed invoices, prompting her to growl, "Somebody should have stayed in bed today!"
Rushing to clean up the mess, he brewed a fresh pot to soothe the savage secretary and made himself scarce. Marlene's grudges were legendary and long, and he had no interest in being added to her shit list. When his shift finally came to an end, he hastily wished Dr. Tate and Marlene a good weekend before taking off to kill time at home.
Practically giddy to be rationed a scrap of news from her son's personal life, his mother had thrown herself into making a flower arrangement for Skye and Bridget. When Will arrived home, the kitchen table was covered in newspaper and a colorful clutter of discarded petals, stems, raffia and garden tools.
"I could add an extra flower for Skye's hair – that might be really pretty! What do you think, honey?"
Will didn't like the eager gleam in her eyes.
"Uh, Mom, it's dinner, not prom. The flower arrangement is great as it is, thanks for your help. Really. I'm good."
"Okay, but it's no trouble. Just let me know if you change your mind."
"Alright, Mom. Will do." Backing slowly out of the kitchen, he left her humming and fussing with the flowers while he snuck upstairs to be alone for a while.
At the top of the steps, a soft breeze wafted through the window, sending a shaft of sunlight dancing across the floor. Pausing outside his parents' room, Will listened to his father's rolling snores as they tumbled down the hall. His dad had successfully left the spare room behind, and the doctors were happy with his progress, but he still tired more quickly than before. Will checked on his 2 a couple of times a day, just to make sure he was okay. So far, it continued growing brighter and stronger as the days passed.
A text came in around three o'clock.
Skye: See you at 5:30? Wait until you see this feast :)
Will: You betcha, Stormy. Looking forward to it.
Skye: We're gonna eat on the back deck so let yourself in through the front door. Mom & I will be getting stuff ready on the patio.
Will: Can't wait. See you soon ☺
A hive of nerves buzzed in his stomach as his mind wandered ahead to the time he'd spend alone with her later that night. He was pretty sure about Skye's feelings, but what if he was wrong? What if he was just a summer flirtation, or a convenient shoulder to cry on, instead of something more? Will took a deep breath. He was about to take a leap of faith, and he just hoped she'd take the plunge along with him.
***
By 4:30, he was showered, coiffed, and ready to go. Not that he was eager or anything. With an hour left before dinner, he played some random games on his phone, goofed around with Toby for a while, and tried his best to avoid looking at the clock every two minutes. When he finally pulled his shoes on to leave, he could barely contain his excitement. In a few hours, if he was lucky, he'd officially leave Skye's friend zone behind.
Parking across the street from the house, Will lifted his carefully curated bouquet from the passenger seat and walked up the steps with a smile on his face. If Skye remembered their game of Start Over, he'd be having steak for dinner. Remembering her instructions to meet on the back deck, he snuck a quick peek at his hair in the windowpane before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
It was a bright day, and he saw spots in the front hallway as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The thick curtains had been pulled shut, snuffing out the natural light that typically leaked in through the porch window. Walking into the living room, he smashed his shin on the coffee table and doubled over as air whooshed through his lips to counter the pain. Swearing under his breath, he stood up and realized something wasn't right.
Turning his head to look around, he blinked as his mind sputtered, trying to process what his eyes were drinking in. He'd been visiting Shelby's house since he was small, and in all that time there'd never been as much as a pillow out of place. Because Judy liked things just so, she'd taught her kids to pick up after themselves at an early age to accommodate her quirks. Assessing his surroundings, Will realized the coffee table was out of place because it was leaning heavily onto its side, the decorative bowl that usually graced its top smashed in shards on the floor.
Everything in the room was off-kilter, like he'd landed inside a twisted funhouse instead of his friend's living room. The tall lamp that usually stood beside the couch was laying half-hazard on the ground with its shade dented but the bulb still turned on. It spilled horizontal light across the floor while the rest of the room waited in dim anticipation. Frames that normally sat proudly on the mantle were fractured on the floor, and the loveseat was scraped out of place, separated from its pillows that littered the room. A tall clay vase was cracked in two on the hardwood, beside the small table that hugged the loveseat. The vase's pieces sat in a slick of water, and red tulips lay scattered, their scarlet petals bruised and flattened like they'd been crushed underfoot.
