by RC Boldt
And as much as I can’t blame him, I hate it with the rare decrepit fragment of my heart that remains.
His eyes bore into me, but he’s already gone. It’s as if he’s staring right through me. Voice monotone, he murmurs, “Congratulations, Kennedy. You had your fun with me, and now it’s over.”
He pinches his eyes closed, turning around and shoving his hands in his pockets. As he stares through the open bedroom doorway, his voice is nearly inaudible, and although I doubt his words are for me rather than himself, I strain to hear them. “Should’ve fucking known better.”
The pit of my stomach yawns wider, his words lancing deep into my flesh, and I welcome the pain. I deserve it. He’s a good man, and I’ve done this to him. I’ve hurt him. But in the end, he’ll be grateful. I can’t simply quit to be with him. To be an FBI agent’s girlfriend or wife would bring additional scrutiny, and it’s something I can’t afford.
I can’t give up now. I need to finish this. It’s what I do. It’s my fight and mine alone.
And if I succeed and make it out of this city alive, I still have so much to do. If I gave up now, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself because I’d never be able to outrun the what-ifs.
What if there’s a child out there who’s trapped like I was? What if they don’t have a Javoris or a James or a Rudy to help them? What if they don’t have a John or Kat to help them get back on their feet?
What if I’m their only hope?
I can’t turn my back on them. Even the mere thought of doing so has my own voice from long ago echoing painfully in my mind, like peeling off a scab from a wound. Why won’t you believe me?!
“Don’t pretend you want to hang around. Just go. It’s your MO, anyway, right?” He lets out a harsh laugh, and I realize just how much damage I’ve done. I’ve pushed him to the point where he’s lashing out at me in anger.
In pain.
My continued silence increases the stiffened set of his spine. It calls for me to cross the few feet separating us and try to soothe him somehow. To smooth my hands over the broad muscles of the man who has come to mean so much to me.
But there’s no future for us. I knew that from the start, yet I fucked up and gave in to temptation. I suppose I was simply selfish for wanting to indulge and let him wrap me in his arms—arms that I know with one hundred percent certainty would never inflict harm on any innocent person. Arms that belong to a man who’s a unicorn among men.
Good. Honorable. Kind.
But a man like him will never end up with a woman like me. There’s no fairy tale for an FBI agent and a serial killer.
I hesitate, caught between wanting to rush to him and forgetting everything else, and running because I know there’s no hope for us. To just be with him for the rest of my days.
If I needed additional proof that I’m no good, this certainly seals the deal. I knew deep down that we could never be, yet I let this ride out, delaying the inevitable.
My words spill out in the barest of a whisper, my voice sounding ragged to my own ears. “I’m sorry.”
I rush from the bedroom. Hurriedly, I slide on my shoes and coat, grabbing my purse and briefcase before pulling the door closed behind me.
And with every step I take that leads me closer to the exit, the wider the abyss grows within my chest.
Chapter 72
Landon
Early December
Friday
I fucking hate this.
It’s a goddamn miracle I’ve made it almost a week. Although I’ve already considered—countless times—gouging my eyes out with my pen so I won’t have to see her beautiful face.
I also considered earplugs so I won’t have to hear her voice and recall how she’d whimper my name when I was inside her.
On top of that, Jodi’s family hasn’t called anything off, so Chad still has us working. Kennedy and I are looking through the video footage separately to determine whether we can pick up on any reflections or other clues we may have missed in the background that offer additional evidence.
It’s been a no-go for the most part, with only a partial shadow that neither of us can decipher. No amount of magnification has proven useful.
I both dread and anticipate when we call it a day.
Anticipate, because it means I don’t have to be near her. Dread, because I won’t get to be near her.
Christ, I’m so fucked.
We’re packing up our things to head out for the day, and I’m a goddam masochist because I’ve been insisting on seeing her home. I don’t walk her all the way inside to her apartment door, but I make sure she gets inside the lobby safely.
I may be pissed and hurt like hell, but that doesn’t mean I want to see her harmed or unsafe.
Once we have our coats on and exit the library, we head down the sidewalk and turn the corner just in time to hear, “Never fear, for God will repay each person according to what they have done!”
The preacher guy I often see sporadically around D.C. stands on his usual crate with his battered-looking Bible in hand. I dig in my pocket as we approach him and pull out a few bills. As soon as he sees Kennedy, though, he stops, and I realize he’s done this before when we passed him.
It was odd then, just like it is now. It feels as if he knows her somehow because he speaks directly to her, his brows in a harsh furrow.
“Never fear, for God will repay each person according to what they have done.”
I glance at Kennedy, who regards the man warily before dropping money into the small bin on the ground beside his crate. I follow suit, and when she tears her eyes from him and continues walking, I do the same.
We make it another block before two men exit a small hole-in-the-wall Irish bar a couple of yards ahead of us. After giving one another back-thumping hugs before saying goodbye, one walks in the opposite direction while the other remains in place, sliding out his cell phone and reading something.
