Page 95 of Worse Than Wicked
We go to the side of the road where Dixie went off. Far below, one headlight shines through the trees before being swallowed by foliage. It’s pointing downwards, so it won’t draw attention from drivers passing above. It will almost certainly be tomorrow before anyone sees her down there. Unfortunately, her new car is equipped with several safety features, including automatically calling emergency services on impact.
“Think she’s dead?” Duke asks.
“Yes.”
From below, the eerie strains of aMass Hypnosissong drift up from the wreckage, the speakers still intact.
“Should we go check?”
“No,” I say. “We should be gone when emergency vehicles arrive, and it would take longer than you think to climb down there and back up, not to mention all the footprints we’d leave in the dirt. Accidents happen here ever year, and driving at night increases the risk of fatality.”
“What if she’s not dead?”
“Then we try again,” I say. “Sooner than later.”
Part of me hopes she isn’t, despite the risks. I picture visiting her in the hospital when she’s injured, crimping her oxygen while she lays in a coma. But that would deprive me of watching her die. I’m beginning to think I’ll never witness the exact moment of someone’s death. Each attempt increases the danger, the chances of being caught.
I just need to see it one time. Then I’ll stop.
The next day, we have our answer. Back to playing ourselves, we watch the news on the hotel TV.
“The popular influencer was driving through the Smoky Mountains when her car went off the road,” the reporter says. “Police have not ruled out foul play in the fatal accident.”
“Fuck,” Duke says, tossing down the controller. “What do we do now?”
“We follow the plan,” I say. “Nothing changes.”
“Until it does,” he mutters.
In the car, Mabel scrolls on her phone. After a few hours, she says, “There’s a conspiracy theorist blowing up a rumor online that could be in our favor. They’re saying that band she toured with did it because she left them.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think police put much stock in conspiracy theories,” I say. “We should probably lay low for a while.”
Mabel doesn’t say anything. I glance sideways at her, but she’s looking out the window, her face hidden from view. Duke said she wouldn’t stop, that she’d just keep asking us to kill more people until we got caught. I wanted to kill as much as she did, so I told him he was wrong. Now I wonder.
I still haven’t gotten my perfect kill, but I’d rather have my freedom. I’ve been waiting for years to see that spark of life leave someone’s eyes, to feel it enter me. I can wait years longer. I’m a patient man with all the time in the world.
But Mabel is bloodthirsty and reckless. She isn’t pulling the trigger, and she’s gotten away with it for so long, had Dahlia to clean up her mess each time, that it must have made her think she’s invincible. We’ve been on a killing spree all summer, and I can only guess at who she’s thinking about now. We just killed Dixie, and she might already be moving on to her next victim inher mind. But even the most notorious serial killers get caught eventually.
I adjust the rearview. Duke is watching Mabel too, a frown on his brow. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I know it’s not only our appearance that’s identical in that moment. He’s thinking the same thing I am. I need to let him know we’re on the same page, that I have the same concerns. I thought it was just the Lady Alice making him paranoid, but now I’m not so sure. This time, maybe he’s the smarter one. I know a lot, but he knows people in a way I never will.
I can’t say all that with Mabel right here beside us, though. I try to convey it through a look, but I can’t be sure that Duke understands. He would have two years ago. But he changed more than I anticipated during that six months I was gone. I assumed he would carry on as he always had, and when I returned for him, he’d remain as unchanged as I had. At the very least, I thought he’d return to his natural state once we were reunited. But without me there to depend on, he seems to have lost himself, and I haven’t been able to help him find his way back. Now, he depends more on drugs than on me.
We drive straight through to Faulkner that day. I hope being around the rest of the family will make him happier, like it did earlier in the summer. We’ve only been gone for a month, but Royal is coming home for Labor Day, and even King agreed to come down for the holiday weekend, so the five of us will be together for a few days. It might be time to bring them in on it, talk over what to do about Duke. If we’re all together, he will listen to us. We can listen to him too, help him decide where to go from here.
I have to admit defeat this time. That I don’t know what’s best for him, though I like to think I do. As much as I don’t want it to be true, I have to acknowledge that he might not want the life we’ve built together. He might want to stay in Arkansas,where he’s wanted to return so badly since we left. Or he might be happier in New York, where most of our family is located, including King, our mother, and Royal, though he’s not in the city.
They might take care of him in a way I don’t know how to, give him whatever it is that I can’t, no matter how hard I’ve tried to determine what that may be. I can’t give it to him because I don’t know what I’m missing. I know my strengths, and knowing someone’s emotional needs without being told is not one of them. I don’t share those needs, so they are foreign to me. For most of our lives, I could ask Duke what he needed, and he would tell me. But he’s holding back now. Even I can figure that out. What I can’t figure out, to my endless frustration, is what he’s not telling me.
Pushing up against him over and over isn’t getting either of us where we need to go. I always thought we’d be on the same team, that whatever happened, we’d face it together. But now we’re becoming the source of each other’s ruin. He may show the cracks in his armor more readily, but I’ve been breaking too. I’ve made so many mistakes—careless ones, ones that could cost us everything. That’s unlike me. I don’t ordinarily lose my temper. I don’t get sloppy. I don’t lose sight of what matters.
Lately, I’ve done all three.
Between worrying about Duke, watching over Mabel, scaling up distribution of the product that enables us to live the life we’ve chosen, a grueling class schedule, chasing ghosts online, and now, the bodies stacking up, my tenuous hold is slipping. I can’t carry it all anymore. So if Duke wants to break free of my grip, to strike out on his own, I have to let him. No matter what I want, I can’t hold onto him any longer. I can’t fight for him when he’s fighting against me every step of the way.
Even if it destroys me, I have to let him go. I’m beginning to see that if I don’t, I’m going to destroy him instead. Watchinghim struggle, seeing him in pain, is worse than any pain I could feel for myself. It has taught me so many things this year—about him, about myself, about my limitations. I may not need happiness, but he does. I have to let him find that, even if it’s not with me. Because if I can’t choose us, together, I will always, always choose him.
twenty-four
