Third Quarter: Second Place Winner
ALEXANDRA FOX
by Philip N. Di Pietro
Had I known, I would have brought it to an end sooner. But, how could anyone have known things would go this far?
My three year old daughter, Marcia, sat bound to a chair. Her chin rested on her chest and strands of thick, black hair covered her face. Alexandra, her former nanny, stood beside her, a pistol clutched in her hand.
A naked light bulb cast a dim glow over the small, dingy apartment. The only furniture was the chair Marcia was restrained in.
“Alexandra.” I closed the door behind me. “What … what are you doing?”
“I didn’t do this, you did.”
Her voice was different. It was deeper, huskier, and she looked different. Maybe because the poor lighting cast odd shadows, but her long, beautiful face looked haggard and old.
“Alexandra.” I took a couple of steps toward her. “Please don’t do this.”
“You returned this call. You couldn’t return my others, but you could return this one and follow my directions. You son-of-a-bitch,” she screamed. “Did you think you could sleep with me and then fire me? I took care of you and her.” She struck the top of Marcia’s head with the barrel of the gun. Marcia’s head lolled to one side, but she didn’t respond. “After your wife died, I took care of you. I kept your family together. If it wasn’t for me, neither one of you would have made it. And you thank me by defiling me.”
She raised the gun at me.
“I loved you,” she said.
“Listen. I’m sorry things got so screwed up. I’m sorry I slept with you. It was a mistake. I took advantage of you. I’m older. I should have known better, but,” I paused and motioned toward Marcia, “she didn’t do anything. This wasn’t her fault.”
“Why did you do it to me, Cameron?”
“I’m sorry. I was lonely. You’re a beautiful young woman and I …”
I didn’t know what to say. A weak moment, temporary lapse in judgment, or just a horny man in his forties swept up by a young woman’s beauty.
After my wife died, Alexandra came to us through an online ad I placed. She had an impressive résumé but I didn’t check the references. When I saw her interact with Marcia, I was hooked. At first she was a blessing, but after a couple of months things changed. Subtle things, but the signs were there. And, after our infamous night of lust, her erratic behavior spiraled out of control. She became a danger to me and Marcia, so I let her go.
“Alexandra.”
“What?”
“What can I do to make it up to you?” I took another couple of steps toward her. Only five or six feet separated us. “Please tell me what will make you happy. What will it take for you to let Marcia go? I’ll do anything.”
She shook her head. “You have to pay,” she said and pressed the tip of the gun to the side of Marcia’s head.
“No.” I took a quick step forward.
“Stop.” She jerked the gun away from Marcia and pointed it at my chest. “You stop right there. I gave you my innocence and you treated me like dirt.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I –“
“That’s what they all say. Every time, they say the same thing.” Her faint stare drifted into the darkness behind me. “I thought you were different. I thought you were the one.”
“Alexandra.” I stepped forward. “If you give me the gun, I promise we can fix this.”
“No.” The gun barrel pressed to Marcia’s head again. This time she cocked it. “You can’t give me back my innocence. You can’t give me back my future.”
I was close to her. If I extended my arm, I could touch the gun. But, there was no way I could stop her. Her finger was on the trigger. The hammer was cocked and ready. A slight twitch might be enough to fire it.
“Alex, please give me the gun.”
“I can’t, Cameron. You have to pay.”
“How can I pay?”
“With your daughter. You took my innocence and now I’ll take hers.”
“There has to be another way. Marcia didn’t do anything wrong. She loves you. You’re mad at me. Shoot me. I’m the one that did it. I’m the one who hurt you.”
“It’s brave that you admit it.” Again, she stared past me. “None of the rest of them did. They all called me a crazy whore.”
She eased the gun a couple of inches from Marcia’s head.
“Do you really mean you’ll do anything for me? Do you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
I swallowed hard and moved another half-step forward. Her body odor mixed with stale liquor assaulted me. In the time she had been with us, I had never seen her take a drop, but now she smelled like a wino.
“Yes. I love you.”
She let her hand, with the pistol in it, rest on Marcia’s tiny shoulder. The barrel pointed down and away from my daughter, but the gun remained cocked.
“Look at me, Cameron. Look into my eyes and say it.”
I cleared my throat.
“Cam, look at me and tell me you truly love me.”
My stomach churned as I raised my head. I looked into her dark eyes, eyes I once stared into with lust, but now I tried to feign a gaze of love to save my daughter’s life.
“Alexandra, I love you.”
The words hung in the musty air. For a second, the corners of her lips turned up and the dark eyes softened, but in a flash it disappeared.
“You liar.” She gritted her teeth and screamed, “You damn liar.”
The gun jerked toward Marcia’s head and I lunged. My forehead crashed into the bridge of Alexandra’s nose. I heard it crunch, felt warm blood spurt on top of my head. She fell backward, sending a wild shot into the ceiling.
I grabbed her right wrist and drove it into the wall. She snarled, screamed a string of obscenities, and spit in my face. I slammed her hand against the wall again. She got off two more shots before the gun fell to the floor.
Alexandra slapped me and twisted out of my grip. We both fell. She grabbed the pistol but I pounced on her and wrapped my hands around hers and the weapon. She rolled onto her back pulling the weapon toward her. I tried to wrestle it from her, but she jerked away. Two quick shots rang out and it was over. The gun slid out of her hand and onto the floor. Two red stains formed on her white shirt, one in the stomach, one the chest. She coughed out a thick stream of blood. There was nothing else to do.
I kicked the gun away and scrambled to Marcia. She had remained still through the ordeal. I hoped for the best, but feared the worst.
“Baby.” I stood behind her and undid the ropes. “Baby, it’s daddy. Everything is going to be okay.”
She whimpered and I almost cried. She was still alive. I tilted her head back and cleared the hair from her face.
Her blue eyes were brown, her pale complexion dark. This girl wasn’t my daughter. This girl wasn’t Marcia.
From behind, I heard Alexandra cackle. I turned and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. I propped her against the wall.
“Where is she?” I hollered. “Where is she you bitch?”
She gave me a bloody smile.
“Where?” I slammed her body against the wall. “Where is she?”
She didn’t speak, not even to beg me to stop my assault on her.
“Alexandra,” I tempered my rage. “Where is she? Where is Marcia?”
She coughed up more blood.
“Screw you, you liar.”
Before I had the chance to shake her again, she spat a mouthful of blood in my face and her body slumped. Alexandra Fox was dead.
It’s been six years. No one knows why Alexandra did it. The police came up empty. I found out she had battled mental illness for years, but never harmed anyone. Why did that change? Why my daughter? I’ll never know.
The little girl who served as my daughter’s imposter was returned to her parents. It was never clear how Alexandra snatched her from her home, but at least they had a happy ending.
Today, Marcia would have turned nine. Day and night, I continue to search through a world of darkness and despair. But, as each day passes, so does the hope of ever finding my daughter.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
I’m a small business owner and father of three. I began writing three years ago as a hobby, but fell in love with the process. After taking two years of classes, I recently began the process of attempting to get published.
JUDGE’S COMMENTS:
"Alexandra Fox" is a disturbing and sad story about the tragic consequences of a widower's affair with his daughter's nanny. The story's ending artfully draws the piece to a close with something very far removed from "happily ever after." The author might consider heightening the tension even further by having the father try more strenuously to glimpse his daughter, to catch her eye, to observe movements that might remind him (or not) of the little girl before he is confronted with the reality that she is an impostor.
Note: Thank you to the author for permission to continue posting this fine story.