Cricket Hunters Page 27

  Cel watched as the woman gave a statement about how she’d slept with Parker many times in 2008. Then came another woman with brunette hair and dark eyes who made a similar claim for 2009. Another, similar appearance, 2009. Another, 2012. Cel recognized only one, the last one. Janette Willow. The pretty, athletic, pink-scrub-wearing brunette who’d cleaned her and Parker’s teeth at Denton Dental for years.

  Jeff closed the laptop and set it on the mattress when Janette finished. “And then there’s the little lady upstairs, too, of course.” He looked at Cel, his expression saying he was concerned for her. “And these are just the women I was able to track down. Only God knows how many others are out there with brown hair and dark eyes and toned legs he’s stuck it in behind your back.”

  Cel slowly blinked. “How…”

  “I’ve been following Parker, too. I knew who he really was. It wasn’t hard to find these women. Or to get them to talk. I just put on a nice suit, carried a fancy black brief case and little business cards, and then knocked on their door when their husbands or boyfriends weren’t home and told them I was a lawyer representing Parker in a pending, unlawful restraint and rape case.” A chuckle. “Then I told them he’d given me their names in order to prove he’d cheated on his wife with many women, but never once forced anyone to have sex with him. I told them if they agreed to give a statement, they’d remain anonymous if the case ever went to trial.” Another proud grin found Jeff’s face as he made an invisible, paper-sized rectangle in the air in front of him. “I even made up fake anonymity agreements that were notarized and everything for them to sign.”

  Cel had suspected Parker of cheating many times, kissing or touching other women, maybe even letting one or two give him a blowjob, but not outright fucking them in cars and alleys and dentist offices. She met eyes with Parker. “Is it true?”

  Expressionless, he gazed at her and nodded but offered no apology, no explanation.

  “There you go,” Jeff said, standing. He walked to the shadowed corner under the staircase as Cel’s and Parker’s eyes stayed glued together.

  When he returned, he broke their eye contact by tapping two sticks on the floor between them. First, Parker’s eyes moved to the sticks, then Cel’s followed. They were cricket sticks. The last two. One with a lightning bolt carved in it, the other, an infinity symbol. Jeff’s and Cel’s cricket sticks. Shortly after Abby’s death, Cel had gathered the other ones leaning against the back of her house, snapped them into pieces, and tossed them into a dumpster. Her eyes tracked her stick down to the sharpened tip, which was stained black with Abby’s blood.

  “Now that you know the truth,” Jeff said. “It’s time for me to prove myself to you. To show you just how much alike we are.”

  Jeff hiked up his dress, slid the handgun into the waistband of his tighty-whiteys. Cel noticed the thin scars on his upper thighs. Cutting scars that mimicked her own. “Stand up,” he ordered Cel.

  Cel shook her head.

  “It’s time to stop lying about who you are, Cel. Who we are. Now, get up.”

  She shook her head again, chewing on her bottom lip, trying to wriggle her hands free from her restraints.

  “Get up!” Jeff grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet. “Why are you fighting this? After all I’ve done for you, shown you. I dragged Abby’s body deep into the woods and hid it for you that night. Do you know how hard that was? I was fucking tiny back then.” He pinched the chest of his dress. “I took off her dress and used it to wipe away any fingerprints in case she was found. I made sure to take her bike far away, where it would never be linked to you.” He jiggled Cel’s cricket stick. “I took your stick. Made sure it didn’t get damaged.” He flicked the infinity symbol on Cel’s necklace. “I pried that out of Abby’s hand and wore it around my neck as I was shipped from house to house, family to family, and then left to my own devices in a fucked up world at eighteen. I never betrayed you or lied to you. I thought about you every day.” His eyes misted. “Your smile that day at the fair on the Zipper. The warmth of your hand as we spun. The way you protected me from Jose. Defended me when Abby went off on me.” He cocked his head slightly sideways. “The times we hunted together in the woods. Laughed. Joked. You let me be me.” He pointed his cricket stick at Parker who was struggling to break free from his restraints. “I don’t get why you want to defend him. Save him. He doesn’t understand or love you like I do. And he never will. He’ll always be looking for another Abby. Hell, his girlfriend upstairs is another Abby. Don’t you get it? You and him don’t work because there’ll always be another Abby.” He tapped his chest, gestured at Cel. “You and me. We work. Open your eyes. We’re the same. Now watch me remove this cancer from our lives like I once watched you.”

