Looking for Chapter 1? It’s here.
Chapter 2? Here.
How about Chapter 3?
Can’t forget Chapter 4!
There’s also Chapter 5.
And Chapter 6.
Last but not least, Chapter 7.
No sex or violence here. In fact, this very short chapter is basically just an epilogue and, much like the one at the end of every Quinn Martin television show, is designed to deliver exposition and tidily wrap up the story. Anyway, congratulations! You’ve made it to the end of the story. Just kidding; I know nobody is actually reading this.
Carrie stepped out of the shower and put a towel around herself. She took a second one, wrapped it around her head, and walked into the bedroom where she dried herself off and put on her bathrobe. The house was quiet; Jake and Libby fell asleep after dinner, and Rick had only just gotten home.
Carrie walked out into the kitchen. Rick sat at the table, a half-empty Corona before him along with two empties. He was still in his work clothes, looking at his phone, deeply focused on the screen. Carrie didn’t have to see his face to know something was wrong. And she had a feeling she knew exactly what it was, though she wondered how he found out so quickly. She adopted her best poker face and prepared herself to look surprised, even sad. She wondered if she’d be able to muster up any tears, just to sell the performance.
“What is it?” Rick looked up from his phone. His eyes were red. “Are you crying?”
He couldn’t speak, so he handed her his phone. The browser was open to a news story, and when Carrie scrolled back up to the top and started to read, she couldn’t believe the words in front of her.
Rick finally spoke: “He killed her. He fucking killed her.” His voice cracked, the wavering tone betraying the emotion not far below the surface. She could feel his despair, and for a moment she was acknowledged the pain he must have been feeling. She knew he had loved Vicky, and she hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but if it hadn’t it would have been Carrie lying dead in a morgue somewhere. After a moment Rick said, “They’re both dead.”
Carrie’s eyes went wide. “Both?” She read aloud from the article. “Officers responding to the domestic disturbance fired on the armed suspect, who later died of his injuries.” Paul! Dead! She tried to power through the shock and, just to cover her own ass, asked Rick, “Who? Who are they?”
“Vicky and Paul.” Carrie gasped. “He beat her to death or something, and the police shot him. They’re both dead.”
“I can’t believe this,” Carrie said in spite of herself. And she legitimately couldn’t. Even though she knew Paul hadn’t killed his wife, he wasn’t the kind of person who would attack a cop.
Rick must have been thinking the same thing. “I wonder if he pulled a gun or something.”
Carrie shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t have. You know they didn’t have any guns.”
“I bet you wouldn’t have thought he would have killed his wife. A guy who’d do something like that sure as hell could have gotten his hands on a gun.” Carrie shrugged. Rick continued: “I guess he could have had a knife. It doesn’t say how he killed her.”
“I guess anything is possible.” Carrie continued reading: “Investigators discovered what is believed to be a makeshift grave on the premises. Evidence recovered from the home furthers the case theory. Police are treating it as a closed case.” She looked up from the phone, unable to process what she had read. “What does that even mean?”
“It means it was premeditated,” Rick speculated. “Either that, or he got pissed off and killed her without thinking, then went in the backyard and dug a hole. Either way, it’s pretty fucked up.” She nodded, feeling a growing lump in her throat. “Anyway, someone heard them struggling and called the cops. They show up, he panics and maybe he tries to kill them. Or else he wants them to shoot him. He killed his wife and he doesn’t want to go to prison. Because let’s face it, that guy would get eaten alive. So when they tell him to drop it he…”
Carrie finished the thought: “Doesn’t drop it.” With the phone still in hand, she sat down beside Rick and put her arms around him. He put his around her. They sat together for a minute, and at last she said, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything. Instead he just stroked her hair. She continued: “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “Are you?”
She picked up his Corona from the table and finished it. Then she said, with more confidence than she could have predicted, “Yeah.”