Till Murder Do Us Part Read online

  Brandi hops off her bike in front of her mother and stepfather’s house, leaving it propped up right there in the driveway. That’s another perk of living in a gated community: the chances of being burglarized are very, very…

  “What the—?”

  Stepping up to the front door, Brandi sees that it’s slightly ajar.

  Neither of her parents should be home from work yet, and neither of their cars is in the driveway. Did one of them accidentally leave the door open in the rush to leave this morning?

  Or is there another explanation?

  Could somebody else have left it open—or broken in?

  Could that person be inside the house right now?

  Brandi’s mind immediately leaps to Mark—but just as quickly, she shoves that thought aside. His car isn’t in the driveway, and she doesn’t see it parked on her block. And besides, he couldn’t have gotten past the guardhouse even if he wanted to. Brandi’s mother and stepfather have explicitly warned security about Mark and his behavior, and have asked the guards to keep an eye out. No way they would ever let him pass.

  Right?

  Steeling her nerves, Brandi pushes open the front door and enters.

  The house is dark and quiet. But nothing looks out of place.

  “Hello?” she calls out. “Anybody here?”

  Brandi waits. Listens. For a voice. For footsteps. For any sound at all.

  She hears nothing.

  Exhaling with relief and feeling just a little silly, Brandi heads upstairs to her bedroom. She flips on the lights.

  And gasps.

  The room has been completely ransacked, from wall to wall.

  Her closet has been thrown open, her wardrobe left in total disarray.

  Her dresser drawers have been overturned, their contents spilled everywhere.

  For a few seconds, Brandi is too shocked and overwhelmed to speak.

  Silently, carefully, she surveys the damage.

  She notices something odd.

  Numerous pieces of designer clothing, along with much of her jewelry, are missing. But a lot has been left behind. What kind of burglar, she wonders, would walk off with some expensive items but not others?

  Then Brandi notices something else, and pieces the puzzle together.

  Strewn across the carpet is a collection of glass picture frames she’s been keeping in a box in the back of her closet. Most of the frames contain old photographs of herself, her family, and her friends.

  One—and only one—glass frame has been smashed, the photo inside ripped out and torn to shreds.

  It was a picture of Brandi lying on a patch of grass, curled up happily next to Mark.

  Feeling equal parts violated and furious, Brandi grabs the cordless phone in her room and dials 911. She’s livid yet manages to calmly explain to the operator what she believes happened: her ex-boyfriend must have somehow charmed his way past security, trespassed onto private property, broken into her family’s home, and stolen every piece of clothing and jewelry he ever bought for her. Her ex-boyfriend has shown himself to be not only dangerous and unbalanced but spiteful and petty.

  Phone still in hand, Brandi heads downstairs and back outside to wait for the cops—where she makes one final, unnerving discovery.

  Noticing that the garage door has also been left ajar, she opens it fully.

  Her white Mercedes convertible—another gift from Mark—is missing.

  All Brandi can do at this point is laugh.

  But perhaps there’s a silver lining in all of this. Having taken back everything he ever gave her, Mark has no reason to bother Brandi anymore. Maybe he’ll finally leave her alone, once and for all.

  At least that’s what she hopes.

  Chapter 15

  Spreading the good word all day can really work up an appetite.

  Mark Rogowski and Augie Constantino have been witnessing, as they call it—pacing and skateboarding up and down busy Coronado Beach, stopping and proselytizing to as many people as they can—since about nine o’clock this morning. They got so caught up in it that their “lunch” was a bag of chips and a couple of candy bars, scarfed down in about five minutes.

  Now it’s nearly seven, and the two young evangelicals are starving. They each grab a slice of pepperoni pizza from the boardwalk and plop down on the curb out front.

  “Gosh, I’m beat,” Augie declares, “but I feel fantastic! I think I really connected with a lot of folks out there today. What about you, man?”

  Mark doesn’t respond. Instead he’s staring down at his greasy slice, his mind somewhere far away. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

  Then he lets out a muffled sob.

  Which catches Augie completely by surprise. “Whoa! What’s wrong, brother?”

  “I…I just miss her so much,” Mark answers, his voice cracking. “Brandi. I’ve been thinking about her all day. I can’t stop! I still love her…but I hate her! And I hate myself for…”

  “Hey, come on, now,” Augie says, scooting closer to his dear friend and tossing an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t talk like that. With Jesus in your heart, there’s no room for hate of any kind. Not toward anyone. Least of all yourself.”

  Mark shakes his head. “You don’t know what I’ve been saying and doing to her, Augie. The things I’ve been thinking about saying and doing to her.”

  Augie hesitates, as if nervous to ask. “Mark? You haven’t…hurt her, have you?”

  “No! Of course not! And I”—Mark’s voice softens as he finishes the sentence—“I never would. Just stupid shit. Like following her and her new boyfriend around. Leaving weird messages on her machine. A couple weeks ago? I even snuck into—I mean, uh…I made her give me back a bunch of gifts and shit I’d given her.”

  Uncomfortable, Mark looks at the ground. “There’s something else, too,” he continues. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  Augie waits to hear it, completely nonjudgmental.

