Chapter 33: Surrender to the Dark Side
The blood was still warm on her face when Caron kissed her.
Emma didn't pull away. Didn't flinch. She stood there with Maggie's blood drying on her cheeks and Caron's tongue in her mouth, and she felt nothing. Not the heat of the kiss. Not the press of Caron's body against hers. Not the hands that slid up her back, her neck, her jaw.
Just static. White noise. The hum of a television left on in an empty room.
When Caron finally broke the kiss, her eyes were bright. Wet. Happy.
"I love you," she said. "I love you so much."
Emma stared at her.
"I've wanted to say that for so long," Caron continued. She cupped Emma's face in her hands. Her palms were warm. Soft. "I was so scared you wouldn't come with me. So scared I'd have to..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
"You don't have to do anything now," Caron said. "You just have to trust me. Okay? Can you do that?"
Emma nodded.
She didn't know why. She didn't know anything anymore.
---
Hector had moved to a leather armchair near the fire.
He sat with his legs crossed, one arm draped over the back of the chair, watching them with the same expression he'd worn since they walked in. Calm. Patient. Amused.
The two men who'd held Maggie were gone now. So was the body. Emma hadn't seen the men put the body in a black body bag. Hadn't heard the door open. One minute Maggie was there, crumpled on the floor, and the next she wasn't. Just a dark stain on the hardwood that one of the men was already mopping up with a rag. The men had put the bag in the large dumpster by the garage . The body would be covered with trash by the time the dumpster was picked up anf taken to the landfill.
Like it never happened.
Like she never existed.
Caron took Emma's hand. Her fingers were cold. Her smile was warm.
"I need you to do something for me," she said.
Emma looked at her.
"What?"
"Hector." Caron nodded toward the chair. "He's done so much for us. For our future. He's given us everything."
Emma's stomach tightened.
"What are you asking?"
"I'm asking you to show him how grateful we are."
---
The words hung in the air.
Emma looked at Hector. He was still watching. Still smiling. He hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just sat there like a king on a throne.
"You want me to..."
"You know what I mean." Caron's voice was gentle. Coaxing. "I'll be right here. The whole time. I'll be right here with you."
Emma's hands were shaking.
"I don't..."
"You don't have to think. Just do." Caron kissed her again. Softer this time. Slower. "It's just sex. It doesn't mean anything. It's just... appreciation."
Appreciation.
Emma thought of Jim. The way he used to touch her. The way he used to look at her. The way he'd died on that floor with her name on his lips.
She thought of Caron. The lies. The betrayal. The gun in her hand.
She thought of Maggie. The way she'd looked at her. The way she'd trusted her.
The way she'd died.
"Okay," she said.
Caron smiled.
"Good girl."
---
Hector stood up.
He crossed the room slowly, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. When he reached Emma, he stopped. Looked down at her. He was taller than she'd realized. Broader. His presence was a wall she couldn't see past.
"You're beautiful," he said. "Jim always had good taste."
Emma didn't respond.
He reached out. Touched her face. His fingers were rough. Calloused. They traced the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone. Then lower. The buttons of her flannel came undone slowly. One by one.
Caron settled onto the couch. She pulled a small orange bottle from her purse. Shook two pills into her palm. Swallowed them dry.
"Just relax," she said. "Let it happen."
---
Hector undressed her.
The flannel. The jeans. The bra. The underwear. All of it dropped to the floor in a pile. The firelight warmed her skin. The air was cool. She was exposed. Vulnerable.
She didn't care.
Hector stepped back. Looked at her. His eyes moved over her body like a buyer appraising livestock. Slow. Methodical. He nodded once. Approval.
"On your knees," he said.
Emma obeyed.
---
Caron took more pills.
Oxy. Xanax. Something else. She popped them with the rhythm of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Her eyes were glassy. Her smile was loose. Her hand slid down her body, slow and deliberate, disappearing between her legs.
"I've always wanted to watch you," she murmured. "Like this. With him."
Emma didn't look at her. Couldn't.
Hector unfastened his belt. The sound was sharp. Metallic. It cut through the quiet. His pants dropped. His boxers followed. He was already hard.
"You know what to do," he said.
Emma did.
---
She took him in her mouth.
He tasted like salt and whiskey and something else, something darker, something wrong. His hands found her hair. Twisted themselves into the strands. Held her in place. She gagged. He didn't stop. Just pushed deeper. Harder. His breathing was slow. Steady. Controlled.
