Allison
I can’t do much these days.
Wake up, shuffle to the bathroom, shuffle back to the bed. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Sunlight hurts my eyes. Noise hurts my ears. It’s safest under my covers.
I think about Freya in her final moments.
Hoping for a way out.
Was Papa there in the room? I don’t think so. Whatever Papa did, that happened before Freya got in the bath.
Did she know she was dying? Did Papa tell her to take all those pills? Did he force her on them?
I see my sister terrified and alone. Abandoned by her own father. Abused by her husband.
I was the last person she tried to reach, and I didn’t know how bad things had gotten.
How could I have known?
But I could have.
I’m stuck in a self-reinforcing loop. I couldn’t have known. I should have known. Over and over. Shuffle, back and forth. Shuffle, shuffle. My mind feels like a deck of cards flipping back over itself, never in the same position twice.
Freya’s dead. She can’t come back to explain herself.
Those emails said too much, but left out even more.
After a while, days probably, the door to the room opens. He’s standing there. He’s always there, always nearby. Coming and going. Checking on me, trying to help me, but I can’t do much more than shuffle.
He comes to the bed. Sits on the edge. He brushes the hair from my face. “Allison,” he says. His voice is deep. He’s beautiful, that beast. “It’s time.”
I know what he means. I put my head in his lap and he strokes my cheek. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Are you ready?”
I want to close my eyes. Instead, I stare at Gregory.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m afraid. Is it okay that I’m afraid? I should be angry.”
“It’s okay that you’re afraid. It’s what you do while you’re afraid that matters. Are you going to stay here? I can do this on my own.”
“No.” I force myself to sit up. I can’t keep shuffling. I can’t keep looping. Freya is dead. But even alive, she wouldn’t have wanted this. “No, I’m coming. He’s my father.”
“And don’t forget that,” Gregory says.
He helps me shower and dress. It’s intimate. I feel pathetic. But if he minds, he doesn’t show it.
When we’re finished, I feel like half a person again, which is better than I’ve been. I follow him to the car and he drives himself while I sit in the passenger seat. Sean’s following behind in an SUV filled with soldiers, not that I think we’ll need them.
“Do you remember what we discussed?” Gregory asks as he parks out front of my father’s office.
This building is so familiar. I worked here for a long time, but now it feels strange, like it’s been twisted by everything that has happened.
“I remember.”
“Be strong. I know you can do this.”
I follow him inside. The front office secretary’s a nice girl named Rachel. She seems a little awkward when I brush past her without an appointment. “My father won’t mind,” I say, flashing the poor girl a smile.
She has no clue what’s about to happen.
I meet other employees that I used to be friends with. It feels like I’ve been gone for years, though it’s only been a few months. I stop and make small talk, chatting very briefly, catching a glimpse of what my life could’ve been like if none of this had happened. Instead, Freya is dead, I ran away from my wedding, I married Gregory, and now I’m going to murder my father.
Papa’s in his office. His personal secretary doesn’t look happy as I continue on past her. “He’s on the phone,” she says in a weak attempt at stopping me.
I find my father staring out the window. There’s no call, nothing to indicate that he’s even busy. I shut the door behind me, and Gregory keeps it closed with his foot.
Papa looks over. His face goes through confusion, anger, fear. “Allison, Gregory,” he says. “What are you two doing here?”
“We need to talk.” I approach my father. I want to be sick. I feel dizzy like my head’s disconnected from my body. I can almost stare down at the scene from the ceiling.
Papa clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “We could’ve set a meeting, or had a call, or-”
“I went through your email.”
He looks confused. “You did what? I’m sorry-”
“I saw the messages between you and Freya.”
I let that linger. He squirms slightly, leaning forward. Confusion dances in his expression, but I can almost taste his anxiety. This is an act, all an act.
He knows I know.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I don’t-”
“How fast was it?” I ask him, head cocked. “Did you mean for her to die? Or were you just trying to shut her up for a little while? Just buying time?”
He sits back in his chair. “I have no clue what you mean.”
“Freya was going to leave Paul. If she did that, he would’ve called on your debt, isn’t that right? That’s why she was married to him. Then on top of everything, she comes to you with documents proving that Paul was stealing from his farmer partners. That’s when you came up with the plan, isn’t it?”
His face hardens. There’s still steel in my old man. Papa read me The Art of War when I was a little girl, after all.
“I don’t know where you’re getting this fantasy from.”
“It must’ve seemed like a gift. Bury the documents for Paul. Curry more favor. Squirm your way out from under his thumb. Except I don’t understand why Freya had to die. You could’ve let her go.”
Papa’s jaw works. “I had nothing to do with her death.”