  “I don’t just miss Brandi’s soul,” Mark says. “I miss…her body. You know what I’m saying? The flesh is weak, dude. I’ve got needs. And lately, I’ve been turning to some pretty sinful movies and magazines to satisfy them. I wish I could quit. I know I should. But sometimes it feels like it’s out of my control.”

  Mark braces for the tongue-lashing he expects Augie to unleash on him. After all, what could be more wicked and shameful than having an addiction to pornography?

  Instead all Augie gives his friend is love.

  “I hear you, man. Can I come clean about something, too? I used to wrestle with that same filthy demon myself.”

  “You? No way. Really?”

  “Oh, sure. The power of porn is very real. I struggled with it for quite a while before I finally kicked the habit for good.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  Augie pulls out and holds up the pocket-size red-leather Bible he keeps with him at all times.

  “Galatians 6:1: ‘Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted.’ To me, that means removing temptation in the first place. One day, I tossed out my entire porno stash and made a promise to God to never buy any more ever again.”

  “You don’t think I’ve tried that?” Mark huffs. “It’s not that easy, dude.”

  “Of course it isn’t. But you’ve got to start somewhere. Hey, why don’t I come over right now and help you rid your home of that smut once and for all?”

  Mark considers the offer but balks.

  “I appreciate that, man. But…nah, not tonight. Another time. I promise.”

  “Okay,” Augie answers. “Whenever you’re ready, let me know. I’ll be there.”

  Mark takes a hearty bite of his pizza. He chews, swallows, and then says, “What I am ready to do is get Brandi out of my head. For good. Any advice on how to do that?”

  Augie taps his mini Bible again. “James 5:16 tells us, ‘Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.’ The way I see it, you can either let anger and resentment build up in
side you, Mark, or reach out to Brandi with repentance, humility, and love.”

  Mark makes a face. “I’ve tried reaching out to her, like, a million times. She doesn’t want anything to do with me!”

  Augie shrugs. “Have you tried reaching out to apologize?”

  Chapter 16

  Brandi McClain still can’t believe she’s going through with this.

  Her mother, her stepfather, her friends—they all said she was crazy. And maybe, on some level, she is.

  But tonight, standing on her parents’ front steps as Mark Rogowski pulls his car into the driveway, Brandi waves, walks over, and gets in the passenger seat.

  Just a few days ago, something like this would have been unimaginable to her. But that was before she received Mark’s long, thoughtful, handwritten letter.

  At first reluctant to open it, Brandi expected it to be a string of threats, insults, and profanities. Instead it was an earnest peace offering and a heartfelt apology. Mark was asking her to look into her heart and forgive him for his many past sins and transgressions. Would she consider sharing one last meal with him, so the two could have a final air-clearing conversation? In exchange, he promised to stop bothering her forever.

  After being stalked, harassed, and tormented by Mark for months, Brandi could scarcely believe what she was reading. His words flooded her with relief—and hope.

  Maybe Mark really was feeling remorseful. Maybe he really was going to leave her alone, once and for all. Maybe, she thought, just maybe she could finally stop looking over her shoulder everywhere she went, stop tensing up every time the phone rang.

  If having one last meal together was what it would take, Brandi decided—after a good deal of reflection—it would be worth it.

  “You look really pretty tonight, baby,” Mark says.

  “Thanks,” she answers evenly. To make room for her legs, she pushes aside the red metal Club—the steering wheel–locking anti-theft device—that’s resting on the floor mat. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.”

  “Come on, I was just being nice. Relax.”

  “I’m very relaxed, thank you. But I’m not your baby anymore, Mark. Maybe some other women in your life like it when you call them that, but—”

  “There are no other chicks in my life, Brandi. You know that. I’m saving myself for marriage. If you’d been cool with that, maybe we’d still be together.”

  Brandi sighs. They haven’t even left her driveway yet and already she’s starting to have second thoughts.

  “Fine. Whatever. Can we just go to the restaurant?”

  But the car doesn’t budge.

  “First, let’s talk about your sex life for a second.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I haven’t seen you with that meathead surfer bro in a while. Are you two still screwing around, or have you already tossed him aside and moved on to the next guy?”

  Brandi scowls, shocked and insulted. Her rebound relationship has indeed been cooling off, but she snarls at Mark, “That is none of your goddamn business.”

  “Language!” Mark fires back. “Don’t ever take the Lord’s name in vain like that. Show some respect.”

  Brandi throws up her hands. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re seriously gonna lecture me on Christian values and respect after calling me a slut?”

  “I didn’t call you—”

  “I thought you wanted to apologize. To ask for my forgiveness. To move on.”

  “I’m trying to, Brandi! But the idea of you being with another guy—”

  “Tough, Mark. Deal with it. Your jealousy is not my problem. Maybe this was a bad idea.” Brandi folds her arms.

  “No, no, you’re right,” Mark says, nodding and calming down. “I’m sorry. For everything. Can we still have one nice last dinner together? Please?”

  Ignoring the little voice in her head screaming at her not to go, Brandi agrees.

  A few minutes later, she and Mark head out past the guardhouse and turn onto the main road that slices through the foothills around Canyon Lake. As they drive, Brandi can’t help but ask, “How’d you do it, by the way? Get past security. I’m curious.”