Kennedy’s steps falter as we draw closer before the guy glances in our direction and does a double take at her. “Kennedy?”
“Tim?”
My eyes dart to her, but she’s staring at the man—Tim. Tim, who’s looking at her like she’s a sunrise and he’s a miner who’s been trapped underground for days. There’s nothing outright that tells me, but the annoying prickle between my shoulder blades tells me these two have…fucked.
Bile rises up my throat at the thought even though I know it’s so goddamn hypocritical. I wasn’t a monk before she came along. Still…the idea of another man being intimately acquainted with her body acts like a punch to my solar plexus.
“Hey, stranger.” He greets her with a wide smile and surges forward to wrap his arms around her. The only balm for my nerves is how rigid she is when he hugs her. She politely pats his back before quickly disentangling herself.
As if he only now realizes I’m standing nearby, his hand shoots out to offer a handshake. His smile is devoid of any animosity which makes me feel like a goddamn asshole. I’m the one practically pissing a circle around Kennedy, and he’s being nice. “Sorry, man. I’m Tim.”
“Landon. Nice to meet you.”
Tim shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, blue eyes resting on Kennedy. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear in a gesture that strikes me as nervous, which is unusual for her. “I accepted a consulting job here.”
“Nice.” He nods, and silence descends over us awkwardly.
“I’m going to head home, so if you’re good here… You two probably want to catch up.” I search Kennedy’s features for a sign that she doesn’t want to be left with him, but she almost appears to relax at my offer.
Which stings like hell.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for her response, I address Tim. “Nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
Without another glance, I head down the sidewalk, putting more distance between us.
I don’t breathe
easier until I slide inside one of the subway cars, but the fact that I left her with another man fucking grates on me the entire ride home.
Chapter 73
Kennedy
“What’s the deal with him?”
I exhale a long breath. “Long story.”
“Well, you look miserable, and I know it can’t just be this terrible weather.” He tips his head toward the entrance to the bar. “Want to head back inside and talk about it?”
I narrow my eyes. “I thought you were leaving.”
“I was. But here’s the thing, Kennedy.” His eyes soften. “You have this tendency to think pretty badly of people, and I thought by now, I wouldn’t be one of them.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and turn my eyes away. “You’re right.” I stare at the sidewalk Landon disappeared down. He’d looked a little tortured when Tim hugged me, but I couldn’t very well blurt out that Tim and I weren’t fucking anymore.
Besides, Landon was the one who told me to leave. He’s the one who ended things. And for the best, of course.
Of course.
There’s no telling how much time I spend inside my own head before I notice the silence. I cut my eyes to Tim and find him regarding me with shock.
“What?” The word comes out slow, caution bleeding from my tone.
“Can’t say that I ever thought I’d see the day.”
I shoot him a withering look that’s more exasperated than anything. “Are we heading inside or what?”
“Sure.” He steps over to the door. “But there’s just one quick thing.”
“What’s that?”
He pulls open the door with his trademark smile. “You’re not getting in my pants tonight.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t even in the cards.”
His widening grin indicates he knows something I don’t, and it has me bristling. “I was hoping you’d say that.” I step inside the bar, and he follows me, adding, “I will let you buy me a beer, though.”
Syringes strapped safely to me, I’ve done the necessary homework.
It’s time.
If only I could get Tim’s smug voice out of my damn head, that’d be fucking great.
“You like him. A lot.” He’d paused dramatically, like a bad actor. “And it scares the shit out of you.”
I should’ve known he’d pick up on it. He’s too sharp not to. But when we’d said goodbye, it’s his parting words that repeat on a loop in my brain.
“Not all ghosts die, Kennedy.” His eyes had held mine, and for the first time, I wondered if he knew more about me than he let on. “Sometimes, it just takes you finally locking that damn door they keep coming through.”
Mentally shaking off the interaction, I force myself to take deep breaths before I venture closer to the mayor’s new digs.
They haven’t disclosed his new address yet since security isn’t yet in place. It works out perfectly for me, especially since his two children are away at college before they’re due to come home for Christmas break next week.
Mayor Paulson has fucked around long enough—with this investigation, with Jodi, and with every other victim out there.
Once I eliminate him, I’ll deal with the last and final demon from my past. The man who acts as the puppet master to all the filthy, depraved violence they commit.
I find him in his study partaking in one of his favorite pastimes. A glass of expensive scotch sits in a tumbler at the edge of his desk while he jerks his pathetic excuse for a dick. One hand strokes his balls while his eyes stay glued to the screen of his laptop.
Oh, the irony. Because he’s watching the same video he recently starred in. Although it’s been removed from all porn sites, this copy is his own.
“Have her call out to Daddy.”
“Looks just like her, doesn’t she?”
I creep up behind him, syringe in hand, needle poised.
So enthralled by the depravity on screen, he doesn’t register my approach until it’s too late. Reaching my hand beneath his chin, I jerk it up and sink the needle beneath the flesh of his earlobe. His struggle lasts mere seconds as I depress the syringe.
