“First off, you may need to rethink your position on your mom,” she said. “I’d say she more than had your back. Second, you’re so full of shit it makes my head hurt.”
“Why did you call me here, then?” Michael barked back at her. “Getting dressed up, pouring us wine, the music—why do all of that if you’re done with me?”
Natalie paused, as if unsure what to say or how to say it.
“There’s a lot more at stake here than your personal absolution, Michael,” she managed. “Guess I can call you that, right? I mean, you’ll always be Michael to me, and the real reason you’re here, why I’m trying to soften you up with all this,” she motioned first to the room, then to those shoes like it was a magician’s reveal, “is that the police aren’t done with me, not yet anyway.”
“The DNA evidence,” Michael said sorrowfully.
Natalie tossed her hands in the air as if all were lost.
“Maybe it’s hair, or skin, or something; whatever they found, I think Kennett is convinced it’s going to point back to me.”
“And why is that?” asked Michael.
“Because I was there,” Natalie said. “Inside Audrey’s apartment on the night of her murder. I found your shirt and locker key in her bedroom, and then farther down the hall, in the kitchen, is where I found Audrey’s lifeless, bloody body.”
Michael’s vision went momentarily white. When it cleared, the seriousness of Natalie’s expression expelled any doubt in his mind as to her truthfulness.
“You were there? In Audrey’s place? Why would you go there? This isn’t going to look good for you.”
“Right after you left the house in a rush, I called Scarlett and asked her to return to look after the kids so I could go looking for you. Only I got there a little too late. I didn’t kill Audrey, Michael, but I’m scared out of my mind that I’m going to take the fall for her murder. So I need to know why did you do it, Michael? Please, please tell me.”
“Nat, I—”
“Don’t deny it, and please don’t patronize me,” Natalie cut him off. “Was she going to blow your cover? Did Audrey suddenly realize who she was sleeping with? Or was it something more banal, like love gone sour?”
“It’s not that, no. I didn’t hurt her.”
“Hurt her?” Natalie’s pinched face highlighted her resolute indignation. “You murdered her, just as you murdered her sister, Brianna.”
“No,” Michael shouted, slapping the counter with enough force to sting his palm. “That’s not true.”
“No?” said Natalie, her voice rising. Michael watched as she reached into her purse for the second time. From inside the seemingly cavernous bag Natalie produced an item wrapped within a faded blue washcloth, its nappy fabric pilled with age. Her shaky hands clutched a familiar black handle. She let the cloth fall away to reveal the dull silver of a sharp knife. Michael knew without making a close inspection that it wasn’t rust that partially covered the blade.
“Where did you get that?” he asked. He stared slack-jawed at the weapon she wielded, his eyes gone wide.
“You know where I got it,” Natalie answered harshly.
“Give me that,” Michael said. He reached for her wrist, but Natalie pulled away quickly. “It’s not what you think,” he said.
“No? Let’s see what a DNA test has to say about that.”
“Natalie, stop. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Tell me the truth, Michael. Save me. You owe it to me to own up to what you’ve done. You killed Audrey Adler. Admit it. I can’t go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. I won’t do it. So please, be honest with me, here and now. Then tell me where you hid the murder weapon.”
Michael’s head was spinning. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight. He came around the island thinking he’d make another play for the knife before she got some crazy idea what to do with it, but Natalie took a hasty step in retreat. Instead of approaching her again, he seized a clump of his own hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Natalie?” he shouted, taking a step toward her. “That knife is from the worst time of my life, and now you’re going to threaten me with it?”
His face went red with rage, and try as he might, Michael couldn’t find even a measure of calm. He felt his anger spiraling out of control. It was swimming inside him, rising up from his belly to his throat. Seeing the knife, the sudden rush of memories it brought back, all the stress of the last year, especially the last few days searching for his missing wife and children—all of it coalesced into something he couldn’t contain.
Every emotion the knife evoked came rushing at him, overwhelming the circuitry in his brain, leaving him unable to think, barely able to breathe.
“This whole thing is so crazy, Natalie,” he said, flashing her a look of pure, unadulterated rage. “You’ve been out of your mind for months, and now you tell me you were inside Audrey’s apartment. You saw her body. Natalie, what have you done?” Michael glared at her with an inimical power.
“You want my confession? How about yours? What happened to us? Yeah, I made a mistake. I should have been honest with you about a lot of things. I know that’s true. But there’s no coming back from what you’ve done. Now, give me that knife, Natalie, before this gets so much worse for us both.”
Michael lunged forward, believing he’d catch Natalie by surprise, snatch the blade from her grasp before she did something she’d later regret. With his anger still burning hot, Michael wasn’t thinking that his movement might be seen as threatening, intimidating, violent even. He was so focused on the knife, so utterly consumed with indignation, that he failed to take notice of how, in those moments, Natalie’s demeanor went through a dramatic shift. Fear now overtook her.
He didn’t give this shift much consideration, nor did he process what it meant when she put one foot behind her as if to brace for an attack while at the same time bringing the knife forward in defense.
One moment he was lunging at her, and the next Michael felt a strange sensation ripping through his belly. He came to a complete stop as a gushing warmth began to escape him. A sharp pain radiated from his stomach outward, and he tottered unsteadily from one foot to the other. His blurring vision made it difficult to regain his balance. He glanced down at the black knife handle now protruding from his belly, but could see no sign of the attached blade, which was now buried deep in his flesh.
Michael dropped to his knees, feeling nothing as he struck the floor hard. He gazed up at Natalie feeling utterly helpless and confused. With every heartbeat blood oozed out of him, turning his white shirt dark crimson. An irregular splotch formed, the knife handle in its center, growing larger by the second.