Holy shit.
The house was quiet.
Skye and Bridget were nowhere to be seen.
A droplet of sweat ran down the back of his neck.
Something rustled upstairs.
Finally, adrenaline drop-kicked his chest and jolted him back to life. Suddenly, he was hyper-awake, and his pulse rang loudly in his ears. Pawing at his pockets, Will pulled out his phone as he stumbled towards the hallway.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Fuck.
Will's heart clattered in his chest as a deep voice tumbled down the staircase. Gazing up, he saw a man studying him intently from the hallway above. Tall, fit, and impeccably dressed, the man's clothes were rumpled, and his shirttail hung loosely on one side of his pants. Dark hair stood up on his head like he'd been rifling his hands through it, and a deep red scratch raked down his cheek, from eye to chin.
Will didn't have to think too hard to guess who this might be. Apparently the restraining order had done little to keep Tom away after all.
"Why don't you come up and join the party?" Tom's lips folded into a humorless grin as he motioned at Will with the black gun clenched in his right hand.
Tongue pasted to the roof of his mouth, Will tried to speak, but nothing came out except a huff of dry air. Forcing himself to breathe in slowly, he let out a shaky breath and tried again.
"Uh, I'm good, thanks. It looks like I, uh, came at a bad time. I should probably get back home and leave you to ... whatever you were doing."
Taking a shuffling step back, Will's heart banged so hard his fingertips throbbed.
"Actually, I'd say your timing's impeccable. Really, I insist." Narrowing his eyes, Tom pointed the snub-nosed gun at Will.
Teeth shaking in a chattering staccato, Will stared up at the gun in disbelief.
"Come on, boy. I don't have all day." Tom's voice was sharp. "Move it."
Knees quaking like they were about to buckle, Will forced his legs to move as his brain stumbled to think up a way out. He wasn't sure what scared him more – staring down a gun, meeting the monster above or coming face-to-face with whatever grim situation was waiting upstairs. And to think, his biggest concern less than an hour before had been whether or not Skye wanted to be his girlfriend.
Dumbass.
At this point, he'd just be happy to find her safe.
Or alive.
The dark part of his brain whispered before he could shut it up.
His hand gripped the railing and he started to climb. The staircase was broad and stately with steep wooden steps that opened up to a landing overlooking the living room below. One side of the landing branched off to a large family room over the garage, while the other led to a wing of bedrooms across the hall.
When they were small, Shelby would stand at the top of the landing, dressed up in a gauzy skirt and crown, while Josh and Will waited below, like two princes at her personal ball. They'd tire of Shelby's game in about two seconds, transforming instead into Jedi knights waving invisible light sabers as they ran up and down the steps. He could still hear Judy yelling for everyone to 'slow down for Pete's sake before somebody falls and breaks their neck.'
As Will climbed, Tom kept his gun trained on him. His fake smile had slipped away, and his head moved back and forth as he split his attention between watching Will ascend and looking back toward the family room door.
Climbing higher, ears ringing, the taste of bile stung the back of Will's throat. Every step felt surreal, like walking in a dream, but he'd never been so sorry to be awake. Finally reaching the landing, he gulped down a breath of air, squared his shoulders and forced himself to look up at his captor's eyes. Tom's left pupil pooled within an icy blue iris, and a hard, silver 3 crouched inside its darkness.
"Give me your phone."
Reluctantly, Will handed over his cell and his insides cringed.
No way out.
"That's a good boy."
Muffled sounds bleated through the family room door, catching Tom's attention. Turning quickly, he grabbed Will's arm and steered him roughly down the hall. He reeked of alcohol and Will recoiled at the smell. Though Will was at least as tall, Tom was so much stronger. A quick shove threw Will off balance and he tripped through the doorway. Falling hard onto the carpeted floor, the skin of his palms burned as they slid across the thick Berber rug.
