Looking for Chapter 1? It’s here.
Chapter 2? Here.
How about Chapter 3?
Can’t forget Chapter 4!
There’s also Chapter 5.
This chapter contains a hell of a lot of violence, up to and including attempted murder. There’s also a general sense of despair. If you’re looking for sex, there isn’t any. Consider re-reading Chapters 4 and 5.
Carrie rang the doorbell, her fingers drumming lazily against the wall of the garage as she waited. She acknowledged her racing heartbeat; she had a lot to say and, despite her feelings about Vicky personally, she questioned whether she would be able to hold back once she opened the front door.
The chance meeting with Jamie and Elisa and the feelings it awakened within her. Finally coming face-to-face with the Singawhore. The ensuing brawl, and being placed under arrest – or should she leave that part out? The knowledge that she’d been right about Alan never actually loving his wife. Rick and Alan’s truce. She could even stand to complain about the flight home, which was the most uncomfortable four hours she could remember. Air travel was enough of a pain in the ass without being swollen and sore.
Her good-bye with Alan was as emotional as she had expected, though Carrie was certain it was more of a “we’ll keep in touch” than a legitimate good-bye. While she hoped Alan felt it as strongly as she did, what really struck her was just how okay with all of it Rick had been. Yes, the night before he’d let the other man fuck his wife in multiple places as though he’d never felt any jealousy or betrayal over their affair all those years ago. But on Sunday when she kissed Alan good-bye at the airport Rick stood off to the side before offering him a friendly handshake. And it was a very long kiss, too.
Carrie doubted she would tell Vicky about the threesome. It had been one of the most incredible things Carrie had ever experienced in her life and she wanted to shout it to the world, to write about it, to document in some fashion all the lurid details before years passed and the memory of that night began to fade. But it wasn’t any of Vicky’s business, even if Carrie was convinced she would be jealous to hear about it.
She had been doing her best to deal with all of it over the last few days, but it was hard not having anybody with whom she could talk about it. There was Rick, of course, but he had lived it alongside her. There was no sense rehashing the whole thing to him; she knew he wouldn’t understand why she was still dwelling on it. She’d messaged a friend when they got back from Florida to let him know she had big news, but he hadn’t replied. That wasn’t like him at all; he was totally into her.
As the door opened, Carrie attempted to force another smile. Her face still hurt too much. Vicky’s own smile lasted a second before her eyes went wide. “Oh. My. God.” Carrie bristled at the interjection as Vicky stared, taking in her swollen lip and her blackened and puffy eye. Her nostrils were still red and scabby, the scratches on her bare shoulders from Jamie’s nails a dull, fading pink. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“It’s a long story.” This despite her instincts to blurt it all out right there.
Vicky invited her in, all traces of the usual pleasantry gone from her person. In its place, Carrie detected actual concern. She stepped inside the house and Vicky shut the door behind them. When she noticed Carrie was walking with a slight limp she asked, “Are you okay? Do you need help or anything?”
“I’m fine.” She felt Vicky’s hand on her shoulder and roughly pushed it away, concerned after she did that the gesture came off as too aggressive. “Sorry. It still hurts a little.” They stood in the entryway.
“Well, what the hell happened to you? Car accident?” Vicky’s eyes flashed unmistakable worry. “Is Rick okay?”
“I got jumped by these two women.”
“At the ball? What, just two random women?”
Carrie shook her head. “We knew both of them. One was the wife of the guy I had an affair with when we were in Korea.” She swallowed hard and spoke: “Elisa. Remember I told you about them? They were both stationed in Osan with Rick.”
“Oh, right! Friends of yours. They had a little boy, right?”
“And a little girl. Anyway, the other was this little slut Rick met in Singapore. I don’t know if Rick ever mentioned her to you. I want to say he did.” Vicky nodded. “Before Saturday I’d never even met her before.”
“Wow. Awfully strange that they were both there at the ball, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Jamie wasn’t even in the military!” Carrie anticipated Vicky’s next question and said, “Rick told me she’d emailed him a few weeks ago to tell him she’d gotten engaged to some airman and had moved back to the United States.”
“Rick still emails her?”
