Macbeth: A Narrative Fiction

When the doorbell rang, Logan felt an odd sort of apprehension, and at Veronica’s voice he grew worried. Pushing past Duncan, he found Veronica crying, visibly shaken and upset, and in all the worst ways Logan’s stomach dropped.

“What’s wrong, what is it?” He asked, and watched her steel herself.

Veronica looked to Duncan, still unsure of how much he knew, and when he knew what, exactly. They’d dated for- nope, Veronica felt bile rise to the back of her throat again, and she remembered Logan puking his guts out into his front garden; she was about to reprieve that fond memory all over the Kanes’ lovely lawn.

“Your mom told you, didn’t she?” Veronica’s mind tried to clamor it’s way back to objectivity- to get her back
“I don’t remember anything from Shelley’s party- someone drugged me and- somebody-” She froze. “You raped me?” Veronica’s voice shook, every syllable hurt to ground out. “You, Duncan?” Her voice went softer, until her blood boiled again. She approached every case with a rolodex of suspects, and she’d approached her rape the same way. She’d suspected almost anyone at that party would’ve done it to her- but she hadn’t suspected Duncan.

“He what?” Logan’s voice went hard in an instant, every last wing and prayer of a DK-Logan Echolls Reunion Tour evaporated eternally. “You raped your sister?” Swinging first, it annoyed Logan when Duncan didn’t fight back or defend himself; his fist connected with Duncan’s face twice before Duncan even put his hands up.

“I didn’t… how could you say that, Veronica?” Finally fighting back, Duncan pushed Logan away, taking a charged step towards Veronica, mitigated by her stepping away from him. That’s how it would be from now on, she’d always be stepping away from him. “I… I told you I loved you,” Duncan threatened to break down, threatened to really lose
“Please just promise me Dick Casablancas’ tongue never touched me in any way.” Her voice got lighter, a half-joke in an attempt at moving on. At least for the night; her head pounded, and her stomach was twisted into vile knots. Mostly, Veronica felt like laying down in Logan’s cloud-like bed and waking up only when every person she’d ever met was long, long dead.

“I promise you, Dick Casablancas’ tongue never touched you in any way.” With his hands, Logan signed scout’s honor, and finally let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Now Casa de Echolls?” He asked, unsure, in the wake of his confession. She’d joked, like things were okay, but what if they weren’t? What if he’d wrecked everything by being an ass for a year straight?

“If it’s okay?” Veronica linked their pinkies, like when they were kids. “There’s a lot I need to process, before I… tell my dad, and I just don’t know if I can do it in front of him, you know? I’ll call and say I’m staying with Wallace or something. You’re firmly on the no-sleepover list. Told you, that whole bad-boy image; gets you every time.” Her voice was still shaky, still not up to it’s usually sarcastic muster. They weren’t the answers she’d wanted, ever, her life had been rocked from it’s foundation, a fresh tornado tore through, it seemed. But she had something to cling to, this time; she looked down at their intertwined