The crack of the front door being thrust open, and the subsequent swarm of emergency workers storming a house, was something you’d expect to see in a movie. You’d never expect it to happen in your own home.
It didn’t happen exactly like that, but it felt pretty damn close in the moment, minus the guns blazing and the SWAT team breaking down my door.
After Candace went down, I ran for my cell phone to call 911. I didn’t know how long she’d stay unconscious, but hopefully long enough until the cops arrived. Most of what I relayed to the emergency operator was lost in the recesses of my brain. I was in work mode, delivering facts: Sister stabbed multiple times, at least one abdominal laceration. Wife attacked her. Wife unconscious. Possible skull fracture. Please send EMTs soon.
Pressing a balled-up shirt against Harper’s stomach, I carried her to the bathroom, where I stockpiled gauze and bandaging. While tending to the gaping hole in her abdomen—the most pressing of her injuries—the tread of boots rumbled into the entryway.
“Paramedics!” a voice called out.
“We’re upstairs!” I yelled. “Hurry!”
Harper faded in and out, then winced awake as I pressed a bandage to her wound. The footsteps trudged up the stairwell, two paramedics appearing at the bathroom door, ready to attend to her. I handed her off to them, assured Jackson and Elise that their mom would be fine as I led them out of the way into their bedroom, then went to search for the cops. Just as I descended the stairs, Detective Meltzer walked through the front door, wearing jeans and aviator sunglasses, his badge clipped to his belt. His bulk filled the entryway, at odds with the warmth of the sunlight that spilled in around him. I waved him over to follow me upstairs. He flipped his sunglasses on top of his head, and I talked while we walked.
“I . . . I don’t even know where to begin. I just found out that my wife killed my sister’s husband.” The shock hadn’t yet settled.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Detective Meltzer replied. “I’ve been looking into Candace Wilkes for a while now.”
I stopped and turned around. “Was that you who was watching my house?”
“Yep, and you almost caught me that day in the rain—the day of Michelle Hudson’s murder when you approached my car.” Detective Meltzer aimed his finger at me like he was pointing a gun. “It’s a damn shame too. If I had followed Candace instead of watching your house, Michelle Hudson would still be alive.”
“You think Candace killed Michelle?”
“I bet I’ll find evidence in her belongings that proves she did.”
“How did you figure out she was involved?” I asked as the detective trailed behind me up the stairwell.
“Of course I started looking into you and Harper when Ben was first killed. It was only recently that I came across your marriage certificate to Candace Moriarty, though, and when I looked into it I found a dead woman’s records. That was enough to start watching her.”
“And you never said a damn word to us about it?”
“I never said a lot of things to you. It was an ongoing investigation, Lane. You know the rules. So where’s our suspect?” We arrived in the upstairs hallway, and he glanced around, looking for her.
“In my bedroom.”
“And what exactly happened?”
“She attacked my sister with a pair of scissors. I knocked her out with an urn.”
He humphed. “An urn, huh? That’s a new one,” he said as we reached the doorway.
We both stopped short when we entered the empty room. No Candace. Just a smear of blood on the floor.
“What the—?” I rushed to the other side of the bed. Where could she have gone? I checked the window, but the screen was intact, and there was no way she could have slipped past me in the hallway without anyone noticing. At least I didn’t think so.
“Check the bedrooms!” the detective yelled to another uniformed officer who joined us in the hallway.
While the detective pulled out his radio, using code words I didn’t understand, I pondered how she could have escaped and where she would have gone.
A couple minutes later the officer called back, “All clear!”
No, no, no!
The detective left me with my confusion while he consulted with another officer who had arrived. With his gun steadily aimed, he stooped to look under the bed, then muttered something as he stood up. From his pocket he slipped a latex glove on his hand, then reached under the bed. What on earth had he found? When he pulled out a Nordstrom bag, I recognized it from the night Candace went “shopping” for a gift for Harper. The same night Michelle Hudson was killed. Detective Meltzer lifted a bloodstained shirt from within.
“Get forensics up here!” he yelled.