“No. He said it was right out of the blue. First time in years. He didn’t tell me about it when she emailed because he wasn’t planning on writing her back. He just read it and deleted it right away.”
“I don’t know. Sounds kind of sneaky to me.”
“Nothing’s going on. I trust him.” At this, Vicky raised an eyebrow. Carrie found herself upset by the implication, as well as her skepticism. Where did she get off calling Rick’s character into question? She had, by her own admission, loved Carrie’s husband as much as she loved her own. In fact, that love had seriously hurt Carrie’s relationship with Rick. She tried not to let her annoyance show. “He cut ties with her right before we met you guys. He needed to. We had to focus on our marriage.”
“I’m sure everything was above board,” Vicky agreed as she led Carrie past the pool room and kitchen and into the family room. “Coffee?” Carrie answered affirmatively. She kicked a couple toys away from the large light blue sofa, then took a seat. She took her wristlet off of her wrist, the keys still clipped to the strap. The whole thing clattered noisily as Carrie set it down on the coffee table. Vicky crossed to the kitchen and got two cups down from the cupboard.
“It was so weird. It was like they both knew each other somehow.”
“Who?” Vicky asked, confusion in her voice. “You mean Rick and…” Her voice trailed off.
“The two bitches who jumped me.”
“Could they have?”
“I can’t imagine how. Not unless Rick mentioned Alan’s wife to Jamie but even then, how would she have gotten in touch with her?”
Vicky made a sound like she was giving serious thought to Carrie’s scenario. “And why would she, even?”
“Exactly! What, just so they could eventually confront me? Too much effort.”
“So you’re thinking it’s a coincidence?” Vicky asked as she filled the cups.
Carrie watched as Vicky stirred for a very long time. “Both of them being there, yeah. That was a coincidence. But that night, right before I first saw Jamie, Rick and I ran into Alan and Elisa. Rick got into it with Alan and it was this big, ugly scene. Maybe Jamie noticed, realized who I was, and approached Elisa.”
Vicky walked over to the sofa with the two steaming cups in hand. She set one down on Carrie’s coaster and spoke: “Maybe, but why? Just to…beat you up or something?” She took her usual seat on the smaller sofa.
“I don’t know. I guess.” Carrie shrugged.
“That’s pathological.” Even as the words left her lips, Vicky appeared to be considering it.
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Vicky took a sip of her coffee. “Well, they really did a number on you.”
Carrie nodded, briefly considering that her soreness was due almost as much to Rick and Alan as to Elisa and Jamie. Still, she didn’t let on. Instead she said, “You should see what I did to them.”
Vicky’s eyes widened. She seemed incredulous at the sound of Carrie’s words, as though she couldn’t fathom the thought of her actually winning a fight against one woman, much less two. “What did you do to them?”
“Let’s just say I was the only one standing when they finally broke up the fight. From what I heard, Elisa will never walk again. And Jamie? I hope she’s brain-damaged.” Vicky looked down toward the coffee table and Carrie followed her eyes down to the coffee cup on the coaster. She went on: “That’ll teach them to fuck with me.”
“I wonder if Jamie went to the ball because she knew Rick would be there. Like, she wanted to see him one last time.” Vicky made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as though she was implying that of course Jamie was there to see Rick. No way could it have been a coincidence. The “I wonder if” sounded disingenuous and passive-aggressive.
“She didn’t even say hello to him.”
“Not as far as you know, anyway. I really hope they haven’t been emailing regularly all this time.”
“They’re not. Really. I trust Rick.”
“Good. It wouldn’t be good for anyone if you had to start checking his email account.” Carrie denied she ever would, so Vicky changed her tact: “Well, I”m proud of you for giving as good as you got. I don’t know if I would have done as well in your shoes, with two crazy bitches ganging up on me.”
Carrie watched as Vicky’s eyes drifted back down to the coffee cup, then she spoke. “I’ve never fought like that before.” She paused. “I mean, I’ve practically never fought before, ever, but definitely not like this. I mean, I broke Elisa’s leg! I could see her femur sticking out!” Vicky looked up. Her face was white. She was hanging on every word Carrie spoke. “There was blood everywhere.”
