Page 76 of Haven't Killed in Years
She left the container of soup in front of Wesley’s door with a note that said,Hope this helps you feel better—Natalie.
She would need to catch every green light to make it to Painting Pots on time to see Gwen arrive, but she wouldn’t have any trouble speeding with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
- - - - -
Gwen was already inside.Natalie had missed her arriving, missed her walking through the parking lot, missed her finishing her coffee. Natalie slammed her hands against the steering wheel.
She had wasted her morning on Wesley. Why had she done that? She watched through a sea of children as Gwen sat at the pottery wheel. She looked sad, like she knew Natalie had let her down. Natalie could feel her chest tighten. She clenched her hands against the steering wheel and stared through the big square windows into the ceramics store. She tried counting the raw pottery on the shelf,1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10.It didn’t work. Counting didn’t work for Natalie; that was Gwen’s thing.
Sounds began to dull. It always started this way, a warning. She took a deep breath, then another. If she didn’t stop it, what would she do? She focused on Gwen, watching the clay rotate in her hands. Natalie had to claw it back or who knew what would happen. She needed to leave—get away from Gwen in case she couldn’t stop. If she had a fit there, she might go inside. She might approach Gwen like this; it would ruin everything.
Natalie started the car, putting it in reverse, and hitting the gas. The car jerked back.
Thud.
It was a thud so poignant it penetrated the sounds she was muting.
Natalie slammed on the brakes. She looked up at the rearview mirror.
The guy with the bleach-blond clump of hair stood behind her car. He punched her trunk one more time for effect.Thud. “Watch it!” he yelled.
Natalie sank into her seat. He wasn’t supposed to see her—ever. She wanted to take off, but he would remember that and then he would remember her car. He would notice her in the parking lot. She faced forward, but lifted her hand. “Sorry!” she yelled back.
He tapped the trunk.Tap-tap. Apology accepted and he scampered off across the parking lot.
Natalie regained her composure. Almost killing Gwen’s only friend had been the distraction she needed to snap out of it. Shewatched him swing open the door to Painting Pots, all the way, the door catching itself right before it would have smacked into the window. He skipped toward the back of the store, and when Gwen looked up from her work, he bowed. A smile appeared on Gwen’s face as she grabbed a small wad of clay and chucked it at him. He dodged out of the way and they both laughed.
Natalie smiled too. It had passed. She could stay a little bit longer.
- - - - -
Gwen went to themovie theater that night. Natalie couldn’t believe it. She was so happy she had been able to stay, to calm herself down after she’d almost lost it. She walked through the big glass doors to the multiplex with practiced timing to watch Gwen collect her ticket from the self-serve kiosk. Gwen headed toward the usher and Natalie lurked with just the right distance to hear the teenager tell her, “Theater two on your left.”
Natalie purchased her own ticket while Gwen bought a medium popcorn and small cherry Icee. Once Gwen headed into the theater, Natalie stepped up and ordered her own medium popcorn and small blue raspberry Icee. She didn’t like the cherry; it was too sour.
She waited in the wings until the house lights lowered and the first preview began. With her potential visibility at its lowest point, Natalie hustled up the steps all the way to the top of the theater. She scanned the audience for the back of Gwen’s head. She was easy to spot; she was the only person there alone. Well, other than Natalie, of course. Natalie trotted back down five rows to land three rows behind and two seats to the left of Gwen. Perfect.
- - - - -
Natalie didn’t get homeuntil after eleven. She climbed out of the car, sucking at the melted blue sugar water in the bottom of her Icee,slurping into the quiet night, but as she reached the door to the garage, another noise dwarfed her slurps.
Intense, pained heaves echoed from the main house. Moans mixed with cries, then heavy wetness pouring into porcelain. There was a velocity to it that didn’t sound human. Projectile vomiting. Wesley puking out the poison. Natalie had forgotten. She was simultaneously reminded of what she had done and notified that it had worked.
Natalie flung open the garage door and ran up the stairs into her apartment. She left the lights off and tiptoed toward the window. His bedroom window was open, fresh air necessary given the current state of Wesley and his bathroom. All Natalie could see were his feet through the doorway to the en suite. They were bare, their tops pressed against the tile floor, supporting a man stuck on his knees with his face in a toilet.
Natalie crept forward and opened her own window a few inches, enough to hear Wesley heaving again. Heaving, coughing, spitting, then eventually another round of liquid, expelled from somewhere deep inside. Natalie slinked back a few steps until she could sit on the edge of her bed. It wasn’t much to see, more of an audio performance to take in.
Not long after, the noises ended. Natalie watched Wesley fall back on his heels, then flop over to sit against the wall, using a hand towel hanging from above to cradle his head. He looked too weak to move much farther and too nervous to put any real distance between himself and the toilet.
Natalie tried one last time to suck up any remaining drops of her Icee but came up empty. She sat alone in the dark in her silent apartment, staring at Wesley, whose head fell into his hands—the visceral surrender only a violent stomach issue can inspire. Natalie’s whole body tingled.
Forty-One
Sixteen years ago
“We can’t do anythingtonight,” insisted Gwen, sitting on her bed across the room from Natalie. “It’s not smart. Everyone knows you threw his tray at dinner and got sent to your room. You’ll be suspect number one.”
“Everyone hates Declan,” argued Natalie. “They won’t know I have anything to do with it.”
