by Iris RIvers
“Men?” Lara repeated, looking around at the girls surrounding her—they all looked so inexplicably virtuous, sinless, that she wondered how they were able to so easily take another life. She wondered if that was why they’d been able to get away with it thus far—no one expected a pretty girl to be the cause of evil and destruction.
“Men,” emphasized Ana, her blood-red nails unmistakable against her dark clothes. “Men who have lied; men who have cheated; men who have hurt people like you and me—people like us.”
“Rapists, abusers, manipulators,” said a redhead. Lara looked at the freckles dusted across her cheeks. “We don’t just kill them for fun—”
“Come on, Lowri. It is kind of fun,” interrupted Sana.
Lowri frowned, her fiery head shaking in disapproval. “There are leaders and rules involved. We aren’t just some disorganized society with sociopathic tendencies. We have reasons—”
“Shut up, Lowri.” Another girl spoke. She was Puerto Rican and plus-sized, wearing a dark hoodie and tattered jeans. A natural blush stained her cheeks. “You’re boring her. And me. And probably just about everyone in here.” She mock-yawned, turning her face to meet Lara’s. “I’m Mia, by the way.”
The other girls suddenly felt obligated to introduce themselves. Ana, Lilah, Evelyn, Sage, Lowri, Mia, Irene, Sienna, Orion, Violet, Sana, Renee. Each name was a chime in her mind. They were one away from thirteen. Lara wondered if she was the missing girl—the final piece.
“You guys are insane,” said Lara, a dawning washing over her. She was sitting in a room full of murderers—women who found joy in killing men—and she hadn’t run out screaming yet. Lara wondered if that said something about her, if the reason she still sat here—between these girls—was because she didn’t mind, because she wanted to take some revenge for herself too.
“Yet you’re still here,” said Ana, looking so deep into Lara’s eyes—into her soul—that Lara was sure she could read the print lying inside her body. The bloody print that had carved itself into her heart the same night she’d been locked inside that closet. Revenge boiled inside Lara’s veins, its heat warming her cold body.
“Let me ask you something, Lara,” Ana continued. “Have you been hurt before? Truly hurt? Not someone picking on your flaws; not someone criticizing your social status. No, have you felt true cruelty? Do you know pain like one would know a close friend?”
Lara’s swallowed against her parched throat. She thought of her mother. Of her father. Of Kai.
“I know you have—I see it in you.”
“You,” said Lara, standing, ready to leave, “are delusional.”
“Don’t lie,” replied Ana, now standing as well, reaching Lara’s height.
“I am not.”
“You belong here—I know you do,” said Ana. “Join us.”
“Join you?” Lara yelled. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not about to risk my life—my freedom—to join this sick joke of a club. You guys are—”
“Lara—”
“No. I’m done listening to you.” Lara clenched her fists, walking over to the stairs with disgust on her face. “I can’t believe you all thought I’d fall for this shit. Leaving a creepy note at my door, inviting me to some abandoned bell tower, telling me to join you? Are you all aware you sound like maniacs?” Lara stepped onto the first stair, turning her back to the group. “Sick,” she muttered. “You’re all sick.”
“Will you just listen?” someone exclaimed. Lara didn’t turn to see who. “Just wait—”
“Enough,” Evelyn demanded. “Let her leave.”
The others broke out in protest, but Evelyn put her hand up—silencing everyone within a second.
Lara froze—she didn’t expect anyone to let her leave so easily, no matter how determined she was to escape. She craned her neck—just a few inches—to see Evelyn’s expression. It was empty. Drained.
“Evelyn,” Lilah started, “you can’t be serious.”
Evelyn didn’t answer, only stared at Lara, the blue in her eyes dimming as she did so. “I know how you must feel,” she said, leaning her head back against the top rail of her chair. “I think we all felt it at one point, though no one here will admit it.”
The girls looked around amongst one another. A sense of familiarity—of remembrance—filled the air.
“If she needs time, we will give it to her. I will give it to her.”
Lara said nothing.