“Look at you! You gonna try for a career in MMA?” Vicky’s voice was shaky. Carrie couldn’t be sure, but she thought she actually detected some fear in her eyes. “You gonna face Ronda Rousey in the Octagon sometime?” Maybe it was just respect. Carrie couldn’t tell. Could it be admiration? She wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“No way. I never want to go through something like that again. I’m just lucky the police knew they started it. Otherwise I might be sitting in some jail in Jacksonville right now.”
Vicky’s eyes glanced back down at Carrie’s coffee cup. “You’re right. It could have been a lot worse.” She seemed to be regarding the cup with curiosity. Carrie wondered why; it was identical to Vicky’s own.
“All I’ve been able to think about the last couple days is those poor kids. Zack and Amy. What’s their life going to be like now? Their mother is crippled. She might be facing prison time on top of it.” The last sentence weighed heavily on her. “Jesus. Prison.”
“You sound like you feel sorry for her, rather than for the kids.”
“I don’t. I’m just thinking how easily that could have been me. What if the security camera was in a different place? What if they didn’t see Elisa throw the first punch? Then maybe I’d be in jail and they’d be free. Maybe that’s what they wanted the whole time. Rick couldn’t be a single parent. Raising two kids is hard enough for both of us together, but he couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t do it alone.”
Carrie expected the other woman to give some earnest rebuke, to tell her that it’s not all that hard to raise two kids and in fact go out of her way to paint it as the simplest, most natural thing in the world, even when both parents worked full-time as she and Paul did. She might even make some offhanded remark about how it’s easy if you have the right partner, and then when Carrie reflexively asked for clarification she would insist that she didn’t intend to imply that she and Rick were poorly-matched. Of course not, how could you even think that was what I meant?
But that’s who Vicky was: Catty. Passive-aggressive. Haughty and superior. Determined to be the Alpha dog of the quad at all costs. Yes, Paul was the one who had broken Carrie’s heart and shattered her confidence, but Vicky was the one who’d attempted to drive a wedge between her and Rick. She’d nearly succeeded, too. All of a sudden Carrie felt angry with herself for trying to maintain a friendship with her.
She looked over at Vicky, sitting on the sofa across from her. Her eyes were still on the coffee cup. Carrie watched her in silence until Vicky realized she was being stared at and she looked up. Vicky’s lips quickly formed a plastic smile that made her usual fake smile at the front door seem genuine. She gestured to the cup on the coaster. “Go on, Carrie,” she said. “Drink your coffee.”
Carrie reached down to take the cup in her hand. She held it for a moment, studying the glazed white ceramic mug, heavy and featureless, before giving it a half-turn under the pretense of switching hands. Just as she suspected, there was nothing distinctive about the cup, no reason for Vicky to have spent half the conversation staring at it so intently.
“It was you.”
A few seconds passed before Vicky spoke. “What was me?” Then she ducked as Carrie’s coffee cup sailed at her face before crashing against the wall behind the sofa. It shattered there, sending jagged ceramic fragments and a wave of still-hot coffee cascading over the back of the couch. Vicky leapt to her feet, narrowly avoiding a serious burn. She looked down at her forearm, where a long, jagged cut had opened up. “What the fuck? You cut me!”
“You’re the only one who knew about both of them.”
“What the hell are you even talking about, Carrie? What is wrong with you?” There was definitely something in Vicky’s eyes, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else, and Carrie didn’t like it. She got up from the sofa and walked around the coffee table, never taking her eyes off the other woman, even as Vicky’s eyes remained fixed on her. Vicky put her own coffee cup down on the table. “Get the fuck out of my house,” she spat, adding for emphasis a decisive “you crazy little bitch.” There was determination in her voice. Arrogance, even. How dare she act like the victim here?
Instead of walking to the door, Carrie stopped where she stood.
“Move it!” Vicky barked. “Broke my fucking cup and now I have to clean coffee and broken glass out of my fucking couch.” But Carrie was tired of listening so she lunged for Vicky’s throat, pulling her quickly and forcefully to the ground. For an instant she considered that it was easier than she thought. She expected Vicky to be more on guard, to give her more of a fight.
