Chapter 22—Horrible Things I Said

Susan sat at a big round glass table by the pool with the entourage. She thought she was fine, but when Derrick put the steak on the grill, it sizzled, and flames rose, bringing back the memory of the horror she’d left behind—it all came back. But she wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she sat back, enjoying the warm summer night and a slight breeze. Derrick set the steak in front of her, and Maria brought bread, a baked potato, and iced tea.

“Thank you,” she said with a warm smile, happy to be with them and grateful to be alive. She bit into the medium-rare steak. It melted in her mouth.

It looked like an ordinary gathering with friends, but there was something that made it different. The relaxed ambiance that was usually there had been replaced by a sadness hanging in the air. They felt her pain. And she knew it wouldn’t go away until she told them everything Blaine had done to her. They had to heal, too.

“You know—the narcotic is helping the physical pain, but the emotional pain is bad. I think it will help me to tell the story. And I warn you—it isn’t pretty. It’s difficult for me to tell you everything.”

“This will be hard for all of us,” Derrick said, looking pained. “I need a whiskey.”

“Let’s all have one,” Max said.

Susan pondered what she was going to say as she buttered a piece of sourdough bread. It was unusually quiet as everyone waited expectantly for her to tell the story of the most horrific day of her life. She was worried about what they would think of her after telling them what she had said and done to stay alive. And most of all, she worried about whether Derrick would still love her.

“Blaine did horrible things to me,” Susan said. “But I can’t testify against him.”

“Why?” Bruce asked.

“Because Blaine will sway the jury.” A shadow darkened her face. “And because I said some things that could be held against me.”

“What did you say?” Derrick asked.

Susan looked at him pointedly. “Horrible things. I told him I wanted to kill myself and that I would kill him. And when he was sexually assaulting me, he told me I would have to help him, and I told him I would. I did whatever I needed to do to stay alive.”

Derrick’s face paled.

“You did the right thing,” Jack said. “You’re alive, and that’s all that matters. What did Blaine say to you? Did he threaten to kill you?”

“I still can’t wrap my head around it. His behavior was threatening, but he told me he loved me over and over. Blaine told me he wanted me alive and that all he wanted was our anniversary celebration.”

Derrick looked puzzled. “Even during the assault?”

“Yes. When Blaine was beating me, he was telling me he loved me.”

“He was getting into your head,” Max said. “And he’s beating you because you made him do it. Right?”

“Exactly,” Susan said. “He would attack me, and then he would kiss me and tell me he loved me. But he also degraded me, told me that he’d watched me in the shower, seen my bikini line, and called me a slut. It was terrifying.”

“He’s a sick son of a bitch,” Bruce said.

Susan stabbed a piece of steak with her fork. “I never thought I could harm anyone, but something clicked in me when he was beating me. It was the first time in my life that I wanted to kill him. I was visualizing which knife to use. And I saw myself plunging the knife into his heart.”

“We all have a killer instinct,” Max said. “With the right circumstances, people kill. We all know the story about Lizzy Borden. Lizzie Borden took an ax and gave her mother forty whacks; when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one.”

“Jeez, Max—don’t be morbid,” Millie said.

“I read about Lizzie Borden when I was fifteen,” Susan said. “At that time, I was horrified that a woman like Lizzie Borden could do such a thing. But now I understand because I was plotting in my mind how to kill Blaine.” Susan looked up into the sky that had turned a pinkish-blue. “I think it must be hatred that turns people into murderers. I became a different person when I was locked up in the house with Blaine.”

The atmosphere turned chilling even though the night was warm.

“There’s more,” her voice was raw with emotion. “I lied. I hope you understand, Derrick. I love you—and only you—and I didn’t want to do the things I did with Blaine. But I did it to survive.”

Derrick gripped the whiskey tumbler, his knuckles white. “I understand. It wasn’t your fault, honey.”

“What happened next?” Jack asked.

“He slapped me around a little and then tried to have sex with me, but he couldn’t get an erection. He told me I would have to help him, and I told him I would, but I didn’t mean it.”

Derrick’s jaw tightened. “You can’t testify. If you tell the truth, the prosecuting attorney is going to eat you alive.”

“Should I say I don’t remember? Isn’t that what everyone says when they don’t want to perjure themselves in the courtroom?

“It would be best if there weren’t a trial, but it’s a state case, so there will be a trial.”

“I’m afraid of a trial.”

