Angie watched her traitorous husband writhe and jerk on the floor until he took his last gulp of air. She waited until his bowels evacuated to motion to her father. He appeared from the hallway, his face whiter than the snow outside. He bent down and checked for a pulse. For a full minute, neither of them said a word. She busied her hands by refilling the syringe. Watched her father as he kept his focus on her dead husband. Finally, he stood and shook his head, a sick, twisted smile on his face.
Ding-dong the dick is dead.
Moving past her father, Angie picked up the urn from the table and held it close to her chest. My baby…Mommy’s getting justice. Almost finished.
Angie watched her father pull his cell from his pocket. “Wait, Dad. We need to make sure he’s too far gone, so no matter how hard they try, the paramedics can’t revive him. Oh, and remember, you need to make it look like you tried first. You know, the heroic father-in-law performed CPR to save his son-in-law after stopping by to check on him, but was too late.”
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, I’m sort of flying blind here. First murder and all,” Jerome muttered.
“Need to get something from the study. Be right back. Go ahead and start,” Angie said over her shoulder as she walked past him. Angie heard the hitch in his voice as he tried to play off his fears. She was actually surprised he’d not only agreed to take part in the epic plan for revenge but did so without much prodding. Why are you surprised? You know he’s killed before.
She waited until he was situated next to Drake and was struggling to turn Drake over. “Sorry I can’t help you, but don’t want to contaminate the scene, right?”
“Right,” Jerome replied, out of breath. He grimaced as he pinched Drake’s nose, yanking his mouth open. As Jerome performed CPR, in seconds his hands and shirt were covered in blood from the nasty gash on Drake’s forehead. He was breathing hard.
Angie could see his shoulders sag with the effort of performing chest compressions. Her strides were quick and purposeful as she walked down the hallway to the study and over to the desk. Idiot didn’t even try to hide the insurance papers. They were in plain view on the desk, filled out with his meticulous penmanship, neatly stacked in the middle of the desk. Scooping them up, Angie turned and left Drake’s den of iniquity without another look.
It was time to initiate Plan B. As she walked down the hallway back to the kitchen, Angie could hear the labored grunts as her father continued to perform CPR on a dead corpse.
Much more effort than you gave to poor Amelia.
She walked past him and tossed the insurance papers on the counter. They landed with a soft thump, some of the pages slid off the slick surface and onto the floor. Satisfied it looked like a scuffle occurred, she withdrew the gun and syringe from her pocket. “Dad, you know when I said I heard everything Drake said to me while unconscious?”
“Uh-huh,” Jerome replied, his voice barely audible as he pushed.
“Well, that’s not all I heard. Or remembered,” Angie paused, waiting for a reaction. In mid-pump, her father froze. “And you know what? Seeing you try to revive a dead person brings back a very disturbing memory from my childhood. One I suppressed for years. Guess getting my bell rung released it.”
Jerome didn’t turn around to face his daughter. Instead, he let his arms fall to his sides, his head hung low. “You… know, don’t you?”
It almost looked like he was praying, which Angie knew he wasn’t. Dr. Jerome Arthur Langford would never waste his precious time praying to any deity. He didn’t need to, for he worshiped himself. Through Angie’s clenched jaws, she muttered, “Yes. Everything. You killed Amelia. Smothered her to death in the middle of the night. Her crying woke me up, but by the time I crept out of bed and made it to her room, it was too late. You’d already killed her. The pillow was still in your hands. I must have blocked it out. Why wouldn’t I? I mean, what kid wants to keep the memory of watching her own father do such a reprehensible thing?”
Jerome turned his face toward Angie, tears streaming down his cheeks. His shoulders bobbed up and down as he sobbed. “She wasn’t right, Angie! She never would be, either. Ever. We would be taking care of an infant for years. You know how fragile your mother is–she couldn’t handle caring for a child with special needs. I wanted to send her away, to a home so she’d have round-the-clock care, but your mother…”
Angie growled, moving closer, the gun aimed at the center of his forehead. “My mother loved Amelia, just like I did. We didn’t care about her issues! Didn’t love her any less because she was special. Just like I wouldn’t have loved mine any less. But no, you took advantage of the situation, had my blood tested while I was out cold. When the results came back, you convinced Drake to not let Dr. Randolph stop the contractions or resuscitate her if she stopped breathing. Waited until I delivered my special little girl and didn’t even try to revive her! Then you had the nerve to tell me it was for the best! I heard every fucking word!”
