Daddy’s Home

Their clothes were out there, strewn about the living room where Clay Mitchell sat in my stuffed chair, leaned over with his elbows resting on his thighs. An automatic pistol dangled loosely from his grip. I edged into the living room from his four o’clock and he turned his head.

“Come on out,” he said, using the gun to wave me over, then pointed it at the sofa across from the chair. “Grab a seat.”

“Clay, the cops are on their way. You should leave now.”

“Really?” he asked with a soft laugh, then gestured with the pistol at the coffee table where he’d lined up five cell phones. “Just sit the fuck down, man. I want to talk to you.”

“Let the girls go first.”

“Sit ... the fuck ... DOWN!”

I noticed a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor by his feet. How long had he been sitting there, listening to me fuck the shit out of his baby daughter and her friends? Hours? And how the fuck had he gotten inside my apartment in the first place?

Fucking Denise, of course. How many times had I told her to make sure the door fully latched when she closed it? Too many to count. I considered the distance between me and Clay and wondered if I could get to him before he got a shot off. Then I remembered that he’d been a four letter varsity athlete and played college football. Even unarmed, he’d snap my metrosexual neck like a dry chicken bone.

I took a seat on the edge of the sofa cushion and rested my hands on my knees. I’d thrown on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before coming out, instructing the girls to lock the bedroom door behind me and to put on anything of mine that would fit, then arm themselves with whatever they could find. They had no way to escape the room, save a twenty-two story drop to the sidewalk below. The only path to freedom crossed Clay’s gunsight.

Clay tilted his head to look at me through one eye, a tiny smirk on his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?” he said, sounding almost impressed. “I never saw you coming.”

“Clay...,” I said and he lifted the gun.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he asked in an eerily cheerful voice.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Alright, then. Shut the fuck up.”

He lifted the whiskey bottle to take a swig, then held it out to me. When I didn’t move or say a word, he snorted an amused grunt, then took another pull on the bottle and set it down. He swiveled his head to survey the apartment.

“This is a nice place,” he said. He gestured with the gun to indicate the balcony. “Really nice. That view.” He whistled softly.

I briefly wondered how he’d found me, but the answer was obvious. I’d filled out a mountain of financial paperwork in his office when I’d bought my Range Rover, every document plastered with my personal information. I recalled that he’d even offered to have it delivered from his house to my high rise.

Clay watched me closely, studying my face. I tried to control my breathing and remain calm, gripping my knees to keep my hands from shaking. he looked over his shoulder to the hallway and my bedroom beyond.

“That Courtney, huh?” he said when he turned back around. “She cleaned up real nice, didn’t she?” I clenched my jaw and he laughed. “Who knew? Told you she had a nice little rack on her, though, didn’t I?”

“Come on, Clay.”

“Come on, Clay,” he mocked. “Man, just shut the fuck up!” he laughed, then his expression abruptly darkened and he lifted the pistol. “How long have you been fucking my wife?” When I didn’t respond, he added, “You can talk now.”

“I’m not fucking her,” I said quietly, then instantly regretted saying it. It was technically the truth, but would he take it as a lie?

“Maybe not anymore, but you did. Didn’t you?”

I had flashbacks to Erin’s interrogation after she’d caught me in the pool with Ashley and her friends. She’d wanted to hear me admit it. I slowly nodded and Clay pressed his lips into a thin line and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.

“Erin,” he said under his breath. “Erin, Erin, Erin. God, I hate that fucking bitch, sometimes.” He opened his eyes and took another swig of whiskey.

“Clay, I’m sorry, man.”

“Do you love her?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure who he’d referred to. Erin or Ashley. I had a fifty-fifty chance of answering wrong and catching a bullet with my brain. I needed him to clarify.

“You mean Ashley?” I asked and he scoffed.

“Ashley? Who gives a fuck about Ashley? I’m talking about my fucking wife!”

The rage on his face caused me to flinch. I didn’t know if it would be worse to say no or yes. “No,” I said at last, which turned out to be the right answer, I guess, when he didn’t pull the trigger.

His rage mask twisted into an amused smile. “That was you in the pool house, wasn’t it? You left the light on.” He tsked. “Dumb mistake. I saw it when I came home Tuesday. I went in there to turn them off. You could smell it the second you walked through the door.” He breathed in deeply through his nose. “Pussy. Cum. Right away, you knew someone had been fucking in there. The whole place stank of it.”

Brittney had slept over the night before and we’d fucked like animals for hours. Kayla the night before that. The bed sheets were covered in cum and baby oil. Tuesday had been the night I took the girls to Arcadium. When we’d returned, I’d found the pool house locked. For some reason, I’d assumed Erin had done it, though I couldn’t understand why at the time. Now it made perfect sense.

“Saw the bed had been slept in,” he continued. “Found the butt plugs and dildo and lube. The bloody towels in the bathroom. Fucking used tampons everywhere. At first I thought, okay, Erin’s gone on one of her little benders again. Then I saw the laptop plugged into the TV, and the backpack. And then there was your fucking Rover. Parked right outside my fucking house for days.” He tapped the gun against his temple. “You must think I’m the stupidest dumbfuck on the planet, don’t you?” he asked, then his anger returned in a flash and he leveled the pistol at me. “Don’t you!”

Someone knocked at the front door. Clay stood and put his finger to his lips, then walked to the vestibule with the gun held behind his back to peer through the peephole. Had Denise changed her mind and come back to fuck more? I prayed not. When Clay opened the door, I felt an odd mix of emotions to see Erin standing on the other side. Relief mixed with revulsion and dread.