  Jeff raised both his and Cel’s cricket sticks in the air as one, angling them at Parker’s chest like a spear fisherman. Fear swallowed Parker’s weary eyes. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

  Jeff gritted his teeth, rose to his tiptoes—

  “Wait,” Cel said. “You’re right. You’re right. I did enjoy killing Abby. I loved the way it felt driving my stick into her eye.” She looked at Parker, hoping to connect, silently communicate the way they used to, the way Natalie and Omar did, convey a secret message, her plan. But Parker looked at her like she was an alien, an abomination. Any connection between them had been severed. She looked into Jeff’s eyes. “If this is going to happen, it has to happen right. I want to do it together.” She watched skepticism pass over his face. “Just like when we rode the Zipper. Me and you.”

  He lowered the sticks.

  “No, Cel,” Parker said. “Don’t. I’m sorry about the women. Cel? Please.”

  Cel ignored Parker as Jeff untied her hands and handed her cricket stick to her, beaming like a little kid. Little Jeff after the Zipper. Jeff with a bloody palm after crafting his cricket stick.

  Jeff raised his stick and Cel copied him. “Ready?” he asked.

  Cel nodded, then looked at Parker. His eyes were on her. “For God’s sake Cel, don’t do this. I know I’ve fucked up, but I do love you. I’ve tried so hard to be a good husband, a good friend.”

  When Cel heard an angry growl rumble in Jeff’s throat and saw his eyes tighten, she turned and thrust her stick at his chest. She thought she’d been quick enough, surprising enough, but he reacted like a whiplash and slammed his stick down onto hers, pinning the tip to the cement floor.

  “Don’t do this,” Jeff said.

  Cel glanced at her stick, and when she tried to pull it loose, Jeff lifted his leg and planted his bare foot in the center of her chest. The blow knocked her back a few steps. Her stick fell from her hands as she stumbled.

  “Cel, please!” Jeff said. “Calm down.”

  She glanced down at her stick. Jeff followed her eyes and put his foot on it. They held eye contact. Long, slow seconds ticked off.

  Cel eventually slid her eyes from him to his stick, which was aimed at her. Then she met eyes with him again, hoping he read the faux regret in her eyes as real. “Jeff,” she whispered pleadingly as she arched her brow and tilted her head sideways in a submissive gesture. She shook her head. “Jeff…I’m sorry...I—”

  The moment she saw his stick start to lower, she rushed into him, driving her shoulder into his chest. He gasped and dropped his stick as they crashed onto the cement floor.

  “Stop!” he ordered as he fought off Cel’s flailing hands.

  She clawed and slapped at his face, and when she grabbed a handful of his hair, intending to slam his head into the floor, he backhanded her across the cheek, breaking her grip, knocking her onto her side. A white flashbang of pain detonated inside her head. She writhed and moaned.

  Parker squirmed in vain on the mattress as Jeff stood and straightened his dress, looming over Cel like a storm cloud about to release a hailstorm. He kicked her in the gut. “Why are you making me do this?” He dropped a knee on her chest and slapped her. Then he took a handful of her hair and aimed her fa
ce at Parker. “You’ve let him destroy who you are…who you were.” He slammed her head down onto the cement, picked up both his and her cricket sticks, and faced Parker. “I hope you rot in hell with Abby. You two fucked up everything around you.”

  As he raised the sticks, Cel swept her leg across the cement, landing a solid blow to his shin. Jeff squealed in pain from the bone-on-bone connection as he pitched forward, smacking the cement face-first with a sickening thud, the sticks wedged between his body and the floor

  Cel crawled on top of him as he tried to roll onto his back and reached up under his dress, feeling for the handgun. Just as she gripped the handle and started jerking, he slammed his hand down on her forearm, knocking her hand free. The gun slid out of his waistband onto the floor, trapped inside the folds of the dress. She rose onto her knees, roared like a lioness, and punched him in the side of the head as hard as she could. With his eyes closed, he threw up his hands and scooted back to avoid more blows. The gun fell onto the floor as he moved, and Cel scooped it up and jumped to her feet.