Evelyn cocked her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. “Monday. Same time. We’ll be here. If you believe—truly believe that you belong here, Lara, I know you will come. If you don’t, then it seems for the first time in a very long time I was wrong.”
Lara stared at Evelyn, into the bleakness of her eyes, the shadows beneath her lids, and said: “I believe in nothing.”
Lara turned away once more and descended into the darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You only live twice: Once when you are born / And once when you look death in the face.” ––Ian Fleming
March 2019
Kai’s freshman year was to end in two months.
It had been an incredibly long year and, although it hadn’t ended yet, most students had already found themselves giving up, putting in minimal effort and skipping at least two classes a week. Kai was no exception.
Despite his absences, Kai erratically decided to attend his modern class one Tuesday morning. He was proud of his appearance at class that day, for it had taken everything in him not to succumb to his languid limbs and fall back under the sheets of his silken bed.
“Let us begin,” said Kai’s professor, Saine. Saine was stout and, Kai observed, shared no physical attributes with the dancers he taught. Despite that, Kai realized early on from the routines he choreographed that he had once been an incredibly agile dancer, though now he was old and brittle, his knees seeming to wobble with every step and turn. Kai was not particularly fond of Saine, nor did he like the dances Saine created. It was exhausting to attend his class; yet still, Kai would do anything for dance. He would not give up—not when the sport had consumed every inch of him. Not when dancing had become another part of his soul. A limb that would have to be torn from him if he were to ever detach from the movements of ballet.
Restless and agitated, the dancers in his class took their positions and began marking the routine Saine had taught them a few weeks before. They performed a few full-outs and, before Kai knew it, Saine was sending them out the door.
Someone tapped on Kai’s shoulder as he neared his bag. “Hey,” said a girl named Gia. “How are you?”
Kai stared at her. Gia had been attempting all sorts of conversations with him for months, and Kai was completely oblivious as to why. At first, he’d assumed she was simply being polite, but then the casual heys began to turn into What are you doing after class? Kai pondered the truth to her motives. As he grabbed his bag, he prepared to blurt yet another insignificant phrase—one he had decidedly not yet used.
“I’m fine,” he answered, noting the way Gia’s face lit up.
She waited for him to return the ask. When he didn’t, she said, “So, I don’t have any more classes today. Would you want to get drinks? See a movie?”
A figure moved in Kai’s blurred vision. It was Lara, Kai realized, and she was standing a few feet behind Gia, her arms crossed over her chest. Kai ran his eyes down her appearance, starting from her chopped hair to the blisters that surely stained her feet. He took in her plain leotard, the color tan and dull compared to the enlivened color of Lara’s eyes. Sweat coated her limbs like a second skin; his eyes traced the stains that layered against her covered back. She never wore backless leotards, never wore shirts that exposed too much of her upper back. The mystery behind her clothes was as unusual as it was ordinary—yet Kai was too analytical to ignore the simplicity behind it. Perhaps she was modest, or perhaps her back held a map to the stars, a galaxy freckled across her bronze skin. Perhaps the stars were her secret, and to Kai, secrets were a
weapon.
At the sight of Lara, Kai’s lips frowned in a sneer. “You know what,” he said, “that would be—”
“Oh,” Lara interrupted, smiling at Gia, “haven’t you heard?” She looked to Kai. “That is just so sad—” Lara broke off in a menacing laugh. “She hasn’t heard.” She was suddenly standing beside both Kai and Gia; Kai could not remember seeing her walk over.
“Heard what?” Gia asked, her nervous eyes flicking between Kai and Lara.
“You were about to go out with this girl, and you didn’t tell her, Kai?” Lara asked, her tone mocking and cruel. Gia shook her head, oblivious to Lara’s brutality and Kai’s obvious discontent.
“Will someone please tell me what’s happening?” Gia exclaimed.
Kai’s eyes were fixed on Lara’s. It was as if Gia had completely left the room. It was just him, Lara, and fury—the type of fury that twisted one’s insides and splintered their skin.
The type of fury that he saved for Lara—and that she saved for him.
