"Tangled Webs"
EDITED BY:
Miriam Belle
CREATIVE CONSULTANT:
Simply_Cyn
Author's Note:
"As with the previous two chapters, these final two installments are actually one chapter split in half for the sake of an easier read. Thanks again for all your support."
* * *
It was shortly after two in the morning when the doorbell to Henry's apartment began ringing repeatedly. Henry bolted upright in the dark of his bedroom and almost fell out of bed as his legs flipped to the side of the mattress. The sheet caught around his ankles and he thought he might fall to the floor and break a hip. At age fifty, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He grasped the bed and steadied himself as his heart pounded in his chest.
"What the hell?" he rubbed his eyes and looked at the ungodly hour burning brightly in the LED display of his alarm clock. He staggered out of the bedroom and through his living room, catching his leg on the corner of the couch. Henry cursed and hobbled on until he reached the front door. Through the peephole he saw the funhouse mirror image of Mark Gordian looking back at him. Henry sighed and braced his head against the door.
"Oh God," he groaned and shook his head, "What did I do to deserve this?"
"Henry!" Mark called through the door, "Henry it's me! Open up!"
Henry debated whether or not let him in. This was, after all, the man who had been essentially blackmailing him for years now over his voyeurism of Ellen Gordian. Mark had spelled out the conditions of his silence first half hour after the incident involving his "self-gratification" at Ellen's expense. Mark had used Henry to carry on with his affairs and all the time, even as he cheated on Ellen and disgraced her. And while all this happening, he still acted as though he were offended by Henry's act. It was as though Henry's indiscretion was more hideous and unforgivable than a husband cheating on his wife.
"Henry please!" Mark called and knocked on the door.
"Shit," he grunted and opened the door.
"Henry!" Mark pushed his way in and closed the door tight, locking it behind him. Henry was surprised to Mark looking not only very pale, his usually dark Hispanic features turned a ghostly white but also to see that his eyes were pried open as wide as dinner plates. He looked around the room, as though trying to see if Henry were alone. Marks clothes were rumpled and disheveled as he paced the living room.
"Mark," Henry rubbed his eyes, "It is two in the morning."
"I'm in trouble," Mark said flatly.
"I knew that already," Henry commented dryly and thought of his confession to Ellen. That was his ace in the hole. Mark had been threatening to tell Ellen about the incident, and that was what had kept Henry in line for so long. But now that Ellen knew, and that she wasn't mad about it, Henry had some room to maneuver. He asked, "What is going on? You look like shit."
"You remember that waitress from the Starlight Café?" Mark looked at him wildly, "You remember how I told you about the chef from Alessandro's?"
"Yeah," Henry frowned and felt a draft across his feet. He hugged his bare chest and sat down on the couch, his gray sweats warm and comfortable.
"The waitress I was fucking is the one who died a little while back," Mark told him, "She was killed right after we talked that morning."
"You mean the morning you threatened me and then proceeded to fuck your prize student for an hour in your office?" Henry clarified.
"Henry," Mark sat down, his voice breaking, "The chef, Emma... Oh my God, Henry."
"What?"
"She's dead," Mark whispered, "Someone cut her fucking head off."
Henry felt his blood go cold, "What?"
"They're both dead," Mark exclaimed, "And both are connected to me! What am I going to do!?"
Henry looked at Mark, "Call the police."
"I can't call the fucking police," Mark shouted, "They'll suspect me."
"Did you do it?"
"You mother fucker how can you even say that?"
"Hey," Henry shot back, "Two women you've been sleeping with have been killed. One way or another they're going to connect you to them. You think not going to the police is going to help? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I didn't do it, Henry," Mark raised his hands peacefully, "I'm sorry I yelled, okay? I'm sorry."
"Mark," Henry shook his head and ran his fingers through his white hair, "Call the police."
"I can't do that, you don't understand."
"Is there more to this?"
Mark knew if he revealed he had slept with not one but two murder victims just days prior to their death, he would be exposed. And if they checked his phone records from the office against Alicia and Emma, it would look even worse. And then if the cops dug any further and found the numbers he had called to price a hitman for Ellen, he would be in even deeper. It was all falling apart around him, his whole life completely screwed thanks to some asshole that wanted to ruin him.
"What if the killer goes after me next?"
Henry replied, "What if the killer goes after your student fuck buddy? Or Ellen and Maddie?"
Mark felt his stomach sink. If Ellen died, it would be no great loss. But Maddie, his little baby girl in harms way because of him? And what about Shannon? And Marlene? Mark wanted to crawl under a rock and die, "I have really fucked up."
"Who is the student you've been porking?"
"Marlene Henson," Mark sighed, his chin in his hand, "She needed a good grade in my class for a scholarship."
"And you decided to help her out," Henry said.
"You know, Ellen could always find out what you did if you want to get smart," Mark warned.
"Call her," Henry picked up the phone from the end table and pressed the call button, "Give her a buzz and tell her."
Mark looked doubtful, uncertain as to what he should do.
"I told her," Henry took a deep breath, "I told her everything this morning, including what I did. So fuck you, Mark. I'm done playing this goddam game."
"What?" he hissed, "You fucking told her? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
