Fool Me Twice by Lizzie Morton

 

 

Twenty-Six

 

Becket

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Deja vu. I wonder how many times I’m going to find myself in this position with Britney in my life.

Britney. My eyes shoot open, and I fly forwards, gasping for breath.

“Woah man! Woah woah woah,” says Evan. Concerned brown eyes find mine and he places a hand on my shoulder, trying to still me. “It’s ok. You’re safe. It’s ok.”

Evan is one of the most closed-off people I know, he never gives an ounce of his feelings away, but right now, he looks weary and broken. I look around the room frantically and it takes a few minutes to accept that I’m no longer in danger. Easing back on the bed, I allow my body to relax and my breathing to settle.

When I’m finally calm, Evan’s shoulders slump, defeated. “You had me worried for a moment there.”

I look around again, taking in the hospital surroundings. Sunlight glares through the windows, everything looks so clinical. The complete opposite to the last place I remember being. “How long have I been out?” I try to ask, but my voice comes out hoarse. I try to speak more clearly but I can’t.

“Don’t talk, you’ll damage your voice box even more,” says Evan.

It all comes back to me. The figure with his hands around my neck, trying to choke the life out of me, trying to put an end to the game we started playing years ago.

But I’m still here.

I remember the bang. The bang when I pressed down on the trigger, not knowing where I was aiming, or if I hit my target. My last ditched attempt to save us both.

I go to speak again, but Evan holds up a hand to stop me. “Let’s do it this way.” He picks up a piece of paper and a pen from a table off to the side. Of course, he preempted that as soon as I opened my eyes, I would have a million different questions. He passes them over.

I mouth thank you. He smiles solemnly.

Something isn’t right. Where’s Brit? I need to know if she’s ok. Britney? I write on the paper.

Evan reads it and sighs. “She’s in the room next door. She had a spell of consciousness, but it was short.”

I frown. Surely, she should have gotten better if she regained consciousness, not worse.

Noticing my frown, Evan explains, “Another agent tried to get a statement before I arrived. He let slip that you’d reported seeing the figure recently.”

I know what’s coming next.

“It tipped her over the edge, and she lost consciousness again. The doctor said it’s her subconscious protecting her from the emotional trauma that, right now, is too much for her to process.”

Images of Britney slumped in the chair, covered in blood, creep in and I blink trying to stop them. I can’t. I did this to her. I never should have let her in. I can’t hear any more about her, not right now, she’s alive and that’s all that matters.

I pick up the pen again and write, Did you get him?

Evan grimaces and glances out the window, telling me everything I need to know. He takes a deep breath before saying, “We found the gun in your hand and found the bullet but that’s it. There was a lot of blood at the scene, but there was no trail. It’s like he just disappeared.”

He’s gone?

Evan reads then nods.

I want to scream, but I can’t. He’s still out there … This game is never going to end. What now?

“You need to focus on recovering, as does Britney. We’ll need to take statements from you. For now, yours will have to be written, but when your voice recovers, we’ll take another.”

What about my mom and Josie? What about football?

“Your mom and Josie are fine. He doesn’t know where they are. I’ve upped their security while I’m here. In the meantime, there’s a warrant out for his arrest.”

I point at the word football, the question he has yet to answer.

“We’ll assign you a private detail to be with you at all times, to make sure you’re safe. Continue with football, being the focus of the world will keep you safe.”

Can I see Britney? I write.

He shakes his head. “No visitors allowed unless it’s family, not until she’s conscious. She has to be able to give her consent.”

We avoid talking about the fact that even when her eyes open, the answer will probably be no.

 

***

 

Three days I’ve been stuck, staring at the same four walls. Apparently being a national treasure means you get extra special care and attention, lucky me. At least I get to stay close to Britney, even though I have yet to see her.

Standing, staring into the bathroom mirror in my en-suite, I inspect the hand marks on my throat. They’re the same as the ones my mom had. Their coloring is now a mixture of purple and green. The bruising is starting to heal.

“She’s ready for you, Mr. Becket,” calls one of the nurses into my room.

I let out a sigh as I follow. After everything Evan told me, I know this isn’t going to be a happy reunion. Britney no doubt blames me, and rightly so.

The nurse opens the door to Britney’s room, steps in and says, “Mr. Becket is here.”

I don’t hear a response, but the nurse walks out, offering me a sad smile. I smile back, faking a confidence I don’t feel. The room’s dark and the curtains have been pulled shut. Evan mentioned she was finding light painful. I suck in a sharp breath when I see her. I want to run over, pull her into my arms and whisper in her hair that she’s safe and everything will be ok. But I can’t because I don’t know if it will.

When my eyes adjust to the light and take her in, rage threatens to consume me. The skin that isn’t hidden by her hospital gown reveals a pattern of red slice marks. Her face is still swollen, the bruises have the same coloring as my own. And then … there’s her neck. It has the same marks as mine, as my mom’s. We’re no longer two of a kind but three. Three survivors of the hands that have ended too many lives.

“B—brit,” I say, my voice faltering.

