“You're a sick fuck. I should shoot you right here. I came over you know, to find out what the fuck Milly was talking about. I sure as hell knew you wouldn’t answer the phone if I called. You’re not here and all the pictures are gone. I'd thought you'd finally lost it like mom. Something felt off. I go to the barn, and I see a pool of blood, trails of it throughout the barn, leading outside. I tell myself, maybe he's dead, maybe someone came here and did that to him. Because he's fucking weird, but he's not psychotic. My gut tells me to follow the trail into the woods. It's well worn. It's being used a lot these days, I can tell. Twigs were snapped along the whole way, like someone had been running. I thought I'd find you out there. And then I see her. I see the fucking girl who was all over the news, whose fucking picture is tacked up onto my office wall, who I have lost so much sleep over because we have nothing to go on, who was taken by a serial home invader and rapist and my brain is fucking exploding because suddenly it's all clear…” Scoot lets out a wail, agony so strong it's physical. “It's you. You check all the boxes. You knew how the police work because of dad and me. Your job keeps you mobile. You're strong and athletic. You're isolated so no one would notice your late night excursions. But there was one thing I didn't get…no one ever mentioned a stutter. Clearly that would be the first thing anyone would mention. Is anything about you even real?”
I glower at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction that I fooled that smart ass for so long. “Oh, very fucking real.”
“I should fucking kill you!” he screams, prodding the gun in my direction, tears running down his cheeks.
I brace myself, but just like I can't do it to him, I know he can't pull that trigger.
“Whose blood was that? In the barn?” he asks. “She didn’t have a scratch on her. Are there others?”
“No.”
“Then whose blood is that!” he demands.
I shift on my feet as I stall. He wouldn’t understand this, and I am in no mood to explain. The partly rolled up sleeves of my shirt move enough for him to see some stitches.
“What the fuck?” he mutters. “Pull off the shirt,” he orders.
I don’t move.
“Do it!” he waves the gun at me.
I sigh in protest as I pull it off, the t-shirt underneath doesn’t hide the various tracks of thread along my arms.
“Did she do that?”
“No. It was me. I’ve never hurt her.”
He stares at me puzzled for a few beats. “You are fucking deranged, man.”
I snicker.
“Did you even think about the rest of us? The family name? I wanted to run for mayor, then maybe even governor someday. It's why I followed in dad's footsteps, to show that despite the money, I could do the hard work like everyone else. You knew that was my dream. My career will be over! Our name will be dragged through the mud if this gets out. “
If. The self-preservation of wealth and power trumps all.
“All the lives you've destroyed. And what about our family? What about Uncle Tommy?”
Our uncle, the senator.
“Oh you mean the family that made sure we stayed nice and quiet up here? Not a single one of them ever bothered to visit, you know? Even when mom died hardly a person showed up at the hospital. They just made sure mom was quiet. They made sure the money flowed. That we didn't embarrass our family. Yup, the Hunters and the Ridgefields, great American families! They can't be sullied by a paranoid woman and her retard son! I don't give a fuck about what happens to them!” I scream with wild eyes.
Scoot stares at me for a while, like he finally saw the beast in me. The one I hid under chronic underestimations and manipulation.
“She didn't beg for help you know? I think she thought I was you and she made this comment in cutesy tone. I found her in that little shack in the woods. The place looked like a train ran through it. What the fuck did you do to her?”
I don't plan on saying anything, but he stops me anyway.
“You know what? I don't wanna know. I don't wanna hear a word of it. I know enough. I know what you've already done you sick fuck.”
I glare at him. These words are empty. I want to know what he's going to do about this. Is this the end? I need to hear it.
“So what now?” I ask.
He paces in a roundabout way, rubbing his temples with the base of his palms, the gun still planted in his hands. He's a sickly pale green and it looks like he could pass out at any moment.
He snickers. “You've ruined my life. You know that?” he asks. “No matter what I do, you've ruined my fucking life. Every time I look at my son…” his voice weakens, “his eyes, his smile, the way he laughs, I'll see you. I'll wonder if he's so much like you that he'll become you. That he's got your fucked up sickness. But unlike you, I love my family, and I am not going to put them through this…I'll do anything for them.” He sits down and buries his head in his hands, like he can't look at me for what he's about to say. Like he probably will never be able to look at himself again.
“I want you to leave town. I don't ever want to see you again. You're dead to me and every family member. You have your trust, stocks, real estate— you can work anywhere, you can sell this whole fucking farm for plenty. I don't want it, not after the vile shit that has gone on in here. Then we're done. I owe you one. Maybe you're like this because of me. The doctors said you might be different because of the way you hit your head. But no one ever told you directly. We thought we could ignore it and it'd be fine. You were strange anyway. But fine. You were different after that coma. Fine. I accept that maybe in some way I had a hand in this. But then we're even. And you are nothing to me.”
I don't show it, but I couldn't be happier with the verdict. I don't have to pretend with him anymore.
“And you have to get rid of her.”
“What?” I snap.
“You heard me. I don't mean take her with you. I mean there can't be a trace of her. The possibility she'd tell her story. She saw my face, Sam.”
“No,” I shake my head. “You fucking do it if this is your master plan.”
“This is your mess, you fucking clean it up!” he shouts, raising the gun a little higher to remind me this is not a democracy.