“Maybe I should just pay Blaine a little visit before the trial,” Bruce said. “It would be easier.”

“Oh my God,” Susan said. “Don’t say such things. Blaine told me that you beat him up. Did you? You didn’t say anything about it.”

“He was stalking you,” Max said. “It was a warning. We didn’t hurt him.”

Bruce shrugged. “It was a slap on the wrist.”

“The guy is a master of manipulation,” Max said. “Remember, he fed his first wife to the sharks.”

Susan swallowed hard, her thoughts running rampant. Blaine had told the truth. They had beat him up. What else was true?

“I’ve already called an attorney,” Derrick said. “He’s on it. I told him I didn’t want Susan to testify, and I didn’t want her to leave the State of Nevada.”

“They could subpoena her,” Max said. “And they probably will.”

“I know they could, but I don’t think they will,” Derrick said.

“Why not?” Bruce asked.

“Because once the prosecuting attorney figures this out, he won’t want her on the stand. When Susan was in the shower, Blaine was there watching her. It would creep out the jury. I don’t think the prosecutor will want the jury to hear that story. All they’ll see is the Alfred Hitchcock Psycho scene.”

Susan’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I talked to forensics this morning, and Blaine’s fingerprints are on the kitchen knife.”

Susan drew in a sharp breath. “Are you saying you think Blaine was thinking about murdering me in the shower—stabbing me—like the movie Psycho?”

“I don’t know what Blaine was thinking. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that that he watched you take a shower. And he picked up the knife. The juror’s imagination will do the rest. They will see you as Marion, and Blaine will become Norman Bates.”

Susan paled. “I remember seeing a flash in the mirror, but I didn’t know it was a knife.”

“Blaine didn’t attack Susan in the shower,” Max said dubiously.” He went back into hiding. He didn’t attack her until later.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derrick said. “The jury will remember the movie. All they will see is the shower scene—the blood and gore, and they’ll want Blaine behind bars for life. They don’t want to be in the shower and wonder where Blaine is. It doesn’t matter how handsome and charming he is because as soon as he picks up that knife, he becomes Norman Bates.”

Susan nodded, hoping it was true.

“I think you’re right,” Jack said. “Courtrooms are about drama. Attorneys reenact crime scenes, and if they’re good, they win.”

Derrick’s eyes grew dark and mysterious. “When Susan tells the story, she is going to reveal every single detail—there was a blizzard when she arrived at the airport in Columbus. Having come from Las Vegas, she’s wearing a shirt and scandals. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering when she took off her clothes and got in the shower. Blaine is watching her all the while—he tells her later that he saw her bikini line. Blaine picks up the knife.”

Derrick reached for a steak knife and held it up. “Right there. He could have flung open the shower door and plunged the knife into Susan’s neck. I’m sure he thought about it, but something made him change his mind. And when Blaine puts the knife back on the sink, Susan sees a flash.”

“I think you’re overdramatizing,” Susan said. “When I was in the shower—I didn’t know Blaine was watching me.”

Derrick looked hard at Susan. “But you saw a flash. You’ve said that repeatedly. There isn’t any doubt in your mind. You don’t think you saw it. You know you saw the flash of a knife. And if you take the stand and the prosecuting attorney asks you about a letter—you don’t know anything about it.”

“I can’t deny that I didn’t see the letter,” Susan said. “My neighbor saw it, too. We talked about it. The other letter is in my suitcase.”

“Not anymore,” Max said, waving the letter. “It doesn’t exist. The letters are nothing more than a mad man’s ravings, Susan. They must be destroyed. As far as the jury is concerned, the letters never existed.”

Susan’s mind fogged. What was happening? If there was a trial, shouldn’t she have the letters to show the jury? The letters were evidence that Blaine was trying to sway her—make her believe that Derrick had done horrendous things. Why would Max destroy the letters—unless—he thought that the letters would sway the jury and cast suspicion on Derrick. Suddenly, it became apparent why they were adamant about destroying the letters.

All eyes were on Susan, but she couldn’t look up. Was there more than one monster? Had Derrick murdered Jenny? She dared not think such thoughts. Finally, she raised her eyes, finding it disarming that the people she’d trusted were staring at her with creased brows.

No. She could not allow herself to doubt Derrick. She loved him. And these were her people. It was Blaine who was the monster.

Susan straightened her spine. “Destroy the letters,” she said with a strong voice.