"Looks like I found your friend," Tom sneered. "The more, the merrier, huh ladies?" Nudging Will's side roughly with the toe of his leather shoe, he snickered coldly. "Come on, slugger, get back on your feet and join the fun."
Pushing himself to stand, Will caught sight of Skye and Bridget huddled together in a far corner, hands secured with zip ties, mouths gagged with white cloth. Shocked at the sight of them, his breath stuck in his chest, and his heart split in two.
Pulling Will up by the collar, Tom cleared his throat and addressed his captive audience. "Alright, folks! Looks like everybody's finally here now, doesn't it? Come on out of that corner and take a seat on the couch, girls. I'm in the mood for a real party, aren't you?" Rubbing his palms together gleefully, he bared a set of wolfish teeth in a wide grin. "It feels like it's been so long since we've been together. I can barely contain my excitement, if you want to know the truth." Reaching down beside the doorway, he stuck his hand into a dark duffel bag and pulled out a bottle, sloshing amber-colored whiskey inside the glass.
"To an unforgettable evening." He winked, raising the bottle in an unsettling toast, unscrewing the cap with his teeth, and taking a deep slug from its depths. Smacking his lips loudly, he looked fondly at the label. "From my private reserve. Only the best, right, Bridget?" Looking over at Skye's mom, his voice cracked. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought but quickly snapped out of it, shaking his head and clearing his throat.
"Come on, ladies, get a move on! It's rude to leave your friend over here by himself, don't you think?" Tom impersonated the voice of a genial host. "Not to worry folks, I won't bite. At least... I don't think I will." A wicked smile cracked his face open, pulling at the angry scratch on his cheek. With a throaty laugh, he took another long swig of whiskey from his bottle.
A cold sweat broke out on Will's forehead. Across the room, he watched Skye and Bridget cowering, leaning closer together than before.
"I said get up!" Tom bellowed, and everyone jumped.
Skye started to cry, a pathetic sound dampened by the gag in her mouth. Banging his bottle down with a clatter on the coffee table, Tom tucked the gun into his pants, strode across the room and yanked Skye and Bridget up from the floor, shoving them onto the couch before turning his attention to Will.
"You. Sit over there."
Will reluctantly took a seat across from the sectional where Bridget and Skye sat shaking. Skye's eyes were red from crying, and her wrists wore angry scrapes from trying to escape the zip ties that bit her skin. Bridget's left eye was nearly swollen shut, and a cut oozed congealing blood on her bottom lip. Thanks to the outrageous shiner Tom had given her, Will couldn't get a proper read on Bridget, but his gaze narrowed in on Skye's 1 as it popped and spit like water droplets jumping off a hot pan. Covering his mouth with his hand, Will dry heaved into his palm.
"There! That's better, isn't it? Let's all have a good talk now, shall we?" Tom sauntered casually behind the couch and untied the gags with a flourish.
Free from the restraint, Skye looked at Will and mouthed, "I'm sorry," as fresh tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
Will's heart ached in a way he'd never experienced before, and he mouthed back, "It's okay." He couldn't fathom anything being less okay, but didn't want her to feel worse than she already did; if that were even possible.
Leaning against the couch, Tom cocked his head to the side, observing Will with interest. "So, young man, I don't believe we've officially met. I'm Tom, but you can call me Mr. Westville. Bridget is my wife, and Skye over here is my daughter. Aren't they lovely?" Bending down, he kissed both of them softly on the top of their heads, and they flinched under his touch. "I'm afraid you interrupted our little reunion, but not to worry, a good host always makes room for one more. What's your name, son?"
"I'm Will, sir." He spoke cautiously, trying his best not to rock Tom's messed up boat. The only psychos Will had encountered in life had been on TV or in the movies, and they didn't typically respond well to snark.