Holding his hands up in a desperate attempt to calm his mentally disturbed daughter, Jerome pleaded, “Oh, Angie, it was for the best! You don’t know what kind of burden it would have been on you! I do. And, look what happened with Drake. I didn’t know what he did to you, the baby when the decision was made! What if she would have lived? You would have the burden of raising her, plus try to deal with the fact your husband tried to kill you! Please, stop this nonsense. Put the past to rest just like I’ve done all these years. If you don’t, you’ll end up just like your mother.”
Rage blinded her and Angie lunged, kicking Jerome so hard in the abdomen he doubled over. He rolled on his side on the floor, the air knocked from his lungs. In a flash, she knelt next to Drake, grabbed his right hand and wrapped it around the gun. Her father was weak from performing CPR and was struggling for air, unmoving. Forcing Drake’s dead hand up with her own, she aimed the gun at her father’s chest.
For Amelia. For Mom.
Angie pulled the trigger, letting the gun clatter to the floor after the bullet ripped through the good doctor’s torso. For a few seconds, stunned by what she’d done, she just stood and stared at him, her breath coming in heavy rasps. The smell of gunpowder filled the kitchen. Blood covered the cabinet and floor. His body crumpled mere inches away from Drake’s.
“You destroyed Mom’s mind, you bastard. Weren’t there for her when she needed you the most, and now she’s gone. Did you even cry when you found out your wife was dead? I certainly never saw a tear. Oh, and you almost destroyed my mind, too. Turned me into a murderer, that’s what you did. Drake? Nah, I would have just let the police handle him. But your words and what you did to our little family, broke me. Broke her. You killed your own child, watched your wife fall apart all because you were incapable of love. True, real love. Even years later, you let your wife down when you should have been there, by her side.”
It didn’t matter to Angie that her father would never hear the words. She said them, lancing the pain inside her own mind. Looking around at her handiwork, she forced her stomach to calm down. The two men who’d done such unspeakable things, hurt so many people, killed for no reason, were gone. There was one thing left to add to the crime scene. Reaching in her father’s pocket, she pulled out the syringe, empty vial of Oxytocin, the package it came in, and the most important piece of all, the lab report. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed them onto the floor near Drake’s body.
The crime scene would be easy to piece together. Doubts about his son-in-law’s story began to simmer inside the old doc’s mind. Too many unanswered questions, holes in his story. The inquisitive mind of a renowned physician kicked in. A lab test confirmed his suspicions. So he decided to go talk to him, clear the air, his bereaved mind in overdrive after attending the funeral of his only child. What he found was a drunk, doped up Drake, who’d just finished filling out the insurance forms for his wife, and was busy trying to dispose of the evidence that could nail him to the wall.
Of course, the wise doctor immediately recognized the vial, picked it up. Showed Drake the lab report, and questioned the reasons for Oxytocin in Drake’s possession. A horrible, horrible argument ensued, resulting in a violent confrontation. The distraught doctor pulled his gun, the guilty son-in-law tried to fight back, and they fell to the floor. A tussle for the gun ended with the fatal shot. Poor Drake Benson, already teetering on the edge from his crimes, the alcohol and drugs, topped off with a nasty head wound, suffered a heart attack. How fucking tragic.
Without another glance at either of the men who tried to ruin not only her world, but her mother’s, Angie picked up the urn from the table and retraced her steps out the sliding glass door. Fresh snow covered her tracks from earlier, but to be safe, she snatched the rake leaning against the house and walked backward, making sure to smooth away her steps. Once she reached the tree-line at the edge of her yard, she turned and jogged through the cover of trees, the urn in one hand and the rake in the other. Within minutes, she was near the sign leading into their subdivision.
