Page 85 of Haven't Killed in Years
I came to a stop, making sure I was more than arm’s reach away.
She stopped when I did.
“Hi, Natalie,” I said for lack of anything wittier.
“Hi,” she said.
The interaction was anything but verbose so far, but it came with the weight of the world. I had seen her in that video, but this was different. Her dyed-blonde hair was frizzy, she wore no makeup, her shirt was oversized and worn. She looked at me almost doe-eyed, but I knew there was nothing innocent behind her gaze.
“How are you?” she asked, and I smiled, nervous but also because it was kind of a funny question given the situation.
“Um,” I stalled, “not doing really well. I think you know that.”
She nodded, processing, and I was struggling to understand why she had gone to so much trouble for this awkward conversation to be the point of it all.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, and her face contorted. Her brain was booting up.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You found out my real name, who my father is, okay…but I don’t understand. Why do all this? Just because I lied to you when we were kids?”
“What do you mean?” she repeated, and I was getting frustrated. I had forgotten how difficult it could be to communicate with Natalie. As interesting as her mental processing could be, sometimes I just wanted to slap her across the face to wake her up.
“Natalie!” I regretted raising my voice immediately. “You killed those people for what? I don’t understand. All I want to know is why. I know the last time we were together wasn’t great, but we were friends. Don’t you think we were friends?”
“Of course!” Natalie smiled as if I’d only said the last part.
“Then why?” I asked. “Why did you have to kill them?”
Her smile melted and a scowl grew. “I didn’t kill anyone…?”
I exhaled, exasperated, becoming jerkier in my body language than I would have liked. “James Calhoun? Oswald Shields? My mother?!”
“Ididn’t kill them.” Natalie crossed her arms. “I wouldneverhurt you.”
“Natalie!” I rolled my eyes and took a breath. I had assumed she wasn’t all there, but I hadn’t anticipated having to work so hard for answers. “We aren’t at some high school reunion. You’re going around pretending to be me.”
“We’re trying to help you!” Natalie snapped.
Who waswe? The implication was that Natalie had an accomplice, only that seemed impossible. Working with others had never been her strong suit. I could hear her words, but I could also see whatwas happening in her head. Her eyes were glazing over. Her fists were clenched. She wasn’t mad; she was desperate for me to understand.
“I wouldneverhurt you,” she repeated, her cheeks flushed. “You were the only good thing I ever had in my whole life. I didn’t mean to do anything to you. That night with the pillow was a mistake. If they had let me come back, I never would have done that again. I promise. It was just Declan and I was scared and—”
“Natalie…” I stopped her, starting to realize that she might not have anaccompliceafter all. She was telling the truth or…what she thought was the truth. Whatever was going on, Natalie was just a pawn.
I softened my face to try to calm her down. Her head dropped. “Breathe. Look at me. You need to reset. You don’t want to lose it. We’re just talking. I’m not upset.”
“I knew you were in trouble! I knew about those arms and the men who were killed! That’s why I dideverything!” She wasn’t hearing me, and when she looked back up, I saw her face—that dangerous look she’d get when whatever she was doing to stay in control wasn’t working. I slid my hand into the front pocket of my sweatshirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “What’s in your pocket?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, ripping my hand back out like I’d been caught in the cookie jar. “Natalie, who iswe? You saidwe’retrying to help you.”
She tilted her head at me for being so obtuse. “Wesley.”
“Who?”
“You know,” she said, “the reporter you’ve been talking to.”