  “Uh, it was easy. I told the guy I was here to pick you up. He called your—”

  “Not tonight,” Brandi interrupts. “The time you snuck into my bedroom and smashed that picture of us and took back all the clothes and jewelry and the Benz you gave me.”

  Mark is silent for a moment. Then he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Somebody broke into your folks’ place and stole your car? When?”

  Now Brandi is quiet, too. How can she possibly respond to what feels to her like such a brazen lie?

  She finally settles on “Mark, you’re a real asshole. You can hide behind your new religion and your new friends all you want, but at the end of the day—”

  Suddenly, Mark slams on the brakes and makes a sharp, squealing left turn onto a dirt road that’s nearly hidden behind a giant tree.

  “Whoa, what the hell?!” Brandi exclaims. “What are you doing?”

  Mark doesn’t answer. He keeps his eyes glued to the dark, bumpy, curvy road ahead. The car starts to pick up speed.

  So does Brandi’s pulse.

  “Mark, slow down! Where are you going? If you think this is a shortcut out of the canyon or something, trust me, it’s—”

  Mark brakes hard again. The car comes to a rough, skidding stop in the middle of this dark, quiet road surrounded by dense trees.

  Mark turns to Brandi, his face contorted with rage. In a deep, frightening voice, he screams at her, “You know what I should do?! I should take you out to the desert right now! I should beat the shit out of you and leave you there! And I would get away with it, because everybody would know you deserved it!”

  Brandi sits frozen in the passenger seat.

  Stunned by what Mark is saying.

  Paralyzed by fear.

  “Mark…please…”

  “Please what?! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

  Brandi’s whole body starts to tremble. Her eyes well up with tears.

  “Please…don’t hurt me…”

  Mark balls up his fists and leans in close. Brandi can smell his sour breath.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?!”

  “I’m begging you, Mark…please…My mother knows where I am! If I…If I don’t come home tonight…”

  Brandi trails off, too upset to finish the sentence.

  At last Mark leans back in his seat. He rubs his face with his hands. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds to Brandi like some kind of prayer.

  Then he slowly turns the car around and drives her back to her house.

  Chapter 17

  Okay, we’re doing it today.”

  Those are the first and only words Augie Constantino hears Mark Rogowski say on the phone to him one chilly morning.

  But he understands exactly what they mean. Within minutes, he hops onto his skateboard and heads over to Mark’s condo.

  Mark greets him at the door wearing ripped jeans and a black hoodie that reads I SKATE YESTERDAY AND TODAY AND FOREVER, a play on a verse from the Old Testament.

  “Hey, dude, thanks for coming over so fast,” Mark says.

  “What did I tell you? The moment you were ready, I’d be here to help.”

  Augie follows his friend inside. In the middle of the living room are two flat, unassembled cardboard boxes; they’re surrounded by a sea of old magazines and VHS tapes—all with beautiful, buxom women on the covers in various stages of undress.

  “Wow. Quite a collection. Is this everything?” Augie asks.

  “Almost. Got a little bit more in the bedroom. I figured I could finish going through them while you made the boxes and started packing them up?”

  Augie says he’d be happy to, “but first, let’s read a bit of scripture together, shall we? I found a passage that reminds me why what we’re doing is so important.”

  Wit
h a shrug, Mark agrees. The two sit on the sofa.

  Augie opens his pocket Bible, clears this throat, and reads aloud: “Matthew 5:27. ‘You have heard it said, “You shall not commit adultery.” But I say to you, everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.’”

  After Augie finishes the reading—which, strangely, seems to make Mark a little uncomfortable—Mark disappears up the stairs and into his bedroom.

  Augie uses a roll of clear packing tape to construct the pair of boxes. Then he starts loading them up with Mark’s videos and magazines as fast as he can, like a train engineer shoveling coal into a fiery engine.

  Hoping to avoid triggering any “lustful intent” himself, Augie does his best not to read or even look at any of the titles or photographs. At least not too closely.

  But despite his efforts, a few covers do catch Augie’s attention.

  And they give him serious pause.

  Paying more attention now, he notices images of naked women locked in cages.

  Women shackled to dungeon walls.

  Women stretched out, spread-eagle, across medieval torture devices.

  Women being held at knifepoint by unseen assailants, looking terrified.

  Even women flung across beds and splayed on the ground, their eyes vacant, their bodies splattered with blood, “playing dead” with extraordinary realism.

  Augie gasps in shock and hurls the stack he’s holding to the floor.

  He shuts his eyes and mutters, “Dear Lord in heaven, give me strength…”

  Augie is hardly a stranger to pornography. He’s looked at more issues of Playboy and Penthouse than he can remember. He’s watched plenty of skin flicks, too.

  But Mark’s stash?

  Augie has never seen anything so dark or twisted in his life.

  And he finds it deeply, spiritually disturbing.

  “Okay, this is the last of ’em!” Mark announces happily as he reenters the living room. He dumps the armful of smut that he’s holding into one of the boxes and then finishes gathering up the rest of his collection strewn around the carpet.