Chapter One
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Maggie was practically pleading with him now.
Jonathan continued to pace back and forth in front of her, anger rolling off of him in waves. "Why was she here?" he demanded, "Why was she asking me those questions?"
"Questions?" Maggie's mind whirled as she tried to make sense of what was happening, of what had set him off. "Lily was asking you questions?"
He stopped then and turned towards her. She took a step back. "Don't play stupid with me," he hissed at her, "I just want to know why. I think I deserve that much Maggie … to know how and why you're using her against me."
"I'm not using Lily against you Jonathan," she insisted. "I'm not using anyone against you. I love you. We're getting married."
In an instant he was there, right in her face. He grabbed both of her arms and pulled her even closer, "What did you tell her," he was screaming now.
Maggie's voice was quiet and low, her eyes begging him to believe her, "I didn't tell her anything." Tears were beginning to form at the corners of her eyes.
His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. After a long moment, he shoved her away from him, and his next words mimicked her own scared tone, "I didn't tell her anything." Disgust contorted his face, "You're a liar."
Maggie could see the anger building in him. And for the first time since that first time, she thought about leaving. She actually decided to leave, but he was standing directly in her path to the door. "Jonathan," she tried to reason with him, "Lily is autistic. No one knows why she does the things she does or says the things she says. She's different. Her mind doesn't work like other people's."
She saw him pause and consider her words, and a bit of the tension left her. "She's just a kid," Maggie continued, "She doesn't have an agenda. She's not capable of it. What you're saying … it's just not true. It doesn't make any sense."
The slap came so hard and so fast that she was totally unprepared. The force of it knocked her sideways and she only stayed on her feet because she was able to brace herself against the end table. "Are you calling me stupid?"
Slumped over the table, Maggie tried to think of what to say, the answer to the question, but her head was ringing. She couldn't find the word. She heard the footsteps coming behind her. "No," the word finally came out in a sudden huff as she tried to catch her breath. And that 'no' wasn't just the answer to Jonathan's question, it was a frantic command from her mind to her body. She willed herself to move, but her body didn't respond. Jonathan grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her upright. He cocked his head to one side, as if considering her, "You think I'm stupid, Maggie?"
She raised a hand to try to fend him off, but it only made him grab her hair tighter, pull harder. She cried out in pain.
"You're the one who's stupid, Maggie," his voice sounded almost gleeful now as he moved his face closer to hers, "If you think that I'm going to stand around and let you lie to me … humiliate me …," he paused, tugging once more on her hair to bring her even closer, "Then you really are the stupidest, most sexually ambivalent bitch on the face of this earth."
He let go then, giving her a slight shove that, along with sudden removal of his hand from her hair, cause her to lose her balance and crumple to the floor at his feet. She put a hand to her head, as if she could ease the pain by pushing the hair follicles back in place. When she finally looked up, he was glaring down at her. He looked angry, menacing. He looked … excited. He was waiting, she realized. Waiting for her to apologize, to beg and to grovel. That was what he wanted. Everything seemed very clear then. He wasn't confused. He wasn't hurt. He didn't care what the truth was. He wanted to hurt her. It made him feel good.
She placed both of her palms on the floor and pressed herself up so she was sitting on her knees. She sat quietly for several long moments … waiting … deciding. He paced around her. When she finally looked up at him, she wondered if her own eyes were as cold as his. She thought they must be. "Get out," she growled at him. "I want you out of my house. I want you out of my life. Don't ever come back, or I'll call the police. I swear to God, I will."
Shock, and even fear, flashed across his face, causing Maggie to feel her first small moment of strength, of hope. She stared harder, colder, as if she could burn through him with her eyes.
There was a split second when she saw the rage … saw it coming … bigger and louder than ever before. And even as it turned her blood cold, some hidden reserve, some survival instinct, kicked in – flight. She frantically crawled away from him, trying to put enough distance between them that she could stand and run.
She hadn't gotten more than a few feet away when the hand wrapped around her ankle, pulling her back until the knee came crashing down between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the floor. "Let me go," she cried. When he didn't, she screamed. She screamed louder than she had ever screamed in her entire life. She didn't yell for help. There weren't any words at all. Just loud, steady, piercing screaming. She felt the knee press harder into her back, cutting off her breath. He laughed then. He actually laughed at her.
"God, you really are stupid, aren't you," and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You think you can leave me. You think I'll let you be with someone else … anyone else … her?"
"That's not for you to decide," Maggie gasped out, amazing sounding not at all afraid.
It was then that she heard the click. When she lifted and turned her head to see where the noise had come from, Jonathan placed a palm against the side of her face and crushed it back down into the carpet. And her worst fears were realized when she felt the barrel of the gun pressed against the base of her skull. She was going to die. He could do it. He would do it. She didn't want to die. "Jonathan, don't," she whimpered.
Jonathan's voice was cold, cruel, condescending, "Now you want me, don't you Maggie? Want me to help you? Be with you? Love you?" There was a pause, and he pressed the gun more firmly against her skull, "You do, don't you Maggie?"
She was crying openly now. Even as she prepared to answer him, to give in, to beg for her life, she prayed for help. Then came the crash, the door banging against the apartment wall as it was flung open.
The instant she heard the noise, Maggie pressed her hands underneath her shoulders. And when Jonathan jerked back, startled, she reared back into him. She heard a satisfying crunch as the back of her skull crunched and shattered his nose. She sprang up when she heard him moan and crash backwards. And she ran.
"What the hell is going on in here!"
She ran straight into Bianca.
Bianca put her hands on Maggie's shoulders and looked into her eyes. There was instant recognition. Bianca nodded briefly, and they turned to go.
"Stop!" the yell sounded almost liquid as it gargled out of Jonathan. It was punctuated by a bullet crashing into the ceiling and a rain of plaster.
They turned slowly. Jonathan's face was a mess. Blood covered his chin and was running down his neck. But worse than the blood were his eyes.
Maggie felt Bianca's hand and arm reaching across her, pushing her back. Before she knew what was happening, Maggie found herself behind Bianca. She watched everything else from just behind Bianca's left shoulder, through a couple of hairs that had strayed out from behind her ear.
Bianca was standing up very straight and very tall. And she didn't seem afraid at all, though Maggie realized that she must be. She sounded calm, certain, forceful. "It's over Jonathan," she said, not unkindly. "Maggie and I are leaving."
There was silence at first. But then, after all that silence, he responded. Not to Bianca, but to her. His voice was angry, but also almost resigned. And that made his words all the more chilling, "You win. Do you hear me Maggie, you win." He was screaming now, "You want out? Here's out."
Even before she could process the words, Maggie knew that something terrible was going to happen. And Bianca knew too. At least that's what Maggie believed. After all, wasn't that why she had reached down and grabbed Maggie's hand?
It happened so fast. So fast, in fact, that Maggie couldn't figure out what had come first – the noise or Bianca collapsing against her. She knew what had come next though – the pain. The burning, searing pain in her shoulder as they slumped to the ground together. And the smell – the smell of burning flesh … hers … Bianca's.