Her eyes stare at her hands, clasped together, resting on the sheets. She doesn’t say a word.

“Brit, please, talk to me,” I plead.

When she looks up, the familiar sparkle of her eyes has gone—they’re empty. She looks at me like she wishes I were dead.

“Don’t call me that.” She swallows then says quietly, “You knew. You saw the figure.”

I nod.

“You knew something was wrong. You knew what that figure meant, and you didn’t tell me, didn’t warn me. If I’d known I would ha—” she stops in her tracks, choosing not to continue with what she was about to say.

I frown, knowing there’s something she’s not telling me, but I can’t push it, not when she’s looking at me like she is.

“You didn’t let me prepare,” she continues, “or make a choice. You disregarded my safety like it was nothing. You knew about my past—I told you everything, my darkest secrets. But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me one of yours, the thing that would have kept me safe.” Her throat bobs as she swallows and her voice comes out strangled, “You led me into the hands of a monster.”

“I’m sorry, I—I …” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

“Lost for words? You should be.” She swallows and stares at me intently. “Is Michael Becket even your name?”

I shake my head, no. I look at the monitor beside her bed. It bleeps rapidly, informing me how angry she is, just in case I didn’t already know.

“Who are you?”

“I don’t even know myself anymore,” I reply, so quietly I’m not sure if she hears.

“I’ve been sitting wondering to myself, how someone I loved, and thought loved me back, could do this to me. I understand now that I never should have trusted you, I don’t know you at all.”

There’s nothing I can say, it’s the truth. I brought her to Jacksonville to mess with her. I never preempted that another player, with too many cards up his sleeve, was going to join us on the board and mess everything up.

“Get out,” she seethes.

They’re the same words I said to her when I had my injury and my world felt like it was crumbling down around me. The only difference here—Britney’s world hasn’t crumbled, its ended. She’s got nothing left to give.

I open my mouth to say I’m sorry again, when she screams at the top of her lungs, “Get out!”

Two nurses come rushing into the room. The one who let me in looks at me and calmly says, “You need to leave.”

I nod and turn around, my eyes drinking in Britney as I do, wondering if I’ll ever see her again.

I get my answer when I’m about to step through the door and she says, “Don’t wait for me, there’s nothing left to wait for.”

Resigned, I walk out, listening out for the click as the door shuts, the sign that this chapter of my life with Britney has come to an end.

 

***

 

Britney

 

“Let me help you.”

I hold up a hand, stopping Jess before she tries to place her own on my shoulder. The thought of someone touching me is too much. If she’s put out, she doesn’t let it show.

Pulling the freshly cut key from my bag, I look at the door to my apartment hesitantly. It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been here. It will never be long enough. I don’t know if I’m ready. My heart pounds in my chest as I slide the key into the lock and turn it. There’s nothing there, Britney, relax.

Jess says, “Are you ready to go in?”

I nod, pushing open the door and we both step inside. I walk slowly, my eyes dart around, looking for any sign of danger and my ears prick, listening for sounds out of the ordinary. I can’t switch off. I’m on guard, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the figure to come for me again and wrap their hands around my neck. My throat is dry, and I struggle to swallow, but still, I push myself forward into the living room. An array of different emotions fight to take over. One minute anger, the next sadness, then sheer terror when my eyes settle on the picture of my mom and me. Someone must have replaced the frame.

I flinch when a crashing sound reaches my ears, then the smashing of glass. My eyes find the window—the hooded figure is there. The flash of a knife. The tearing of skin. Blood dripping against silk. An almost deafening bang.

I blink. Everything is still in place, it’s all in my head.

I run to the kitchen with Jess closely behind. Leaning over the sink, I empty my stomach with each wave of nausea that hits. I remain there until all I can do is retch. Retching turns into sobs that take over my whole body.

Jess steps in closer, raises a hand carefully, then gently places it on my shoulder. “Shh.”

I fall into her arms, tears cascading down my cheeks, finally succumbing to the pain and the fear that might never, ever leave.

We crumble down to the ground together, and Jess rocks me back and forth slowly. All the time saying, “Shh.”

Finally, I choke out, “I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating. Each time I close my eyes, he’s there.”

Jess says quietly, “Let it out. Let it out whenever you need to. Only time can help you heal.”

“What if I don’t heal?” I ask. “What if I’m too broken?”

“You’re not. If you were as weak as you seem to think you are, you wouldn’t be here. You might not have justice … yet. But what you can do, is fight, prove that he didn’t kill you or your spirit.”

I look around and whimper. “I don’t want to be here.”

She draws back from me and gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then don’t be. Come live with me. Pack a bag and let’s just go. We’ll let the security team know. You don’t need to live with reminders each day. You’ll torture yourself with fear.”

A little while later when I muster up the energy, we stand and go to my room. Jess helps me quickly throw as much clothing as will fit into a bag.

It’s when we’re leaving that my eyes find the picture of me and my mom on the console table again.

“Do you want to take it?” Jess asks.

“No.”

She nods and we walk out of my apartment, leaving the physical reminders of my flawed past behind.