Page 51 of Burn for the Devil

I threw myself into my work.

Two hours later, I had a new collection of oils, the tiny bottles containing chips of the crystals and other stones we sold. Inspiration had struck me, and we now had stock I immediately created labels for with names like Dance with the Devil, Be Gone, Alternate Reality, and Sweet Poisoned Love.

“Um. Those are different.” Toni was peeking over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I chuckled softly. “I guess they are. They smell good, at least.” Thinking for a moment, I said, “We should donate some. I made way too many.”

Toni beamed. “Great idea, we haven’t done that for a while. I’ll pack some up.”

As I worked, I kept glancing over my shoulder and eyeing the front door. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Ramone showed up, looking like the devil he’d claimed to be. I was almost disappointed when he didn’t, and the day passed by uneventfully.

When I got home, I stood in front of my dresser where my sweater still lay. The indent in the fabric where a magical crystal ball had been perched reminded me of everything that had happened.

I’d never felt drawn to Timothy. Sure, I’d enjoyed his company at times, and I suppose I’d loved him on some level, in some way, but that relationship had been based on expectations. I was expected to be the pretty, supportive wife who came froma good family and with his own background, aspirations and education—he was perfect in my family’s eyes. It was the modern version of an arranged relationship and marriage.

Backing away from the dresser and turning around, I went and sat in my cushioned chair in the corner of my room. Timothy hadn’t deserved to be slaughtered in cold blood. He was obnoxious and narcissistic, yes, but he wasn’t abadman.

The police had questioned me shortly after his murder and a lawyer my parents had evidently hired walked me through the whole process. I’d followed my instincts after my consultation with the lawyer and denied any knowledge of who the assailant was. My mind had been clouded by all the stress and I did everything I was told to do by my legal representation.

Afterward, my mother stated they hadn’t hired a lawyer to guide me through the police questioning—she was stunned I was a temporary suspect. I wasn’t surprised, seeing as I was there when it happened. She’d been beside herself, concerned I’d gone through that process all alone while I tried to explain that I was fine.

My mother had been thrown back to Zoey’s death and all the questions about drugs and alcohol that’d been directed at her and my father. It’d been awful and thinking about her other daughter being subject to questioning under criminal circumstances had brought it all back. It didn’t escape me she wasn’t truly disturbed for me, but rather our family name.

My gut told me Ramone had orchestrated the legal representation and I doubted he’d ever be held accountable even if he hadn’t interfered. To keep him away from me, I’d considered pointing the finger at him several times. I’d fantasized about picking up my cell phone and telling the authorities everything I knew. The thought of repeating what I went through after being trapped in the cottage was the only thing that stopped me.

There was also the matter of Ramone having said I was now atarget, due to the crystal ball showing me images. A shudder ran through me. A target for what? I hadn’t told anyone—he was the only one who knew. It wasn’t like people would start treating me as if I were a psychic hotline and demand their fortunes be told. Besides, the ball only showed me the past. It hadn’t had a thing to say about the future. The only thing I was a target for was Ramone.

Sighing, I stood up and began getting ready for bed. I’d felt so free, there in that other world with him. Now I was back to being a dutiful daughter. Or was I? With Timothy now gone, I decided I would still spread my wings a bit just like I’d decided in that dream-like world.

My parents couldn’t force the merger with my ex-fiancé anymore and I’d take a stronger stand for myself when it came to them. I understood, fundamentally, where my parents came from with their worries and appreciated their care and concern, but I was no longer willing to bend to their every whim. A sliver of guilt crawled through me. I was very blessed with a great mom and dad; they were just overbearing at times.

Right?

My bed was still unmade, the sheets, blankets and pillows bearing evidence of the activities that had taken place there earlier. My heart sank as I settled in and rolled over, pulling the comforter up. Shoving the longing for him away, I fell asleep.

30

Samantha

Timothy’s funeral took place in an old, stone church just outside of the city, attended by Boston’s elite. His meager family had greeted everyone as they came in to pay their respects, thanking them for coming. After a short service, we left for the reception.

The sky had been mostly clear, just a few puffy white clouds dotting the sky overhead. It was a day he would’ve loved to take his little boat out in the bay, to watch the birds while hoping to see a whale in the distance. It was an odd feeling, knowing I’d never see him again. I almost let out a laugh, thinking about how he would chastise me for an outfit, or a poor choice in wine when he loved his cheap beer while he was out on the water, but when it came to any other time—God forbid.

“Are you doing all right?” my mother’s soft voice interrupted my thoughts from the other side of the limousine.

I nodded and pulled my clutch onto my lap. “I am. It's so strange that he’s gone.”

My mother frowned in pity. “It is,” she agreed. “I hope they find the person who did this.” She shook her head. “We don’t want people looking at you differently.”

“I was just remembering how he loved to go out in his little boat.” The car we were in was traveling down the highway, the ocean sparkling in the sun out the passenger side windows. “It was the only time he really relaxed.” I ignored my mother’s remark.

“Him and his piss beer.” My dad chuckled and rolled his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was criticizing or fondly reminiscing.

I gave a low laugh. “Yes, I remember.”

“Don’t forget Julia’s engagement party tonight.” My mother changed the subject. “We’ll send a car at seven.”

Switching my gaze to hers, I sat back. “I didn’t forget.” The car pulled off a highway exit, following the winding roads.

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