“Don’t listen to her,” Kai said, still looking at Lara. “She’s delusional—”
“Kai is cursed,” Lara interrupted.
“Do you hear yourself right now? Cursed?”
“I’m not superstitious,” said Lara, sighing, “but the evidence is undeniable.”
“What evidence?” asked Gia. Kai looked to her, his annoyance visible through his furrowed brows and flaring nostrils. Unbelievable.
“His parents were murdered. In his house. And his baby sister ran away from him not too long ago—a silent disappearance is just as horrible as a death, don’t you think?”
Kai’s clenched his jaw, his heart hammering against the hardness of his chest. Gia looked at him with empathy, eyes softening. “Everything he touches is always destroyed,” continued Lara, her smile unfaltering. She looked at Gia and shrugged. “It’s simply a warning.”
And then she walked off.
“Kai, I’m so sorry about your—”
“I have to go,” he said, already racing to catch up with Lara. He followed her out the door and into an empty hallway.
Kai pulled Lara’s shoulder, forcefully turning her to face him. His breaths were ragged, a contrast to Lara’s calm ones. “What is wrong with you?” he gritted out. His voice wasn’t loud, but it rang in Lara’s ears as it vibrated across the plastered walls.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“You know, I knew you were a vile human being, at times psychotic, but that? That was a low blow—even for you.”
Lara shot out a laugh. “That,” she said, stepping close to Kai, “was the least of what I can do. So, please, get over yourself.” She shoved him back, back into a wall. A poster fell to the ground as Lara grabbed his collar, her grip strong. “I’m going to destroy you, Kai,” she said, her fingers tightening, her tone the sound of blood and deprivation. “I’ll never let you go.”
Then she was gone.
October 2019
THE HUMDRUM BUZZ OF the coffee shop felt alive in Kai’s veins.
He sat by the window, unmoving, watching the busy stroll of New Yorkers ready to take on another relentless day. Children marched the sidewalks with backpacks on, adults with briefcases in their hands.
Kai had been at the shop since it opened, watching the methodical, machine-like ways of the city unfurl before him. He had lived in New York all his life—born and raised in Brooklyn before moving to his own apartment in the city. He was used to this life, the rapidness of his surroundings—a ticking clock always in his ear. Kai’s world moved in a time-lapse, constantly adapting to the evolutions around him—a contrasting revelation to what he actually felt.
Stuck in place. Frozen. Becalmed.
He still remembered the exact moment it had happened—the moment in which Kai’s world never moved the same again.
Thirteen years ago.
Kai had just returned from a late-night ballet session. His instructor had walked him home as she lived on the same block as his parents’ measly, two-bedroom apartment. He clutched a small brass key in his hand—the same key his mother had given him a few weeks before, telling him to protect it, to never lose it; that the key’s rusted edges were his home—his safe space.
To Kai’s barely developed six-year-old brain, his mother’s words were just a weird way of saying: If you lose this key you won’t be able to unlock the front door. Still, he cherished the key, wore it around his neck on a silver chain—close to his heart.
Kai waved goodbye to his instructor and unlocked the door.
The TV was on, playing an old telenovela that Kai’s mom loved to watch. The print was unclear and blurry, the audio barely recognizable. It was an old, almost unusable boxed TV that Kai’s father had found at a garage sale. Kai would snuggle up on the sofa, sandwiched in-between his parents, and watch whatever movie was on at the time. Sometimes, when the audio would go out, his parents would mimic the voices, making up their own lines and plots to make Kai laugh.
Kai looked to the sofa then, expecting to see his parents, but it was empty. Lifeless.
“Mom,” he called out, his voice squeaky and small, “I’m home.”
No reply.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
“Dad,” he said mindlessly, taking off his shoes and leaving them by the door, “you won’t believe what Madame Leblanc brought to class today.” Kai dropped his backpack. “Cookies, but not even the good ones! They were oatmeal—” He groaned audibly. “Oatmeal!”
When his dad didn’t reply, Kai skipped to the kitchen, his small feet padding across the carpeted floors. It was empty—the lights were off. He grabbed a glass cup from the counter, water filled to the top. He thought his mom must’ve left it for him.