Caron moaned from the couch.
The fire popped.
The clock on the mantel ticked.
---
Time passed.
Emma wasn't sure how much. Minutes. Hours. It all blurred together. Her jaw ached. Her knees burned. Her throat was raw. Hector had moved her more than once, positioning her here, then there. On the floor. Against the wall. Over the arm of the chair. Bending her. Bending her.
At some point he picked her up. Carried her to the bed. The bedroom was dark. The sheets were silk. The headboard banged against the wall with each thrust. Loud. Rhythmic. Steady.
Caron followed.
She sat in a chair in the corner. Her dress was hiked up around her hips. Her fingers were glistening. Her eyes never left them.
"You look so beautiful," she whispered. "Both of you."
Hector grunted.
Emma stared at the ceiling.
---
Two hours.
It took two hours.
She knew because Caron told her.
When it was over, Emma's body was sore in places she didn't know could be sore. Her wrists were red from being held. Her neck was marked with bruises. Her hips ached. Her thighs burned. There was blood between her legs. She'd stopped feeling it hours ago.
Hector rolled off the bed. Stretched. Sighed. Like he'd just finished a good workout.
"Thank you," he said. He wasn't looking at her. He was pulling on his pants. His shirt. His belt. "That was exactly what I needed."
Emma didn't respond.
He left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
---
Caron crawled across the bed.
She was naked now. Her dress was gone. Her makeup was smeared. Her eyes were half-closed, pupils blown wide, lips parted. She was flying. Soaring. Untouchable.
She curled herself around Emma. Pressed her body against hers. Wrapped an arm around her waist.
Then she pulled her hand up to Emma's throat, fingers slick and sticky. They gleamed in the dim light. Emma blinked at them for a moment before she understood. Before the smell hit her.
Caron brought the hand up and let Emma lick Caron's fingers and then Caron began to slowly lick her own fingers clean, taking her time. She pressed her slick hand back to Emma's hair.
"You did so good," she whispered against Emma's ear. "I'm so proud of you."
Emma stared at the wall.
"I love you," Caron said. "You know that, right? I love you more than anything."
Emma closed her eyes.
"I love you too," she said.
The words tasted like blood. Like betrayal. Like everything she'd ever lost.
Caron kissed her shoulder. Her neck. Her cheek. Soft. Tender. She was purring now. A cat with cream. A snake with a mouse.
"Everything's going to be different now," Caron murmured. "You'll see. We're gonna have such a good life."
Emma didn't answer.
She was thinking about Maggie. About the way she'd looked at her in that final moment. About the trust in her eyes. The acceptance. The love.
She was thinking about Jim. About the way he'd died. About the way she'd failed him.
She was thinking about the ocean. The skiff. The storm. The way the waves had crashed over the bow like they were trying to swallow them whole.
She was thinking about the first time she'd shot up. The way it had wrapped around her heart like a fist. The way it had promised to never let go.
She was thinking about all of it.
And she was thinking about how easy it had been.
To kill Maggie. To lie. To spread her legs For a stranger. The way it had happened. Like falling. Like drowning. Like the current had just... carried her.
She didn't feel guilty.
She didn't feel anything.
That was the worst part.
---
Caron was asleep now.
Her breathing was slow. Even. Her arm was still draped over Emma's waist. Her lips were parted. Her hair was a mess.
Emma lay beside her.
Awake.
Still.
The clock on the nightstand ticked. The fire in the other room had died. The house was silent.
She thought about the syringe in her bag. The pills. The flask. The escape that was always waiting, always patient, always ready.
She thought about the ocean. So far away now. So out of reach.
She thought about the gun.
She thought about her own hands.
She thought about the way they had trembled when she pulled the trigger.
She thought about the way she hadn't felt anything at all.
---
The ceiling was white.
The sheets were silk.
The night was endless.
Emma closed her eyes.
She didn't sleep.
But she closed her eyes.
And she waited.
For something.
Anything.
To feel.
Anything at all. Then she felt herself in the dark side. She smiled. She loved what had happened and how good it feels now. How really beautiful it was to see Maggie die by her hand. How she so looked forward to being with Caron and the drugs and booze and sex. Completely committing to the dark side.
---
In the other room, the mopping was finished.
The rag was rinsed.
The fire was rebuilt.
The men were gone.
The house was quiet.
The house was empty.
The house was full.
Of everything that could never be undone. She was in the dark side never to leave.