CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
JENN
Gloves on, I went into the garage and walked to the back of my car.
I stood there for a minute, staring in the hatchback window at the blanket. Knowing what lay under it.
For Ivy, Chloe, and Natalie.
After a deep breath, I reached out and opened the hatch. As it slowly rose, up, up, I stared at the blanket. Rather, I stared at the bump in the blanket that was the plastic jug under it.
This is it. I had to reach out and grab the edge of the car to steady myself and take a few more calming breaths.
For Ivy, Chloe, and Natalie.
Finally, I reached in with gloved hands and drew the blanket to the side. Still holding the blanket, I wiped the plastic container to get rid of any lingering fingerprints. Would this be very painful? Flashes of movie scenes of people dying horrific deaths went through my head.
Stop it. No thinking more than a step or two ahead.
The jug was wiped. Next step: take it inside. But that felt like several steps: grab the handle, lift the jug out of the car, move the blanket back so it looked untouched, close the back of the car, go inside, put the jug on the kitchen counter.
For Ivy.
One swift movement later, I had the jug in my gloved hand. I commanded myself to get through each of the next steps. I closed the hatch. I walked back inside. I set the jug on the kitchen counter. Check, check, check.
I stared at the container. It didn’t belong here. The color wasn’t something anyone should ingest, even if it did look a lot like liquid candy. Green, like something a superhero’s nemesis might drink to turn that color.
Next step: wipe the jug down better, this time with soap and water.
For Ivy.
And for Chloe. And Natalie.
With a soapy paper towel, I wiped down the jug again, still wearing gloves. I threw away the paper towel, then faced the counter and the jug again. Next step: fill up the glass.
I looked to the one I planned to use: the glass I’d set in the sink after Rick had drunk his green smoothie for breakfast, his latest obsession for maintaining his weight. His appearance has always mattered to him, something he’d always attributed to his profession and the need to look polished for both clients and the courtroom.
Stop stalling, I ordered myself. Pick up the glass.
I turned to the sink. The glass still had a green coating of blended vegetables, something that would serve my purposes well. I picked up the glass and set it beside the jug of antifreeze.
Next step: fill the glass.
For Ivy. For Ivy. For Ivy.
The childproof lid on the jug gave me fits, partly from the clumsy gloves but also because of my trembling fingers. I finally removed the lid and peeled off the inner foil seal.
Maybe I should take Ivy over to Becca’s first, I thought. But then I checked the clock and remembered what I’d read about ethylene glycol’s effects on the body. It needed to be in my system as long as possible for evidence of it to show up in my system.
Keep going. I lifted the jug and tilted it, and the antifreeze poured out fast. Nearly sloshed across the counter. I hadn’t expected it to be thin, like water.
I hadn’t known what to expect, really. If pressed, I would have imagined it to be a little slimy. Not as thick as one of Rick’s green smoothies, but a bit viscous. When the glass was about half full, I stopped. Kale and spinach flecks were a stark contrast against the neon green.
As I stared at the glass, my fingers flexed and stretched inside the gloves.
Not yet. Not quite yet.
I backed away from the counter and walked to Ivy, who had pulled herself to standing on a kitchen chair. She’d never done that before. She leaned against it, mostly with her face, which was tilted to the side as she gummed a ring of baby keys. When she saw me, she bounced up and down, showing off her new trick, but the movement made her lose her balance and plop back to the tile on her diaper.
I’ll never see her walk. That wasn’t news. But that specific thought hadn’t occurred to me among the dozens of other things I’d miss. A stab shot through my chest, and I held back a whimper, not wanting Ivy to sense my worry or sadness. I needed her to not sense that anything was wrong. If she cried . . .
“Look at you!” I said with an overly cheerful tone. I clapped, though the sound was muted by the gloves, so I grinned to be sure she recognized my approval. She waved her arms and showed me the keys, then leaned forward and pulled herself back to standing with the chair. “Such a big girl!” I cooed.
She grinned—toothless and gummy—and lost her balance again.
The glass of green liquid beckoned me. No more ignoring it. The clock was ticking. No matter that I felt increasingly uneasy. No matter that I didn’t want to do this and almost convinced myself to try to escape Rick instead.
The last thing I wanted to do was drink from the glass. Well, almost.
The actual last thing I wanted was for me and Ivy to both die at Rick’s hand, with no one ever knowing how it happened, then to have Rick go off to another state, begin a new life with a new identity and another forged transcript—maybe medical school to keep things interesting. I couldn’t let him get away again. I couldn’t allow Rick to have another forgotten victim.
I couldn’t allow my daughter to be a victim at all.
At least I hoped I was saving her. If all went as planned, Rick would come home and find me while Ivy was at Becca’s, and he’d be arrested right away. Ivy would stay with Becca, safe.
If I didn’t do this, Ivy would be dead soon. She mattered more than I did, and if my death could save her and bring justice to those who died before me, then I had to do this.
If I didn’t do this, no one would get justice, and Rick would kill again.
No one but me knew about the other lives he’d stolen away.
He’d be punished for the murders he already committed, and for mine before he did it.
A few beads of condensation had formed on the outside of the glass. I nearly wiped them off out of habit, but resisted. Rick’s fingerprints needed to be there.
It tastes sweet, I reminded myself. But my intellect knew full well that I was staring at poison, not lime-flavored punch.
How did anyone know it was sweet? Did someone survive antifreeze poisoning and live to tell the tale? Did a scientist put a drop on their tongue?
No more stalling. One swallow at a time.