Looking up at his captor, Will caught his eye and stopped cold. Tom blinked and his left pupil shuddered like it had a glitch. Eyebrows knitting together, Will leaned forward in his chair to take a closer look.
Tom swayed a little, like the whiskey had given him sealegs. His 3 popped suddenly, then flipped down into a coppery 2. He wiped at his face and the 2 somersaulted into a neon 1, then jolted up to a 2 again. Tom steadied himself against the couch. When he looked up, his number had scrolled back into a 3. Blinking slowly, he focused on Will's face. Up and down, his number dipped and soared, over and over and over again.
Will was mesmerized. He'd never seen a number behave like that before, and he stared at Tom's 3 as it rotated down and back up, making him appear even more manic than before.
"Now, that's what I like – being addressed with respect! On second thought, you can scratch the Mr. Westville thing and stick to 'Sir.' Good call, young man." Pleased, Tom puffed out his chest and began a lecture, using the back of the couch as a makeshift podium.
"Respect is hard to teach, Will. Some people are simply too arrogant to understand their place in life's hierarchy, and no matter how hard you try, they'll never learn." Bending down, he stroked Bridget's hair as she sat stoically under his unwanted touch.
"I'm a self-made man, Will. Want to know how I became so successful? Discipline. Relentless work ethic. Discerning taste. Time and time again, people disappoint me. It's sad, but unavoidable when you have high expectations, as I do. The only person who's never let me down is me." Another gulp of whiskey fuelled his fire, and he continued spewing crooked wisdom as he paced behind the couch.
"Bridget, Skye, and I have had our differences as of late. Respect, or lack thereof, has played a big part of that, Will. If you want to know the truth, they've been very naughty girls. I've been patient, restrained even, but there's only so much a man can take. You're young, but you'll come to understand what I mean someday. Trust me." Shaking his head with a weary sigh, Tom kneeled beside Will's chair and plucked the whiskey up from the coffee table, balancing the bottle on his knee as the amber liquid sloshed inside its glass walls.
Will's stomach turned. Tom's breath was almost as toxic as his presence.
"So, you care about my daughter, do you? She's a real beauty, isn't she?" Tom's tone was rich with pride, but a dark cloud soon fell over his face.
"Yes, sir. I care about her." Will caught Skye's gaze. As a sad smile bloomed on her face, anger corroded inside his stomach and hate seeped into his heart. Afraid to set Tom off, not knowing what to do, Will kept his mouth shut and hoped for a miracle.
"She was only eleven when I met Bridget, you know. We married a year later, and I decided right then and there that Skye was mine, too. Look at her now – so much like her mother." His words blurred into a murmur, and he stared down at the carpet. Tom's mood was soaring and crashing as fast as the erratic number that rocketed up and hurtled back down inside his left pupil.
Unscrewing the whiskey cap again with a flick of his wrist, Tom took another drink. Sputtering, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and chuckled. "Well, shit. I don't know whether to congratulate you or pity you. If you have feelings for Skye, I expect you'll be needing some of this whiskey soon enough, my boy. God knows her mother drove me to drink, didn't you, my love?" Throwing Bridget a kiss, Tom's laugh sounded more like a cough. Cocking his head to the side, he looked over at Will through narrowed eyes, as if seeing him in a new light.
"You know, I think we actually have a lot in common, Will. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know your story by heart. You're falling for Skye, all right; you won't believe your damned luck to have found her. But over time, her careless nature will grate on your very last nerve until it's raw." Sitting back on the floor, Tom stretched his long legs out and loosened his collar. "It's been exhausting giving so much of myself for so long, only to be disappointed over and over again."
Reaching his bottle up from the floor, Tom motioned for Will to take a drink. When he refused, Tom's eyes sparked, his nostrils flared, and his number sped up its pace: popping, rising and falling as if possessed. "That wasn't a suggestion, boy. Drink the damned whiskey as I asked, and do it quick. You don't want me to question your respect now, do you? I think you'll find I make a better friend than enemy."
