Page 42 of My Wife

Gunshots. I heard gunshots.

Chase had a gun. Unless he and Tommy got separated, they should be together.

I cling to that as I run. It’s nowhere near where I left Clay, and right when I’m beginning to think my ears are off and I went in the totally wrong direction, I heard a strangled noise like an animal dying.

I immediately stop running. My heavy breathing makes it hard to hear, so I swallow it, forcing it down, going light-headed as I choose listening to my surroundings over trying to catch my breath.

There it is again. Right ahead of me?—

Oh. My. God.

I thought it was bad when I walked into Tyler’s room and the rancid odor slapped me in the face. As I push past the trees, it’s a hundred times worse—and we’re outside. Why does it smell so bad?

I get my answer when I see another body.

Fuck.

The white polo tells me it’s Chase unless, for some reason, he and Tommy changed. I look for his head, but it’s hard to tell from where I am. He’s curled up in the fetal position, head tucked, so if he has curls, I don’t know.

I have to know.

What made that noise, I wonder. Did an animal come upon this scene, thinking it was getting a free meal from one of my friends, then catch the scent of death and absolute putrid shit on the air?

I’m breathing through my mouth until I get used to it. Can I get used to it? It doesn’t matter. I just need to see who this is?—

A death rattle. A groan. A wordless please.

“Holy shit!”

That noise came from the body!

I run. Common sense says I should run back the way I came, not toward the body, but if there’s any chance it’s Tommy…

It’s not. It’s Chase.

His face is white, drawn into a mask of agony. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. From the front, I notice what I missed in the back: two bullet holes in his white polo shirt, each one in a different shoulder. He got shot with his own gun considering that’s the only weapon I see by his expensive loafer shoe.

But that’s not the worst part.

He’s curled up in the fetal position, not because of the gunshots that got him, but because he’s cradling his…

His…

I heave. The smell was bad, but it’s even worse when I look down and see parts of Chase Whitmore on the outside that shouldalwaysbe on the inside.

And he’s still fucking alive? How?

I recoil. “Chase, oh my God… Chase? What happened to you?”

“Disembowelment,” comes an answering voice. “Evisceration. Whatever you want to call it, someone cut him open like a fish, but it’s not enough to die. Not right away, that is.”

Torture. This is torture.

Aaron was drowned. Vee, pushed. Tyler probably died with the first stab to his heart. Summer had her throat cut—and her tongue cut out. Madison was slashed to ribbons. All quicker deaths, some more efficient than others.

But Chase…

“You did this to Chase? How?” The gunshots rang out from a different direction than where I left Clay. I know he didn’t catch up to me right away, but how did he get over here, gut Chase, shoot chase,tortureChase… it’s not possible, but I don’t want to hear it when Clay shrugs and says, “I didn’t.”

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