As Carrie tried to get on top of her opponent Vicky sent up a foot that connected with her midsection and sent her reeling. Carrie felt the hard corner of the coffee table dig into the meat of her leg as she moved past it, colliding with the armchair and upending it. As Carrie picked herself back up from the carpet she saw Vicky rushing her and hurried to her feet, bracing herself for impact. She adopted a classic fighter’s stance – or what Carrie imagined such a stance looked like – in the hopes of being able to withstand the force of Vicky’s charge.
Rather than absorbing it, Carrie reached out at the last second and grabbed her shoulders, trying furiously to force her off course. The two women grappled, arms pulling and hands twisting flesh, knees connecting angrily with stomachs and legs. Teeth were bared, both pairs of eyes narrowed to desperate slits, but neither woman spoke. Carrie considered that it probably looked like some kind of perverse tango.
She could see the muscles in Vicky’s forearms flexing and rippling and she dug her heels into the carpet. There was no way in hell she was going to let her win. Carrie pushed back even harder, and finally managed to shove Vicky into the piano, slamming it against the wall and shaking the entire room. Photos fell from the piano in their frames, and the various dusty tchotchkes followed. Nearby, one of Paul’s framed photos fell from the wall, the glass exploding outward when it hit the floor.
Carrie wasted no time in following the slam with a vicious punch aimed squarely at Vicky’s cheekbone, but the other woman moved out of the way and her fist cracked against the piano instead. She cried out in pain and cradled her hand, which gave Vicky all the time she needed to grab her own coffee cup and swing it in Carrie’s direction. The younger woman was quicker, fueled by adrenaline and white hot-rage, and threw up her arms to block the assault. The cup was empty – Vicky had inadvertently dumped out the coffee when she moved to avoid the mug Carrie threw – so at least Carrie didn’t have to worry about getting burned. She swatted the cup out of Vicky’s grasp and it fell to the carpet, skidding harmlessly to a stop.
Carrie paid the cup no heed as she plowed her fist into Vicky’s stomach. Another punch followed, landing hard against her shoulder, and a third connected with her mouth. The fourth missed its target as Vicky leaned out of the way of the blow and threw one of her own. Carrie’s raised arms perfectly mimicked boxers she’d seen on television. She held her arms in front of her face even as Vicky’s fist battered her forearm. She maintained the posture and Vicky adjusted her aim, her next punch careening off of Carrie’s ribcage and nearly taking her breath away.
“Oh, fuck you!” Carrie shouted as she pulled back her fist. Vicky raised her arms just as Carrie had, steeling herself for the punch. Carrie changed her mind at the last second and kicked her instead. As her foot swung upward Carrie pictured someone in a martial arts movie delivering a roundhouse kick that wins the fight. What she actually delivered wasn’t exactly that, but it did take Vicky off balance, allowing Carrie a moment to grab her by the legs and tackle her to the floor.
Or she would have, if the coffee table hadn’t been in the way. As Carrie pushed Vicky against it, the glass pane buckled and caved in under her back. In seconds the large shards of clear glass crumbled into chunks and tiny bits. The table creaked and the sudden weight of the two women collapsed it completely, splintering the smooth wood into dangerous pieces and scattering tiny pebbles of glass everywhere. Vicky hit the carpet with a thud and Carrie used her to break her own fall.
The two women lay there for a moment, neither moving or making a sound. Then Carrie pulled herself off of Vicky and brushed some tiny, almost powdery glass off of her clothing. Her top was torn. That sucked; Carrie really liked it. But she didn’t feel too awful. No visible cuts, as far as she could tell. She left the other woman lying in the wreckage of the coffee table. She wasn’t even moving.
Carrie felt panic wash over herself. What was she supposed to do? Should she just leave? Or was she supposed to…finish her off? The very thought seemed so grotesque and wrong to Carrie that she could hardly let herself consider it. But she knew that she couldn’t let Vicky tell anyone what had happened. The fight with Elisa and Jamie had been self-defense but this wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. She would go to prison. She would miss out on watching Jake and Libby grow up. She’d probably lose Rick too.