His sick smile curdled the contents of Will's stomach. Accepting the bottle begrudgingly, Will took a deep breath and choked back the alcohol as it burned his throat and made him hack. Eyes watering, he passed the drink back.
"See? That's better. Stick with me, and I'll teach you a thing or two." Tom almost sounded friendly again; his sudden change of demeanor was unsettling, like Mister Hyde dressed in designer clothing. "You know, the more I think about it, I'm glad you dropped in. It's good to have an ally here. I thought Bridget, Skye, and I were a happy little family until they took off, slapped me with a divorce, a restraining order, and a pile of bad press. They ripped my damned heart out and didn't have the courtesy to look back." Balling his hand into a fist, Tom clubbed at his chest to demonstrate his pain, then winced at his own strength. If the situation hadn't been so horrifying, Will would have laughed.
Licking his teeth with his tongue, Tom pushed long fingers through his dark hair and glared up at Bridget. "Looks like the joke's on you now, babe. Your disrespect has become a debt to me, and you're going to pay it off, starting tonight." Pushing himself up to standing, Tom took a taunting step toward the couch. Skye shrieked, and Bridget made a shushing sound like she was soothing a scared toddler. Unmoved, Tom bent down so his eyes were level with his wife's. His voice was low and laced with malice.
"You're an ungrateful bitch, that's what you are, Bridget." His face was fire engine red as he spat verbal poison at Skye's mom. "It's about time you learned to behave. You think you can leave me and take away my family? This mess isn't my goddamned fault; it's all on you. No one leaves me! Shit." Face crumpling, half-sobbing and grabbing for his bottle of whiskey, Tom downed more booze and wiped at his eyes.
For the first time since Will was forced upstairs, Bridget spoke up. Though her left eye was reduced to a slit between puffed, purple lids, her voice filled the room, clear and firm.
"Stop. I refuse to accept blame for this disgusting situation. Your alcoholism and anger issues left Skye in a hospital bed, Tom, and that's something I will never condone. You know why we left, so don't pretend otherwise. Nothing excuses your self-indulgent violence; it only proves we were right to go."
Pausing a moment, she searched Tom's face, like she was trying to decipher a puzzle hidden in his features.
"I loved you, even though your expectations became a burden. Do you have any idea how hard it is to please you?" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "But I tried anyway. Even as you evolved into a dangerous drunk right before my eyes. I stayed far too long hoping you'd sober up and become the man I married again. Now, I just hope my daughter can forgive me for staying as long as I did." Ripping her eyes away from Tom, Bridget turned to Skye. "I'm so sorry, honey. I never thought it would come to this. Not in a million years. I'm sorry I failed you. I love you more than my own life." Lips trembling, she finally broke down.
"I love you, too, Mom," Skye whispered, burying her head in Bridget's shoulder.
From his seat on the leather chair, Will grimaced. He felt like a voyeur, watching things he had no right to see. It was too raw, too intense, too much. Irrationally, he wished for an unexpected savior to crash Tom's sick party. He wished to disappear. He wished to wake up, terrified and sweating in his bed. He just wished it all away. Bridget kissed the top of Skye's dark head. Turning to look at her ex, her expression softened.
"Tom, this isn't who you are deep down – you know it's not. If you ever really loved us, if a part of you loves us still, please just put the gun away and let everyone get on with their lives. We don't wish you any harm. We just want to feel safe again."
Studying her face carefully, as if assessing her sincerity, Tom's expression appeared almost reptilian, calculating and cold. Taking a gulp of his drink, he set the bottle down on the coffee table and looked over at his supposed ally.
"Do you hear this garbage, Will? She doesn't wish me any harm? Boy, that's rich, Bridget. You do know the restraining order is public record, right? As it turns out, your 'harmless' actions have made a real mess with the gossip rags, not to mention my shareholders. You've cooked up quite the nightmare for me, Bridget, but I've had enough. Now the nightmare's all yours." His smile was sinister as he snickered under his breath.