  When Jeff’s eyes landed on the gun, he stood and screamed and lunged at her. She pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening, ear-splitting. The bullet hit the right side of his chest but didn’t stop him. He grabbed the barrel, twisted it, and, as they fought for control, the gun went off again, the bullet ripping through Cel’s abdomen. She released her grip on the gun, doubled over with her hands on the hole, and fell to her knees.

  Seconds later, the gun clattered onto the hard cement, and Jeff toppled sideways onto the mattress, moaning, gasping. He had his hands pressed to his chest, trying to stem the blood that spurted from the wound with each heartbeat.

  Using the mattress for leverage, Cel struggled upright, looked at Parker and said his name. His name sounded flat and foreign to her ears, felt cold on her tongue. There was no concern in his eyes. He wasn’t Parker anymore. Not her Parker, anyway. He appeared horrified at the sight of her, recoiling. She said his name again, wondering if it sounded as off to him as it did her. Was it the effect of the cement walls and floor and ceiling? Or was it something inside her, a sea of change, a new understanding expressing itself in this new voice? She shook her head, realizing it wasn’t the walls. It was inside. A feeling of disconnect, of loss. The knowledge that Parker would never love her again. Not like he once had. Not the way she wanted. She deserved. Her secret had destroyed the love he had in her, and it would never regrow. He would never forgive her. She’d killed Abby, and Jeff was right, he’d been searching for her replacement ever since. And he always would. Stick his dick in anyone that resembled her. She searched his eyes, shook her head. Her heart fell through her chest and took all feeling with it. She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. She could never trust him again. He would never trust her. Not as a lover. Not as a friend. Not as a neighbor. The second he was free, he’d run and tell the world about his psycho witch of a wife and how she’d killed his teenage soulmate. He’d run to the cops and demand justice, and she’d rot in jail for loving him, fighting for him, saving him. Within a year, he’d marry Lauren, and they’d give Sammy a new brother or sister. What would her abuela think of her? Natalie and Omar? Her soon-to-be godchild?

  Trying to ignore the searing pain from the bullet, a pain that was constricting every muscle and organ in her abdomen, she picked up her cricket stick. She knew what needed to be done. She knew the ramifications. She’d lived through it all once before and was prepared to do it again. “This is best for both of us,” she whispered as she rammed the stick into the right side of Parker’s chest between two ribs. She maneuvered it under the sternum, puncturing his heart as he wiggled and caterwauled in agony, pushing until she hit spine.

  She held Parker’s gaze, searching a pair of eyes she no longer recognized, eyes that wanted to escape her, until a final pocket of air escaped his mouth and his pupils dilated.

  Woozy and weak, she jerked the stick free and stumbled back. Warm blood ran down her stomach, sluiced behind her shorts, trickled down the inside of her leg. She centered herself, dropped her stick on Jeff’s dress, wrapped the fabric around the handle and wiped it clean of fingerprints. Then, using his dress as a glove, moved the handle up under his hand.

  Her vision waivered as she bear-crawled up the stairs, moaning, crying, then scrabbled through the garage and back into the house, leaving a trail of metallic-scented crimson in her wake. She dropped to her belly in the hallway outside Jeff’s bedroom door and lay there for what felt like an eternity, slipping in and out of consciousness, growing colder and colder.

  She eventually managed to pull herself upright, and leaning against the wall, unlock the door. She stumbled into the room, unlocked the closet door, pushed it open, and fell onto the floor. Lauren slid over to her, squealing, and Cel reached around to Lauren’s back and untied the rope holding her wrists together.