How had I been duped so badly? Nothing that I thought I knew was real. Not Candace, not our feelings, not our future. It had all been lies from the start. How could I have fallen so easily for her? I had forgiven the lies she fed me, but this was beyond anything I could have anticipated. My thoughts whirred at a wild pace, and I felt sick, like a hand had reached inside my stomach and was rummaging around in it.
I had married a killer. How strange it felt to become one flesh with a person I’ve never met.
Except I did know Candace. I had spent two months with her, learning her ways and diving into her mind. I recalled the first day I’d brought her into my home. She had been fascinated with it, its history, the hidey-holes and nooks. She explored it like it was a lost treasure. And her favorite feature—the attic.
Of course.
I opened the closet door and shoved the hanging clothes aside. The waist-high door was cracked open just a sliver, enough to allow a thin stream of imprisoned hot air to escape. I crouched down and pushed against the wood, and it swung open. Crawling through cobwebs and a cloud of dust, I entered the cavity. Dusty boxes climbed one wall, and scattered across the wide-planked floor were generations of previous owners’ forlorn possessions. Piles of hardcover books created a makeshift fort in one corner around a collection of toys and doll clothes, presumably belonging to the Frankie doll the kids had found up here. It was apparent that Jackson and Elise had spent some time secretly exploring and playing.
Although it was dank and dark, I could see Candace pressed against the far wall where a tiny circular window, covered in an inch of grime, allowed in hazy light.
“I knew you’d find me.” She was so casual as she wiped her hands on her legs, then walked toward me, the soft pad of her bare footsteps barely audible. Then she stopped and stood in front of me. My body stiffened as she grasped my hand. I let go. I didn’t want her touch. She had killed Ben and an innocent old lady, and nearly killed my sister.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, Lane. I know I’m messed up in my head. I don’t know what snapped inside me . . .”
“Ben, I sorta get, because he hurt you. But Michelle Hudson? What kind of monster are you?”
She wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek. “One that doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. One that’s really damaged, Lane. I wanted so badly for us to be together, and when I thought Michelle was going to get in the way of that, I went too far. I can’t explain what I was thinking, because I wasn’t thinking. I was only feeling panic.”
“You know I have to turn you in, right? And you’re going to rot in jail for what you’ve done.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m at peace with that. It’s what I deserve. Honestly, I’m tired of running anyway.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek, and part of me wanted to hold her, but the bigger part of me needed to let go.
When she stepped away, she held me captive with her blue eyes.
“My biggest regret was hurting you,” she whispered. “I really did end up falling for you. You’re the first person who made me the victor, not the victim. I’ll always love you for that.”
Her voice was rich with conviction, the rhythm of our breath quiet and insistent as a pulse. I had only one last question for her: “Why?”
Why me? Why frame my mother? Why attack Harper? So many whys.
“I just wanted love, Lane. That’s all. Why is it so hard to find?”
If only I knew the answer to that.
“It’s time to go,” she said. “I’m ready to face the consequences. Just promise me one thing.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
She placed my hand on her belly. “Take care of the baby for me. Raise her to have a pure heart like yours. Show her what family should look like—what you and Harper have.”
That was the Candace I longed for, the one who loved deeply. Too deeply in the end, though.
I let her hand graze mine, then led her down the attic stairs and out the door into the bedroom. Our parting was as quiet as a falling snowflake. Then the flurry began. Detective Meltzer stormed in, another officer following him, while reading Candace her rights:
“Candace Wilkes, you are under arrest for the murder of Benjamin Paris and Michelle Hudson. You have the right to remain silent . . .”
The rest of the words were a blur as they grabbed my wife by the shoulders, turned her around, and handcuffed her. She didn’t say a word, didn’t fight back, simply let them. I had fallen in love with not just a liar, but a murderer too. Even in knowing this horrific, gruesome truth, I still loved her. I hurt for all the pain she had suffered in life. As Harper had explained it to me, Noah had taken the biggest part of her, then Ben took what remained. It left the spot empty where her heart should have been. She had only wanted the same happily ever after that everyone else wanted, I guess even more so. She was willing to kill for it.
As I watched them haul her down the stairs, out the door, and down the walkway to Detective Meltzer’s waiting black sedan, I realized that she wore her darkness so well that all I saw was light.