A Deadly Secret

“Can you keep a secret?” 

She asked the exhausted man who was currently leaning against the windowsill and blowing his cigarette smoke out onto the city below. He closes his eyes miserably, his muscles tensing up throughout his entire body. He knew this was coming. Maybe he should have left town like Ella suggested, even if she only meant it sarcastically. Anything to get out of this, what can only be an intensely uncomfortable situation. The old Southwest Airlines ads with the catchphrase “wanna get away?” echoed mockingly in his brain. 

He took a long inhale and put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill. 

“You know I’m not good with secrets,” he replied, “you of all people should know that.” 

“Walter, please. You’re the only one I can trust in this whole damn city! Please, for old time’s sake. Please, For me?” 

There she goes again with her own personal catchphrase. The words ‘for me?’ echoed through Walter’s brain now, replacing Southwest Airlines and bringing with it twenty years of baggage in the form of old memories he’d spent the last several years trying to forget. They swirled around in his tortured mind. A thousand voices speaking simultaneously forming a garble of white noise accompanied by a thousand different images, mostly unpleasant, but some lovely and those ones seemed to hurt the most. 

“Christ, Maggie,” he said, clutching the windowsill tightly, trying to steady himself, trying to quiet the voices and kill the images. ‘How has no one invented a memory killing pill yet?’ he thought bitterly, ‘there should be a way to temporarily unplug the hippocampus. This is getting ridiculous.’ 

Maggie watched and waited, seemingly patiently, but in truth, she was torn up inside. She had her own voices and memories playing, only they were screaming at her like demons possessed, trying to rip through the very fabrics of her consciousness. A quick glance from a stranger might show that Maggie’s composed, maybe even nonchalant, but a closer look would reveal she’s using every ounce of strength to keep herself together. A fact that Walter, having known her intimately for twenty years, could see plain as day. 

“Christ, Maggie,” Walter said again. This time it came out as more of a desperate plea than a frustration. 

“It seems you already know what I’m going to say anyway, Walter. You may as well hear it.” 

“I may have had an assumption, but look, this is none of my business! I want no part of it.” 

“I have to tell someone, Walter. It’s killing me! I can feel it eating away at me everyday. I can’t sleep, I’ve barely touched any food, and Marcus-” 

“Don’t bring your son into this!” Walter suddenly shouted. His demeanor changed from fearful to angry, and he took a menacing step from the window towards her, but kept his grip on the windowsill as if holding on the windowsill was the only thing keeping him together. “I know what you’re trying to do, Maggie. You’re trying to get me to sympathize so I’ll listen, but damn it, I want nothing to do with this! If you want someone to listen to you, get a therapist!”

Maggie was unfazed by the outburst. In fact, she had expected it. She stood statuesque in the middle of the stained, wooden floor of the small, cluttered apartment. “I can’t get a therapist, Walter. Not for this. You’re the only one I can turn to, you’re the only one I can trust.”

“If that’s really the case, then wouldn’t we still be together?” 

“You know the answer to that, Walter.” 

It’s true, he did. That sudden burst of anger had made him say it, but the anger was quickly fading and he immediately regretted saying it as soon as it left his mouth. He looked away from her with shame and directed his gaze back out the window to the city below. Maggie didn’t press the issue. She knew he hadn’t meant to say it, besides she was here for more pressing issues than to rehash their failed marriage for the hundredth time. 

A brief silence ensued and hung in the air like a curtain waiting to be lifted. Walter was pretending to show indifference, but Maggie knew he was listening intently, steeling himself inwardly at what was about to come. She took a deep breath and began. 

“It’s about what happened to Kent,” she started. 

“I know. Of course I know that, who else could it be about,” Walter snapped, not letting her finish, “I told you about him, Maggie! I told you he was a bad apple, but did you listen? No. No, you never listened to me.” The words came out like a well rehearsed stream of consciousness. The words fell stale on Maggie’s ears. They were words that had been spoken many times before and, therefore, didn’t need to be said. They were just filler, like abandoned laundry swinging in the open wind. 