I reached for the glass with both hands to be sure it wouldn’t slip through the slick knit gloves. Ivy. Chloe. Natalie.
A baby giggle floating to me from the other room pushed me over the edge. If I wimped out now, Ivy wouldn’t experience life. She wouldn’t grow up and become the amazing woman I knew she had every right to be.
I lifted the glass. It’s time. Do it.
I pressed the edge of the glass to my lips. The trembling in my hands made the glass tap against my teeth. I tilted my head back. Some dripped into my mouth. It was sweet. I could pretend it was bright-green Gatorade. Even better, Kool-Aid. No, that wasn’t better. An image of Jonestown flashed into my mind of dead children lying next to their parents who’d poisoned them as part of mass suicide.
Not Kool-Aid. Gatorade.
I swallowed, expecting the liquid to burn on the way down. It didn’t. I waited for a solid minute to see how I’d feel. Would I throw it up? Would my stomach cramp? When nothing happened—I might as well have drunk Kool-Aid, for how different I felt—I took another swallow.
One steady swallow after another, I drank. I tilted my head back until I tasted spinach. I’d drunk it all. Stunned, I lowered the glass and set it on the counter. I did it.
Well, I’d done the first big part. But I wasn’t done. Not even close.
If I stopped here, I might pass out, and I might go into kidney failure, but Rick would come home in time to find me and call 911. He wouldn’t let me die unless he was the one pulling the strings. He’d still be able to end things his way, on his timetable.
“No,” I said aloud and pounded the counter with my gloved fist. I needed to hear myself say it—to make it real. I’d never again be at the whims of Rick Banks, Ryan Brockbank, or whoever he was in his heart. The devil.
A few green drops clung to the sides and bottom of the glass, lit by rays of morning sunlight streaming through the window. Should I drink more? I hadn’t been able to find definitive information on how much antifreeze would do what I needed in the time I had.
I knew how much ethylene glycol was needed, but antifreeze was a solution, and high school math was far too long ago for me to be able to figure out how much of the toxin was in a twelve-ounce kitchen glass.
The taste wasn’t horrible, and I wasn’t in agony, at least not yet. I prayed I’d be unconscious before any gastrointestinal symptoms showed up. I was counting on it. To be on the safe side, I poured another glass. The second went down much easier. By the end of that one, I felt off, almost like the beginning of a beer buzz, mixed with something more.
My head felt foggy, and my limbs thick. If I didn’t finish up the rest of the plan right away, I’d be unable to do it at all. I slipped off the knit gloves and tucked them next to the toolbox in the garage where they belonged. I grabbed my phone, moving a bit too fast. My vision swam. The floor seemed to crest and dip under my feet.
I leaned against the counter until the dizziness ebbed a bit, then called Becca. Normally, I’d text, but I didn’t know if my fingers could do that; they felt like sausages.
“I’m on my way with Ivy,” I said when Becca answered.
“Awesome. See you in a couple!”
“Yep.” I meant to say more, but my mind was already getting muddled, and I didn’t trust my voice. If I sounded weird and Becca became suspicious, all bets were off. I rested my forehead in my hand, my arm being held up by the counter. “See you soon.”
I ended the call, hoping that those last words sounded normal. Mustering every bit of fortitude I had left in me, I loaded Ivy into her carrier and tucked the diaper bag into the car beside her. Last night, I made sure it had an almost full can of formula and two clean bottles. I’d very nearly added a couple of changes of clothing but stopped myself. I couldn’t do anything that might telegraph my plans.
As I adjusted the car seat, my wrist hit the counter with an unfamiliar clink—Rick’s watch. I’d nearly brought it with me. I quickly took it off, hurrying up the stairs to return it to his nightstand so it wouldn’t get left out the foggier my thinking got.
Good thing too. On the way to Becca’s, my head grew increasingly fuzzy. I drove slowly, sure that my reaction time was crap, scared I’d get into a fender bender or hit a dog, but we made it to Becca’s. She opened her front door before I was out of the car and helped take Ivy out, still buckled in her carrier. I took the car seat’s base out, glad that this was a normal part of our interactions. She wouldn’t question why I was making sure she had the base. I always gave it to her when she tended to Ivy, just in case she needed to drive somewhere. This time, it wasn’t if but when.
I walked to the front door and set the base inside. “Thanks for watching her. I have so much to do before Rick gets home.” Entirely true, though she’d assume I meant loading up the boat.
“Of course,” Becca said. She’d already gotten Ivy out of the car seat. Now she reached in for a hug with her free arm, and I hugged her back, taking strength from her touch.
When she pulled away, she looked at me closer. “Hey, are you feeling all right?”
Panic zipped through me. I put on a smile. “I’m fine!”
She tilted her head, brows raised, in the Yeah right way she had. She knew me too well.
“Be back soon,” I added, then headed to the car quickly, knowing I was about to blow the whole thing.
“You’re heading out at noon, right?” Becca asked. “So see you around eleven?”
“Yep.” I didn’t dare say more than single-syllable words. Before getting inside the car, I waved. “Bye!”
Ivy reached out an arm and waved back. She’d waved at other people, but this was the first time she’d waved at me—saying a final goodbye. My eyes were quickly tearing up. It was time to go, both because the chemicals were clouding my mind and because saying more would ruin everything. I swiped at a tear and got into the car.
As I backed out of the driveway, I could hardly think. I glanced at Becca’s door, where she stood with Ivy. She gave me a questioning look again, but I put the car into gear and drove away.
Only I knew that I wouldn’t be coming back at all. That it was really farewell.