“Look into my eyes.” His own grow wider, but I’ll never know if it’s from terror or recognition.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
I’m not here to play with my prey. I’m not the monsters they are. I don’t garner a thrill from each kill. My goal is simply to eliminate them before they can destroy more innocent lives.
What matters now is that I’ve taken back control from the bastard who’d used my body in the vilest of ways.
The one who’d ridiculed me for getting pregnant.
His body had pinned me to the mattress, stubby fingers clenched around my throat, and I’d been forced to stare into his soulless eyes. “You wanted me to knock you up, didn’t you, you greedy little slut?”
Now, I’ve come to get my revenge on the soulless motherfucker once and for all.
No longer will he be able to prey on anyone else.
“Hush, little monster, don’t you cry,” I singsong softly as I depress the syringe fully, allowing the remainder of the poison to flood his body. “I’m gonna make sure you will die.”
Once I cap the needle and secure it in my pouch, I press Pause on the computer video. I stare down at his pathetic form, pants undone and boxers shoved down to free his dick, knowing this is the image that will greet the authorities.
They may cover it up, depending on how scared I’ve made him. The ringleader. The puppet master. The evilest of them all.
Or he might sacrifice his dear friend to deflect attention from himself.
Either way, he knows what’s coming his way.
Chapter 74
Kennedy
Saturday
The silence never bothered me before. Being alone in the world has always been a constant known. A security blanket.
Then Landon Lattimer entered my world and skewed it. He made me accustomed to his presence, to the life he infused into mine.
Now, my darkness seems dismal and more morbid than ever before. I should feel a sense of accomplishment after killing the mayor. At least now, he won’t be able to haunt Jodi in the flesh. But still…something’s off.
It’s late, and I’ve been pacing my apartment like a caged animal. I force myself to sit down and check the latest chatter from the Anons on Instagram.
As expected, they’ve been tracking the deaths I’m responsible for. One post in particular is a photo of the funeral for the Attorney General.
Cue the Queen song, “another one bites the dust.”
Do you believe it was suicide? Or was it “assisted”?
What’s going on in D.C. should be on everybody’s radar. I’m not condoning murder—I’m honestly not. But it really seems too coincidental to think that these motherfuckers are committing suicide.
I scroll through the comments below the post.
Suicidesquaddetective I still say someone’s got it out for the elite circle. He’s knocking off the key players like fucking dominos. I’m not pro-murder either, man, but I’m also not about to lose sleep over pieces of shit like them getting what they deserve.
TakingOutTheGarbage Heard a rumor Mayor Paulson just got suicided. Anybody got deets on that? Buddy swore he heard something on his police scanner that sounded fishy.
I scroll past a few other comments before I see something that makes my heart skip two solid beats.
HerNameWasAlainaWray @suicidesquaddetective I’ve been following these fuckers for a while, ever since the Wray girl “went missing” eleven years ago. There are still way too many unanswered questions. And they just adopted another young girl. If this dude is still hunting these pedos, he needs to hit up Mr. Wray next.
Suicidesquaddetective @HerNameWasAlainaWray Solid handle, bro. That poor kid must’ve been tortured to death if she actually *did* die. I really hope she went missing on her own, though. Still pray every night that she got away f
rom those fuckers.
Suicidesquaddetective @HerNameWasAlainaWray And I’ve been on the edge of my seat ever since Demon Lady Wray bit the dust. Surely this dude is working his way to the top, right? Fingers fucking crossed.
I force myself to continue scrolling through, skimming for any new posting from other Anon accounts.
Staring at the screenshot of an Associated Press article that includes a photograph, I hold my breath. Internally, I beg for the caption to be one of, “Safe and sound now thanks to all of you!”
But it’s not.
My hands quake, the tremors spreading up my arms and through my body to my legs. I brace myself against the wall as I peer at the image on the screen.
Ohgodohgodohgodno. A beautiful one-year-old baby girl stares back at me, her chubby hands holding a small teddy bear. Dressed in a frilly concoction, with a pretty, pink bow in her hair and tiny shoes on her feet, she’s an adorable sight.
Below the photo, the Anon by the username of AndJusticeForAll captioned it:
Rest in peace, sweet girl.
NO INNOCENT CHILD SHOULD EVER DIE FROM BEING RAPED. #JusticeForTheInnocent #SaveOurChildren #FuckThePedos #CastrateThemAll
———————————
Austin, Texas PD responded to a call from a stepfather, Nathaniel Rusman, stating that his one-year-old was unresponsive. Authorities discovered the baby lying naked on the Rusmans’ bed showing visible signs of sexual abuse. An autopsy later determined that the baby had died from the abuse she sustained.
The child’s aunt and Rusman’s sister-in-law had alerted authorities, begging them to investigate the home situation as she suspected sexual abuse of the child. The investigation had just begun mere days prior to the child’s death.