But Maggie remained patient and kept her composure. She spoke softly, gently, as if talking to a confused child. 

“You did tell me, Walter. That’s why I’m here. No one else saw in Kent what you saw. It’s why I never believed you. How could it be anything other than jealousy when everyone, even my own sister, saw only good in him? But,-” she took another deep breath, “- you were right, Walter. You were right. Kent was just as bad, if not worse, than what you had warned me about.” 

A few years ago, hearing these words, that Walter had been right about perfect little Kent, would have left a burning glee inside of him. An angry triumph at having been right all along and the wondrous ability to be able to say the words ‘I told you so.’ But now, the knowledge of being right did nothing but leave a bitter and mournful feeling weighing in his gut. He turned from the window, looked morosely at Maggie, and waited for the rest. 

“He hit me, Walter. He was abusive. It started subtlety with quick, but violent tantrums every once in a while and gradually grew to more and more frequent, and more violent, events. In public, or with family, he would act so caring and wonderful, then behind closed doors, he would become mocking and hateful at everything I did. I could never be right, about anything. Even things I knew were true, he would twist and manipulate, until I no longer believed them anymore. Everything that I liked became bad and distasteful. I felt like I- like I was losing myself. A little piece of me each day. It was awful, Walter! But the worst thing about it, was that no one would believe me. I told my sister and I told my mother and they said it was in my head, that it was me just adjusting to married life. Then later, that it was just me going through hormone changes during pregnancy. And I tried to believe them, Walter, I really did. But after a while, it just- it just became undeniable what was happening. I could no longer fool myself into believing he was a good person. Especially after he started hitting me…” 

Maggie stopped and began to sob. The composure she had successfully held the entire time had broken, like a dam cracking beneath the pressure of the water desperate to be free. Her sobs carried the lament and the torture that she felt inside and reverberated off the walls of the tiny apartment. Maggie cried for every abuse she had suffered over the past few years, for every abuse her son had suffered.

Walter fought every urge to go to her, to comfort her, to make it his problem. He tried desperately to stare out the window and to not care. It took everything he had. He clutched at the windowsill for support and pulled himself closer to the wall and away from Maggie. Insubordinate tears streaked down his face giving his feelings away.

“I don’t want to trouble you with Kent and my marital problems, but I need you to understand the why. The why in what I had to do what I did, Walter…” The sobbing continued in its intensity.

“Maggie, please. I don’t- I don’t want to know. Just leave me. This has nothing to do with me. Not anymore,” Walter said, trying to sound forceful, but his voice was choked with emotion and empathy and the tears were flowing uncontrollably down his weary face. "What he did to you was terrible, Maggie. I wish with all my heart you wouldn't have had to go through what you went through. That you wouldn't have had to suffer. But you left me, Maggie, you left me for him! I tried to warn you, I tried to tell you who he was and when you wouldn't listen, I tried to distance myself. To let you live the life you wanted. Because you were right, Maggie, we weren't good for each other. I came to that same conclusion you did when I had time apart. Time to think. But we're not together anymore, Maggie. I spent the past eight years trying to forget you, to move on, but here you are again. What do you want me to do, what am I supposed to do?"

Maggie spoke through her sobs. “Walter, there’s something I never told you. Something you need to know about Marcus.” Maggie paused briefly and wrested control over those voices that threatened to spill out, and through great effort, she managed to control her sobbing. She needed him to hear this completely and fully. “He’s your son, Walter. Marcus is your son.” 

Walter turned marble-white. His grip on the windowsill was so strong, his nails were leaving indents in the wood and his hand was beginning to ache. He began to shake uncontrollably. 

“What did you say?” his voice was a choked whisper, his eyes boring into her face, desperately searching for some sign that this was all a joke. Make believe. Fabricated for some sick joke by Maggie. But he saw in her eyes only pleading truth. 

“It’s true. Kent forced me to take a DNA test. It proved that Marcus is your son.” 

