going to do?” He’s studying my expression so intently I have to look away.
“I’m going to bed. I just need to get out of here and think.”
“I’m coming with you.”
I push him away, managing to free myself from his grasp. I stand and shove my hands into my front pockets. “No. You should stay, but stay down here. I’ll be fine alone.”
I back up a few steps and then turn to go, my feet crunching over the debris. I leave the room without looking behind me and mount the stairs to my bedroom. I make it all the way there before I start crying again. Holy shit. What have I done now?
CHAPTER TWELVE
For a long time, thoughts of my worst-case-scenario life swirl around my head, but I’m just getting to the point where I’m drifting off when a vision of Charlie comes into my mind. In my half-sleep state, I let him in.
Most of the time I manage to push memories or thoughts of him away, but I guess, with all that happened with Lucky and the anniversary of Charlie’s death being here, it’s just impossible for me tonight. The man I killed is standing in front of me with a trail of swirling smoke above his head, let loose from the cigarette that just left his mouth. Dark gray tendrils slip from between his lips as he smiles. It’s not a happy expression.
“Look at you,” he says. “Who would’ve thought? Little Antoinette Delacourte becoming a mama.” He shakes his head. “Never thought I’d see the day. Maybe we’ll have a little boy.”
I feel like I’m going to vomit. I know this can’t be real, that Charlie can’t be here and he can’t be the father of my hypothetical baby. He’s dead because I killed him. None of what’s happening is rational, but it feels completely real. It’s like he’s standing right here in my bedroom looking down at me in judgment, claiming my future for his own.
Is this what happens when you commit murder? Does the ghost of your victim come back and get to judge everything you do until you die? Control how your life plays out? As awful as it sounds, it also seems fair to me; I took his life and now he’s taking mine.
I can’t argue the logic of it, but still, I try to shake my head no at Charlie’s ghost. I’m not having a baby. I’m not pregnant. It was just a little mistake, and God has already punished me enough.
“You should name him Charlie,” the ghost says. More smoke leaks out from behind his teeth. I get the impression that the effect is not from that cigarette that’s still between his fingers. It’s as if there’s a fire burning inside him. I’m sure any moment I’m going to see flames shooting out of his eye sockets.
I whimper in response. I want to cry out, No!, but the words won’t come.
Charlie’s face gets closer, looming over mine and getting bigger and bigger. “Will you call him Charlie? And when he’s bad, will you shoot him in the heart? How many times will you shoot him, Bitch? Once? Twice? Five times?”
That’s it. I can only take so much shit from a ghost. I reach out to hit him in the face, but he grabs me and holds me down. Charlie’s ghost has never been able to do this before. Has the anniversary of his death made him stronger? I’m trapped! I scream, kicking and writhing, trying to get away. He’s going to drag me down into hell with him, I know he is!
“Toni! Toni!” A voice is calling me from far away. It’s Lucky. Is he going after Lucky?
“Lucky!” I scream. “He’s here! He’s here—run!”
My fist goes up and down hard as I throw a random punch, trying to free myself from the ghost of my mistakes.
“Oof . . . owww . . . dammit, that hurt . . .”
Something jabs me in the back of my neck. It feels like . . . a chin? I stop struggling, as I listen to someone experiencing great pain. Is it Charlie? For a brief moment, I feel as though I am the victor, that I’ve defeated the ghost who came to rob me of my life and my friend’s life.
“You finally got me in the nads, just like you promised,” says a strained voice from behind my back.
My brain finally comes back online, and I realize the voice I heard belongs to Lucky. He’s behind