Phyllis gripped the gun tighter in her hand as she shoved into the bag and quickly pulled the zipper closed. She closed the closet door and quickly looking around the room. Nothing looked particularly out of order. Picking up the bag, she stepped quickly towards the door, hurrying down the steps and walking over to the coat closet in the living room. She glanced over her shoulder, thankful that Carl hadn't made it inside the house yet. She opened the door, shoving the bag inside and quietly closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she waited for him to enter, the sick feeling in her gut that always appeared in his presence seeming especially vivid today.
"Look whose here." He didn't bother to try his displeasure. "I take it you got my note….the one I had the decency to leave. More than I could say for you."
She sighed, not wanting to incite him today of all days. "Yes, I did. I'm sorry. I should have told you I was going out. I wasn't thinking. It was thoughtless of me."
Carl turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Right."
"You know, maybe we could do something special, you know? To kind of make up for it…since we really haven't been able to spend a lot of time together recently.." She stepped closer to him, trying to appear excited at the prospect of being in his presence. The quicker she could get him out of this house, the quicker she could leave it forever.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, his hands on her immediately.
She stilled at his touch, but forced a smile. "Maybe you could run out and get us some dinner from that little French restaurant we like so much. I could light a few candles, put on some music…you know, make it special."
His head tilted slightly at the thought. "Why don't we just go out, save the special for later—after we get home?"
"I'm not really in the mood to go out tonight…" She watched his face intently, searching for any sign that he doubted her intentions. He started up the stairs and she followed him closely.
Her breath stilled as he walked into the bedroom, slipping off his suit coat as he headed into the bathroom. "Come on sweetie," he whined, glancing back at her in the mirror. "It'll be nice. You can get all dressed up. We haven't done that in ages."
"I'm just really not…" Her voice failed her as she saw it out of the corner of her eye. Instantly she turned her eyes back to him, trying to pretend as if nothing had happened, but she could tell he'd seen. His eyes followed her gaze and within moments her worst fears were coming true.
"What the hell is this?" He held the test in his hand, his jaw tight, his hand trembling as he stared at her.
"Carl," she breathed, "If you'll just let me explain…"
"You mean let you lie to me some more? Is that what you want me to do?" He threw the test on the ground, his hands pounding on the hard, granite countertop on either side of her. He leaned close to her, his face mere inches from hers. "You're still gonna deny it aren't you?"
"Deny what?" she managed, her voice barely audible.
She could see his forearms trembling, the rage welling up inside him. He jerked his hands away from the counter and she flinched, half expecting one to come back against her. He whirled around, storming out of the room and down the stairs. For a moment she simply stood there, her hands shaking, feeling as if she might simply crumple to the floor. Her mind vacillated between being relieved he was gone and being terrified about what he was doing. With Carl, ignorance was never bliss.
Phyllis headed down the stairs, quietly walking into the living room where she found him pouring a drink.
His voice was eerily calm as he began to speak to her. "Over and over again I've asked you to tell me the truth," he muttered, his back to her, his hand gripping his glass, "And over and over again you've lied to me." Slowly he turned, his eyes shining at her. "You swore to me there wasn't anyone else…promised me I was seeing things that didn't exist…accused me of being paranoid? Well, what now? Am I still paranoid?" He took steps towards her as his voice raised more and more. "When I brought up having a kid, you said you didn't want that—said you were done having kids—said you were…." He paused, bringing the glass against his head as he appeared to think back, trying to get her words just right, "Oh…that you were done with that phase of your life…, right? Isn't that what you said to me?"
She nodded.
"And you were damn careful…always so damn careful…because God forbid something should happen…It would be the end of the damn world!" He was screaming now as he waved his hands maniacally, the scotch sloshing from his glass and onto the wood floor.
He was doing what he always did, but literally and figuratively. He was backing her into a corner. With every step he took towards her, she took a step back, until she'd be trapped, with nowhere to turn—nowhere to run.
"I didn't plan this," she whispered.
"Right," he sneered. "So is that why you wanted me gone tonight? You wanted to go tell your lover the good news? Huh?"
"Carl," she whispered, "It's not…"
"Or maybe….Was he coming here?" He took the final step, pinning her against the closet door now, his hand gripping her chin between his fingers, squeezing her so hard she was certain there would be marks. "Do you bring that bastard to my house?!"
"Carl, please…"
He released her, stepping back a bit as he stared at her. "That's alright," he sighed, seemingly calmer now. "Let him come. It'll be good for us to meet. It's time, but when he shows up, I've got a little present for him."