“Hellooo,” Kai sang. “You guys didn’t tell me we were playing hide-and-seek after my lesson today. That’s not fair—you both have a head start.”
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Kai walked down the narrow corridor, water in hand, passing the array of family portraits that lined the beige walls, and into his bedroom—his shared bedroom. The left wall was occupied by a toddler-sized bed, a sheer curtain hanging from the ceiling, while the right wall had Kai’s bed, a black duvet messily placed on top. His favorite color.
Kaden, his sister, was asleep in her bed, her curly, lustrous hair splayed across the pale blue of the pillowcase. Soft snores escaped from her lips. Kai couldn’t remember the day his parents had brought her home, only remembered the annoyance of having a little sister instead of a brother. One day, when he returned from preschool, his bedroom had been shifted, a new bed now opposite his. Kai had stomped his foot, running out of the room and complaining to his parents about how it was unfair—that he didn’t want to share his room. His mother had bent to his level, cupped his cheeks with her warm hands, and said: Kaden is your sister. She’s made from the same blood and bone as you. From the same heart and soul. You will love and care for her as I do with you.
My sweet Kai, she’d whispered, one day you will realize that being loved is the most valuable thing in this world.
He did not complain again.
Kai grabbed the black duvet from his bed, letting it drag on the floor before placing it gently over his sister. He tucked it in, making sure it was tight and secure, and walked back to the hallway, scratching his nose.
“Mom? Dad? It’s not funny anymore,” said Kai, his voice turning worrisome. He continued down the hall, looking up to smile at photos of his mother, his father. He looked idly at a photo of the two—his mom wearing a dark red dress, her hair in braids; his dad wearing a blue T-shirt and dark jeans, a telephone in hand—they had their arms around each other, smiles covering both of their faces. Kai recognized his mother’s smile—it was the smile she wore when his dad had told a joke, when they’d both be laughing for minutes, teary-eyed and winded.
He found his way to their bedroom. It was small, as were all the other rooms, but it was clean. Kai took a sip of the water—it tasted
like it’d been sitting out all day. He didn’t mind.
“I’m going to find you!” he exclaimed, believing they must’ve hidden in the closet. He opened the closet door. “Boo!” he screamed. No one was there. Just clothes that swayed in the silence.
Feeling uneasy, Kai moved to the bathroom. They had to be there. They had to be.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
“Hello?” whispered Kai, pushing open the bathroom door. He wasn’t sure why he was whispering—something in him told him he needed to; something in him knew the fragility of the moment.
The glass in Kai’s hand slipped from his fingers, shattering to the floor in a harmonious resonation. He felt the pieces spread across his small feet, filling the cracks of the tiles.
Kai’s parents were on the floor, their bodies unmoving, their eyes open, staring up at the boy before them. Their son.
The clock in Kai’s ear stopped ticking.
“Why are you on the floor, Mommy?” Kai whispered. “Daddy?” His eyes trailed over the red puddles beneath his parents. They looked morbid against the shining tile. “Are you sleeping?”
They didn’t reply. Kai walked to their torpid bodies, his socked feet almost slipping on the gore, and kneeled down. His fingers trembled as he placed a shaky hand on his mother’s shoulder. Her shirt was sleeveless. Her skin was hard—cold. Kai gasped at the touch.
“Mommy,” Kai said, his voice louder. “Wake up.” He moved to his father, blood covering his pants. “Daddy!” he yelled, shaking him, trying to wake him.
“Please,” he pleaded, warm tears forming in his eyes. His sniffles turned to sobs as his whispers turned to shouts. Eventually he began screaming—so loud, so piercing, that his sister started screaming along with him. Screaming as though she had just seen what Kai had seen; as though she was looking at her dead parents through Kai’s eyes, their throats cut open, death pouring from their wounds.
Their neighbors—an old couple named Harry and Jane—had called the police soon after. The siblings’ cries could be heard from their small bedroom—they sounded terrible, like they came from a horror movie.