  “Go,” she mustered, closing her eyes and fully collapsing onto the floor. “Get help.” She couldn’t breathe. “I shot him.” Gasp. “But he stabbed Parker…and…”

  OCTOBER 2013

  Chapter 39 - Cel

  Panic was all Cel knew when she first woke. She had no idea where she was, when it was, why she was. A steady beep beckoned her, scared her. She caught a whiff of sage and rosemary. She tried to sit up with a purpose, but the movement knifed intense pain into her stomach and brought a light-headed dizziness to her head, forcing her to lie back down and close her eyes.

  She took deep breaths, reciting the calming spell over and over, until she felt centered, balanced, and then opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings.

  The square room had one bed, white walls, and a white floor. A small TV perched in the upper corner adjacent to a window that revealed a starry, night sky. A handmade talisman hung next to a white dry-erase board at the foot of the bed. The name Nurse Patty Holmes was scrawled in fat purple letters above some numbers and times on the board. Two vacant chairs were on her left, one of Yesenia’s seashell bags on the floor between them. So many machines surrounded her. Machines with hoses and tubes that connected to her arm, chest, stomach, and bladder. A table on wheels beside the bed held a cup of water, a pile of pan de polvo on a paper plate, one of her abuela’s healing sachets, and a worn Deborah Harkness paperback. Flowers, six or seven vases of flowers, stood on the window sill, two more on the counter with a sink to her right. A white blanket covered her from the waist down, a thin white gown her chest.

  Hospital. She was in the hospital. But…

  Then the memory struck her as fast and powerful as a bolt of lightning.

  Her infinity necklace.

  Jeff…in Abby’s dress.

  The gun.

  Lauren.

  The fight.

  Gunshots.

  Her cricket stick.

  Parker.

  A feeling of dread accompanied the image of Parker’s dilated pupils that formed in her mind. She reflexively moved to sit up again, as though she could jump up and outrun the image. But pain and dizziness denied her once more. She closed her eyes, whispered her go-to calming spell again, a soothing spell, a strengthening spell. She drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

  She woke hours later to find her abuela sitting in one of the two chairs at her side. Yesenia’s chin was on her chest, eyes closed, single braid draped over her left shoulder, hands clasped together on her lap. She was lightly snoring, Mina’s mummified leg moving up and down on her chest beneath her bright yellow shirt.

  Cel tried to say “Buela,” but the word clawed to a stop in her dry throat. She gathered spit in her mouth, forced it down, and tried again. “Buela.”

  Yesenia’s head shot up, and she immediately leaned forward and ran her hand over Cel’s head. “Celia.” She looked upward. “Gracias. Gracias.” She brushed her rough hand over Cel’s cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Yesenia made her way to the sink, filled a tiny paper cup with water, and brought it to Cel. Cel swished the water around inside
her mouth before swallowing.

  Yesenia sat back down, leaned toward the bed, and rested her hands on the metal bedrail. “Do you remember what happened?”

  Cel met eyes with her abuela and nodded. “Parker…he’s…”

  Yesenia’s eyes reduced to solemn slits, and she dipped her head and nodded as she placed her hand on top of Cel’s. “He didn’t make it, mija.”

  Cel bit on her bottom lip, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked away from her Yesenia and out the window at the night sky. The tears were genuine. She was not the type who could cry on command. No, her hurt came from a mixture of guilt and loss, an unavoidable consequence, two dreadful emotions she knew from experience would dominate her life for the foreseeable future.

  Yesenia squeezed Cel’s hand. “I’m sorry, mija.”

  Cel looked at Yesenia with a desperate gaze, eyebrows up. “What about Jeff? I know I shot him, I had to, Buela, I had to. But when I left to get help, he’d fallen, but I wasn’t sure if he had…” She shook her head.

  “Se murio,” Yesenia said. “And rightfully so. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She took in a deep breath. “How did he get you?”

  “He was waiting for me when I got home after using the spirit board with Natalie. He’d put...” She felt her chest, felt the infinity symbol below the thin gown, pulled it out, and stared at it.

  “The cops said he probably stole it a long time ago and has had it all this time,” Yesenia said. “The doctor wanted to take it off, but I made him leave it. I told him yo los maldigo if he didn’t.” Cel glanced gratefully at her abuela, then kissed the clasp, spun it behind her neck, and tucked the symbol under her gown as she mentally recited the good fortune spell.