He Started It

Now he starts to laugh.

Not a small laugh, but a huge belly laugh that makes him double over. Portia and I exchange a look, like we’re both thinking the same thing. Eddie has finally lost whatever is left of his mind.

When he finally stops and wipes the tears from his eyes, he says, ‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘It doesn’t matter?’ I repeat.

‘Nope. Not one bit.’

We’re interrupted by the music.

‘I Think I’m Paranoid’ blasts through the air. Everyone freezes for a second, and we all turn, looking for the source. The music grows louder.

It drowns out the sound of the engine, so we see the van before we hear it. The greyish-green van jerks to a stop right in front of us, music pouring out of it like a physical presence.

Behind the wheel, a woman with flaxen hair. She gets out of the car, all that wild hair flying, and she walks straight toward the three of us.

Nikki.

I knew it, I always knew it. I felt it in my heart, just like Mom did.

Portia takes a step back. I take a step forward because she must be coming to me, to see me, to hug me.

Instead she goes straight to Eddie. He welcomes her into his arms and I watch, with horror, as he kisses her on the mouth. Not a sister kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. At the same time, Eddie reaches up and pulls off her flaxen hair.

A wig.

Dark hair tumbles down, settling around her shoulders.

Krista.

It feels like my knees are about to buckle all over again, that’s how strong the disappointment is. The heartbreak.

‘Surprise,’ Eddie says.

‘What. The. Fuck.’ Portia’s voice is loud. Angry.

‘You know, I’m glad you took those bullets,’ Eddie says. ‘You just saved me from a big complication.’

Krista looks at him. ‘Complication?’

Her voice sounds different, harder than it was before. Not bubbly at all.

‘No worries, baby. I’ll explain later,’ Eddie says. Then he turns to us. ‘I was never going to kill either one of you. But, if necessary, our long-lost sister will.’

‘That makes zero sense,’ Portia says.

Eddie smiles down at Krista, who beams back at him. ‘You ever watch those crime documentaries? Like on Netflix or Hulu?’

As the conversation takes a turn for the weird, Portia and I exchange a look.

‘If you haven’t, you should,’ Eddie says. ‘I’m talking about Ruby Ridge, Waco, Columbine, the Central Park Five … All of them have one thing in common. In every single one of those cases, the media got it wrong. Completely wrong. The story you think you know isn’t the story at all.’ He turns to Krista and says, ‘Isn’t that right, baby?’

‘That’s right,’ she says.

‘Take Richard Jewell. The bombing at the Atlanta Olympics. Remember that?’

We all remember that, except maybe Portia. It happened a few years before the road trip, when we lived in Atlanta, just a few miles from the Olympic Park. The bombing and what happened afterward was the first big news story of my life. Day in and day out, we watched coverage of the bombing and the summer Olympics together, like they were the same thing.

‘First he was a hero, then he was a suspect,’ Eddie says. ‘And it was all because of the media. They decided he had to be guilty because he was the one who discovered the bomb. They said he made himself into being the hero. Lies, all lies. He didn’t do a single thing wrong, but the whole country thought he was guilty.’

True. Richard Jewell was the guy, without a doubt. Even Tom Brokaw said it, and our parents loved Tom Brokaw.

‘So just imagine,’ Eddie continues. ‘What the media would do if they thought some long-lost psychotic girl returned to kill her siblings in the desert? Obviously someone has to survive to tell that story, am I right?’ Using the gun, he points to himself. ‘And since I’m the only man – much bigger and stronger than either of you – it only makes sense that I’m the sole survivor.’

I shake my head, still trying to clear it from the meltdown Krista almost gave me. And their plan starts to make sense.

Who better to seek revenge than the sister we left in the woods? A demented, angry, and now homicidal sister. Everyone will be looking for the girl with the flaxen hair. No doubt she’s been caught on traffic cameras around the country. The media is going to love it.

‘You’ve been setting us up the whole time,’ Portia says.

‘Got that right,’ Krista says. ‘Who do you think stole the ashes? Carved on the tree?’ Her eyes land on me. ‘Or put that cell phone in the woods?’

‘I have to admit,’ Eddie says to me. ‘We tried to mess with you so much, I wasn’t sure you’d make it. You’re so delusional about Nikki, I was pretty sure you’d have a breakdown. The fact that you’re still here and still standing is pretty impressive.’

Eddie and Krista look so happy, so proud of themselves. She has her arms wrapped around him, and I get a glimpse of the gun tucked in the waistband of her shorts.

Of course. That’s the gun for us, not Eddie’s. If it comes to that.

‘But you won’t kill us,’ I say, working out their plan in my head. ‘If we agree to give you all the money.’

Eddie points at me with his empty gun. ‘Well, well, well. Look who grew a brain.’

‘Dick,’ Portia says. ‘I can put you in jail. Then you get nothing anyway.’

‘You’ll die first. No way that’s going to happen,’ Eddie says. ‘You must know that if you can get into my phone, I can get into yours. That e-mail to the IRS is going nowhere.’

She shuts her mouth because it’s true. The devil’s rope just got tighter, and it doesn’t feel good.

For the second time today, I find myself saying, ‘Well done.’

‘Thank you,’ Eddie says. ‘Although, I thought it might be a little poetic if you did die. Then your name would be linked to Nikki’s forever.’

Krista laughs.

‘That’s cruel,’ I say.

‘So is life, but what can you do?’ Eddie says with a shrug. ‘Are we good here? You’re both going to give me your inheritance, am I right?’ He points to the car, toward the bloody shirt and the ashtrays. ‘And remember, if either of you get out of line, just know I can always blame her death on you. Maybe it won’t stick, but it’ll make your lives a lot more difficult.’ He looks at me. ‘Especially since it was your T-shirt.’

Either way this goes, we’re screwed and Eddie wins. If he kills us, Nikki gets the blame. If we try to screw him, he’ll use that evidence to claim one of us killed her. Turns out he’s the smart one.

Portia crosses her arms and sticks her chin out, just like Nikki used to do. ‘Fine. You fucker.’

We’re at end of the trip, and I won’t get any money. My husband is dead and so is Nikki. Nothing left to do but shrug. ‘Take the money,’ I say.

‘Phone,’ Eddie says to Portia. ‘Now.’

Portia tosses her phone. It skims across the dirt and lands near his feet. Eddie picks it up and says, ‘Code.’

She hesitates.

‘Code,’ he says again. He no longer sounds like Dad, he sounds like Grandpa.