Phyllis watched in horror as Carl headed back up the stairs. She didn't need to follow to know exactly where he was going. Her eyes closed in abject terror as she listened to items being thrown from the closet and she knew he'd be down wanting answers. She opened the closet, unzipping the bag and grabbing the gun. As she readied it in her hands, she turned towards the staircase. Waiting.
Billy slammed the laptop shut. He couldn't concentrate. All evening the only thing he'd been thinking about was Phyllis. The more he tried to convince himself that she was fine, the more he became more certain that she was anything but. He'd picked up the phone at least ten times, but what would he say. With Phyllis there was a fine line between being concerned and being overbearing—sometimes he wasn't certain she even knew where it was. At the moment, the only thing he felt sure of was that something wasn't right. He glanced over at the clock on the mantle. It was late and he clearly wasn't going to make any progress tonight. He stood up, placing the laptop on dock to charge and heading up to bed. He'd told her to call him when she was ready—and he hoped like hell that she'd be ready soon.
She heard his footsteps as he bounded down the stairs. He stopped short.
"What the…"
"Carl," she began, the gun suddenly feeling much heavier in her hand. "I don't want to do this."
"Then don't," he whispered. "Don't do anything crazy. You have no idea what you're doing with that thing. Give it to me before you get hurt."
"You're the one that's hurting me," she breathed, taking a step back as he approached. "And it's going to stop. It's going to stop right now. I'm not living like this anymore."
"Phyllis—I want you to give me the gun. You don't even know how to use it. You could end up shooting yourself. Think about that. Think about the baby. How would you feel if you ended up hurting that baby, huh?"
"Don't you pretending to give a damn about me or this baby?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she screamed at him.
"See, that's what I'm talking about…you're hysterical. You see how you get? You see how volatile you get? You need me to keep things balanced around here. I'm just trying to help you." Carl walked towards her, his arms outstretched.
"Don't," she warned…"Don't come near me…I mean it…Don't you touch me."
"Alright," he lifted his hands, "You know what…I'm just gonna step right over here and I'm gonna call someone to come help you. You shouldn't be this upset. It's not good for you." He moved towards the phone.
"No!" She wasn't thinking, the images flashing too fast in her mind and she rushed towards him as she grabbed for the phone. Carl reached for the gun, slamming her hard against the back of the couch but suddenly seemed to fly backwards, his shoe slipping on the scotch he'd spilled earlier.
Phyllis stood, staring at him as he lay there on his back, his eyes staring up at her.
"You don't want to do this," he whispered, repeating her words from earlier.
"I want this to end," she said quietly, and I think this is the only way to do it. She closed her eyes as she pulled the trigger.
"Carl?" She held the gun tight in her hands, still unwilling to put it down. Hesitantly, she dropped it to one side as she leaned over him, her shirt resting on the profusely bleeding wound in his side. "Carl?" she managed again. Her entire body trembled as she looked down at her hands, at the spatters of blood that seemed to decorate them, at her shirt that was now soaked in her fiance's blood. "Oh my God," she breathed. "What did I do….What the hell did I do?"
He hadn't been sleeping, the ringing of the phone almost a relief and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer as her name flashed across the screen. "Phyllis?"
Silence.
Billy threw the covers aside, standing up, immediately grabbing his clothes. "Phyllis," he repeated, louder this time, his voice more insistent. "Phyllis…I need you to say something, sweetie!"
"Billy," she managed, her hand trembling furiously as she held the phone to her ear. She sat hunched in a corner at the far side of the room, her knees pulled up to her chest, one hand holding the phone, the other still clenched tight around the gun. "Billy."
Terror ran through him. He'd heard her call his name many times, but never quite like this. "I'm on my way, Phyllis okay? You hold on. I'm gonna talk to you. Alright?"
He threw himself in the car, switching on the ignition and throwing the car in reverse.
The drive seemed endless even though he paid no mind to the speed limits. Over and over he called her name, but received no response. The only way he knew she was still on the line was the sound of her shaky breath. As he pulled into the driveway, he leapt out of the car, pausing only long enough to turn off the ignition and put it in park. The door was unlocked, and he stepped inside, not bothering to knock.
"Phyllis," he called out, receiving no answer. A few more tentative steps, and his eyes fell on her. He immediately hit his knees beside her, his hands cupping her face. Her pale skin terrified him and as he looked down her body, his breath caught. "My God," he breathed, "Phyllis what happened? Is this your blood?"
Grabbing at her shirt, he pulled it, looking for the cause of the blood, his eyes falling on the bruises on her ribs. "Phyllis," he whispered.
She stared at him, the eyes he'd looked into so many times now so filled with fear. He reached for the gun and nodded slowly as she allowed it to slip from her hand, willing to take his hand instead.
"I had to," she whispered. "I had to."