Her salvation awaited inside the warm confines of Kevin’s SUV parked across the street. Reaching the vehicle, she held up the rake, and Kevin exited, running to the tailgate. He opened it and she tossed in the rake without a word. Neither of them said anything as they ran to the doors and jumped in.
Kevin pulled onto the highway. They rode in silence for several miles. He knew what she’d done. There was no need to talk about it. As the adrenaline rush waned, the impact of what she had done slammed into Angie’s mind. A killer. She’d committed cold-blooded, premeditated, perfectly executed murder.
Twice.
Like father, like daughter.
Angie shuddered when they passed the spot where the accident happened. She tried, but couldn’t stop her body from shaking.
Kevin noticed Angie’s apprehension. Making sure his voice was calm, soothing, he said, “It’s okay, Angie. I’ve always had your back. Always. I’ll get you home soon. Don’t worry.”
For the first time in days, Angie relaxed a bit, leaning her head back against the warm seat. “Aunt Miriam…?”
“Fine. The call’s been made, just like we planned. Cops should arrive soon at Drake’s. Well, depending on the roads.”
Angie stared through the windshield and watched the snow float to the ground. Soon the snow would melt and become a distant memory to all who witnessed it. Just like she would. And Drake. And her father. Angela Renee Langford Benson was gone, her life cut short by tragedy. Cremated with the tiny corpse of her unborn daughter, remembered by no one except those who truly loved her.
She could live with that. Would live with that. After all, she didn’t do this only for herself. She looked over at Kevin, her rock, the man who believed the unbelievable, who helped her overcome obstacles that should have killed her soul. Risked his life and his livelihood to help Angie obtain her revenge. The one who helped fill in the gaps to her plan. Her amazing cousin had accomplished so much in such a short time. Kevin had wheeled her out of the hospital in a body bag after playing the role of Dr. Hope with uncanny accuracy. Held Angie in the hospital bed while she sobbed after he broke the news of her mother’s death. Took care of her mother’s remains without question. Her mother’s suicide was the final, last cord tethering her to the part of her mind that whispered her plans were wrong. Nearly broke her. But, it was her wonderful cousin who took her to Aunt Miriam’s house so she could hide and recover until all her plans were completed.
The part that struck her the most was when Kevin told her that he and his mother had known for awhile that her father had killed Amelia. Before Kevin’s own father passed away, while on his deathbed, he finally told his wife and son the reason he hated his brother-in-law, Jerome, so much. One night, right after her mother’s first breakdown and stint in a hospital, Uncle Cliff had gone to check on Jerome. Found him drunk in his study, crying at his desk, sobbing about what he’d done to Amelia.
Afraid of what the news would do to his psychologically fragile sister-in-law, Clifford Stephens never told a soul until the day before he died. So, when Angie told Kevin about what she remembered while in a coma, he believed every word. After he related what he knew to be true, it solidified Angie’s decision to carry out her plans.
Yes, to make good on the promise he had made to her over thirty years ago, her cousin had risked everything for her. And Angie loved him for it.
“Thank you, Kevin. I don’t…”
Kevin shook his head. “No… don’t… Just rest now. You need all your strength and wits about you. This isn’t all over yet. You know that. Besides, family doesn’t need to thank family for being family, right?”
Angie bit her lip to keep her tears inside. He was right, and she knew it. She needed to mentally prepare for the role of a lifetime. It was one thing to mask her real identity from others, hidden by clothes, sunglasses and a veil. Pulling it off in front of the police was another. She had to think of the right words to say without saying much. Once she did, it would be over.
Kevin and Aunt Miriam were all she had left, and they would work together as one unit to get beyond the betrayal. The sorrow. The immense damage to all their souls. Then, finally, the entire nightmare needed to be buried. Locked away and never discussed again. Wrongs had been righted. Penance paid.
“Right. Hey, you remember how much it used to annoy your parents when we’d be in the back seat, asking repeatedly are we there yet?”
Kevin smiled at her and reached across the space between and patted her hand. “Don’t you dare start that!”
“I won’t. Because I already know the answer. Almost there…”