No. She had to end this right here and right now. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, and she questioned whether she’d actually be able to go through with it, but it was either this or go to prison so she was going to have to figure it out, and summon the fortitude to see it through. She looked for something heavy she could use as a bludgeon: a broken table leg, a lamp, or even the fucking piano. Anything that would just finish it. That is, if it wasn’t over already. For all Carrie knew, she was already dead.
Carrie looked around the kitchen, eager to find something that would work. She reminded herself to avoid putting her hands on anything she didn’t have to, and made a mental note to collect and destroy anything she’d touched since she’d been in the house, or at least wipe it down. That included the broken coffee mug. She used a dishtowel to pull open one of the drawers in the island, where she found a large black flashlight. It felt like aluminum, heavy in Carrie’s hand. It would work fine.
Carrie imagined swinging it down into the other woman’s head. She wasn’t sure where would be the best spot. Top of the head? Back of the neck? Temple? She thought about what the impact would feel like, and the sound it would make. The thought repulsed her, made her stomach churn and her knees feel weak. But there was no turning back now. She closed the drawer and walked back to the family room where she found Vicky trying to rise from the pile of wood and glass that moments earlier had been a coffee table.
Vicky groaned in pain as she pushed off of the floor, and as tiny bits of glass bit into the palms of her hands the groans became an inhuman howl. To Carrie’s dread she stood up, her eyes ablaze with rage. Her lips receded in a primal sneer, much like a dog that’s protecting its territory from a threat. Carrie saw blood running thick and heavy from her lips, painting a crimson web between her teeth. It was definitely from the punch she’d landed against Vicky’s mouth. No missing teeth though.
She mumbled something that sounded like “Kill you” and charged at Carrie. Carrie charged as well, and the two women grappled once again. Vicky’s hands made for Carrie’s throat, but she held Vicky’s wrists and pushed hard. At the same time Carrie could feel Vicky’s leg wrapping around her own like a snare.
Oh, hell no. Carrie wasn’t going to let Vicky take her down. Even as she continued to struggle against the other woman, Carrie kicked wildly against the intruding appendage, eventually stomping downward with all her might. She imagined Vicky’s leg bursting in an eruption of blood and bone the way Elisa’s had, but all she managed to do was stun the other woman long enough to get a couple punches in. Just body blows; that was all Carrie could manage. She would have liked to have gone for a couple head shots, and maybe caved in her goddamned skull while she was at it.
Vicky recovered quickly and answered Carrie’s punches in kind. They landed square against her temples, first the right, then the left, then the right again, or so Carrie thought. She hadn’t even realized that Vicky had stopped punching her, in fact, when she noticed there were now three identical opponents standing in front of her, all with stringy blonde hair and swollen, bruised eyes. They were talking in unison through broken, bloody lips, spitting epithets Carrie couldn’t quite understand. Their collective voice was strange and jarring. Were they even speaking English? They had their fists up in what appeared to be a defensive position, and Carrie wasn’t certain which Vicky she should hit first. The one in the middle, she supposed. Yes, that was probably the real one.
Carrie wanted to say something fierce and intimidating as she lunged, but all that came out of her mouth was a turbulent scream, a war cry. Her hands darted toward Vicky’s throat, but her adversary sidestepped the clumsy move and delivered another punch that crashed into Carrie’s face and left her crumbling to the ground. And just like that, Carrie knew she had lost. She hadn’t the will nor the determination – to say nothing of the strength – to fight another moment longer to save her own life. As the realization washed over her she also understood she was never going to kill Vicky. She simply didn’t have it in her.
Okay, bitch. Do what you’re going to do.
Vicky’s hands closed around her throat and her fingers pressed inward. Carrie’s vision went cloudy and dim. As her body settled onto the floor, Carrie felt something coarse and gritty under her back. Sand? Was she on the beach? She fancied that she could hear seagulls overhead and children playing nearby. She could even feel the sun on her skin, and she tried to let herself relax and enjoy it. It was hard to do with Vicky throttling her, but Carrie knew that all she had to do was go to sleep and it would all be over.
What choice did she have, anyway? She couldn’t fight back. She was almost too weak to move. And if she could move, what then? She still had to beat Vicky – and finish her off – plus clean up all the evidence and get the hell out of the house before Paul got home, all without being seen by anyone. It was too difficult. It was better this way.