“You were there. I saw the messages. You went to that house to collect those documents, or at least that’s why she invited you. But then you did something. Did she know she was taking the pills? Did you force her to swallow them?”
“Allison,” he says, tone strained. “Stop this now.”
I look back at Gregory. He only nods at me, face a passive mask, and I take strength from that.
“It was an accident. That’s my guess. You’ve fallen so far, Papa, but I don’t think you’d kill Freya on purpose. I think you gave her too much, many too many sleeping pills, and you panicked. You carried her into the bathroom. Put her in the tub. Did you take off her clothes? Or maybe she got herself there on her own after you left. Did you think she was already dead? Were you surprised when you learned she’d survived for a little while longer?”
“Please,” he whispers, eyes shut. “Please stop.”
“Tell the truth, Papa. I already know it was you. Paul wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t kill Freya. I didn’t want to believe him, but it’s all there, it’s all so obvious. Tell the truth for once in your life, damn it, please, tell the truth for your poor dead daughter’s sake, just tell me-”
“She wasn’t supposed to die,” he says, voice choked with rage and sorrow. His face is red and veins pop out in his neck. “I gave her the pills to help calm her down. I gave her too many and she fell asleep. I didn’t think she was dead, but I left the bottle, and she must’ve woken up at some point. She must’ve taken more.” He leans forward, his face in his hands. “I don’t think she would’ve done it if the pills weren’t there already. I thought I was helping. I wanted… I wanted to fix things. I gave her the pills, but she’s the one that decided to finish off the bottle after I was gone. She must’ve gotten in the tub, swallowed the whole thing-”
I can’t hear anymore. I take a step back, heart racing. “You’re lying.”
“I’m sorry,” Papa says, crying. I’ve never seen him cry in my life. Not even at Freya’s funeral. “I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve made her marry that man. I never should’ve asked you to do it too. I’m sorry.”
I back away, shaking my head. This can’t be real. It can’t be. But it makes more sense. Papa could’ve have forced the pills down her throat, and he would’ve staged her in the tub if he had.
Freya took them herself.
“It’s still your fault,” I say as a cold wave washes through me.
“No,” he says, looking miserable.
“If you hadn’t made her marry that man-if you hadn’t given her the pills-if you had just tried to help her when she begged you for help-she wouldn’t have killed herself. She’d still be with us. You forced her to take the most extreme step.”
“No,” Papa shouts, getting to his feet. “No, you’re wrong, I didn’t-”
Then Gregory’s in front of me. A cold, horrible statue, standing in front of Papa radiating pure loathing and madness. His voice comes out smooth. “Sit down,” he says.
Papa drops back into his chair, chastened, all his rage diminished.
I cry quietly into my hands. This isn’t how I thought it would happen. I thought we’d confront Papa, he’d admit to the crime, and I’d get my revenge.
Instead, this is so much worse.
Freya did it. She might’ve been pushed to the edge by everyone around her, but she’s the one that did it in the end.
Gregory says something to my father. I don’t hear it. I think he’s trying to protect me now. Eventually, Gregory wraps his arms around me and steers me out of the office. We leave father behind, and Gregory hurries me through the halls. I feel the stares, but I don’t give a damn. I left that life behind already, and I can do it again.
“I’m sorry,” my husband says once we’re finally outside. He holds me tight next to the car. “I’m so, so sorry, Allison. I didn’t think that’s how this would go. I never would’ve brought you if I’d known.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to get control of myself. “This doesn’t change anything.”
He pulls back to look into my eyes. I stare at him, reaching deep into myself to find the smallest bit of resolve left. His head tilts. “Are you sure?” he asks.
“Papa killed her. Whether he forced the pills into her mouth or not, he killed her, and I want him to pay. I need him to pay, Gregory.”
“If you ask this of me, I will do it for you.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure it’s what you want? You should think on it.”
“It’s what I want.”
He nods slowly. “Then I’ll do this for you, because I love you, Allison. I know it’s not the right time to say it, but the woman I saw back in that office is strong and beautiful. She’s the kind of woman I want by my side for the rest of my life. I will give you whatever you want, for as long as you want it, I swear to you.”
I stand on my toes and kiss him.
I’m still a mess of emotions. Maybe I’m too vulnerable right now from what happened in there. But I want Gregory like I’ve never wanted before. He’s solid, he’s real, and he’s the only person in my life that has only ever tried to do what’s best for me. Even if he makes mistakes and does things his own way.
We break apart and I stroke his cheek. “Thank you,” I say. “Please, when you kill my father, make it quick.”
“Whatever you want,” he says.
And I kiss him again.