“How? How can this be?” his voice was louder now. Waves of disbelief and thoughts of the possibilities were crashing over him with relentless force. 

“Do you remember the month before the wedding when I came over? When I finally told you I was getting married?” 

“No, that can’t be. You said it was Kent’s child!” 

“The truth is, I wasn’t sure. Of course I was going to say it was Kent’s. We were getting married. But a part of me always wondered. Kent and I were intimate shortly after our little meeting together, but the timeline lined up to when you and I-” 

“Don’t say it!” 

Walter thought of all the times he had dreamt not just of being a father, but of specifically fathering Maggie’s children. It was a dream that was never realized during the long length of their marriage, but now in a gesture of fate’s cruel irony, here it was. What he had always wanted, but twisted and macabre. 

“This is- this is insane,” was all Walter could muster, shaking his head over and over as if the motion of it could turn back time to an alternate universe where there existed a different truth. 

“When Kent found out Marcus wasn’t his son he freaked out, Walter. He had been getting more and more violent over the last few years, but this was something new. This was violence like I’d never seen before. He was going to kill us, Walter. He was going to kill both me and Marcus. I had to do something.” 

Walter slowly looked up and into Maggie’s eyes. He could feel every muscle in his neck working, he could swear the turning of his head made a sound like a rusted hinge. 

“What did you do, Maggie?” 

Maggie looked at him with pleading, but deeply haunted eyes. It was the kind of stare Walter expected a soldier to have after coming home from war. Maggie was in total anguish. She began to violently shake. “I killed him, Walter," the words echoed around the room. Walter stared in shock and disbelief, a single tear followed the path of the others down his cheek.

"I killed him before he could kill my son. Our son. Afterwards, I threw his body into the river where he liked to go swimming and told the police he had drowned.”

There it was, the secret was out. Despite the circumstance, Maggie couldn’t help but feel a weight lifted off her chest at having finally been able to tell someone the truth out loud. Walter looked like he was about to have a complete breakdown. 

“Christ, Maggie! I could understand you wanting to leave, but committing murder? Why didn’t you just run away?” 

“He worked intimately with the police, you know that Walter! He would’ve been able to find us anywhere we went. Anywhere in the country. Nowhere was safe. The cops all knew me, they would never suspect I’d be capable of murder.” 

“But you are, clearly! And now I’m an accomplice. I have to turn you in, Maggie, otherwise I’m going to prison with you!” 

Maggie sank to the floor. Her sobbing was done. What remained was the quiet, aching peace of knowing her fate was now out of her hands. “You could turn me in, Walter. You could. Or you could help us escape. With your connections, you could get us a ticket out of this city without drawing suspicion. I’ve covered my tracks, Walter. I’ve done enough research to know how to make it look like an accident. Like he drowned. Please, think about our time together, think about our history. Think about your son. What would happen to your son if I were locked away? Would you take care of him?” 

The implications and the choices and consequences of those implications swirled around in Walter’s head. He became dizzy and faint, but he clutched on the windowsill for dear life and it kept him upright. The windowsill was stable and sturdy, like a father figure should be. Christ, what was he going to do? One thing was for sure, he was going to need a lot more cigarettes. 

A thick silence hung heavily in the room with no intention of being lifted. Maggie sat still in the same spot in the center of the room, but now an eerie calm had settled over her, replacing the tense anguish that had gripped her earlier. She had found comfort in easing her burden. In sharing her secret. Whatever was to come would come, there was nothing she could do now.

Walter once again stared out into the window and down at the city. He could see little silhouettes of people walking by on the sidewalk going about their business. The biggest problems in there life were wondering if they could afford rent, or where they would get dinner tonight. Oh, how he envied them. What he wouldn’t give to be down there walking amongst them right now. Walter took a deep, shaky breath and with the greatest effort, took his hand off of the windowsill. He walked over to Maggie, slowly and with caution, as if at any moment he might turn back to the windowsill, but he came to her and embraced her. The feelings of twenty years of intimacy rushed back and filled him as he stroked her hair.

“Christ, Maggie,” was all he could muster.