Leaning in close to Will, Tom's tone was conspiratorial as he spoke in a stage whisper.
"Got another piece of advice for you, son." His number climbed and fell maniacally. His eyeballs were bloodshot from the drink, and his breath was polluted. "If you're going to fall in love, make goddamned sure you're the only one she loves back. It's not fun to share. In fact, it might just be enough to drive you crazy."
What the hell is he talking about?
Will was tired of listening to Tom's senseless ramblings and zoned out for a minute, imagining what it would be like to wrestle the gun out of his hands like one of the action heroes he and Josh loved to watch so much. Unfortunately, Tom had a good thirty pounds of muscle on him, so he didn't stand a chance in hell of overtaking him. There had to be another way out.
Bridget was crying. "Damn it, Tom. We've been over this so many times in so many ways. I was never unfaithful to you. Never. I don't know what else to say. I've tried to comfort and convince you over and over again. There's no one else now; there was no one else before."
She looked exhausted, and Will was deeply ashamed to witness their private issues laid bare, turning the atmosphere even more acrid than it was before. Watching Skye's blank expression, he wondered where her thoughts went to find a kernel of comfort. Will would have given anything to be back on his front porch again, eating orange popsicles in the sun, tucking her long hair behind her ear, kissing her pretty face. He wanted it so much it hurt.
Tom's petulant sigh pulled Will from his thoughts. "She's a goddamned flirt, you know. Some might say she's just friendly, but look at that face! Well, maybe not today – sorry about the shiner, love." Tossing a wicked wink at Bridget, he droned on, unfazed by her appearance. "On a regular day, though? Clean her up, and she attracts men left and right. She can't even help it. It's in her DNA. You can't imagine how much frigging energy it takes to try and keep her in line." Suddenly, he looked tired, and more than a little disoriented. Looking around the room, he paused, then leaned against the couch and cradled his head in his hands.
Will caught Skye's attention and mouthed "You okay?" Nodding slightly, her 1 pulsed like a heartbeat, pumping up and fading back again on repeat.
Expelling a whoosh of air and reanimating like the undead from his chair, Tom stood back up, and his eyes snapped open. His number moved eerily in time with Skye's, climbing and falling faster than before. Judging by the contents of the bottle on the table, he was making major headway on his precious premium whiskey, and Will prayed he'd eventually pass out. Best case scenario, they could tie him up and call the cops, but Will wasn't optimistic. Tom's words were beginning to slur, but his eyes were somehow still bright and alert. Sliding his gaze back to Bridget's face, his expression was hard to read.
"You know what Bridget keeps at the back of her closet, Will? Care to take a guess, son?"
"Uh, no, sir," Will muttered and stared at the floor.
"She keeps two white banker's boxes hidden behind the dress she wore to our wedding. Her wedding to me. And do you know what's inside those boxes, Will?"
Will wanted to disappear into the woodwork. "No, sir, I don't."
"Pictures, keepsakes, love letters – lots of those – even some clothes. It's like a mini shrine to her first husband, I shit you not. Creepy, isn't it?" The irony of using that word to describe someone else was obviously lost on Tom. "Aside from all the unwanted attention Bridget draws from the living, her goddamn ex has been the third wheel in our marriage since day one, and he's been buried for years. I'm sure she pores through the stuff when she thinks I'm asleep. I honestly wouldn't put it past her. And this is a woman I'm supposed to trust?"
Exasperated, Bridget cut him off. "My God, Tom. You're paranoid. Of course I kept Mike's stuff. He was Skye's father. I want her to remember him. She deserves that." Sighing, her features softened as she spoke again, tears welling in her good eye. "Please, Tom. You're not thinking clearly. You need help. It's not too late."
Tom shook his head slowly, like he pitied her inability to grasp reality. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Bridget? Get me out of the way so you can do what you want, huh?" Swaying slightly, he knelt in front of her, speaking quietly as he softly stroked her cheek. "Sorry babe, but you're the one who needs help, not me." The laugh that escaped his lips was hollow.
***