"Okay, see you tonight."
The call disconnects. "Yeah...see you tonight."
My heart falls to my stomach, suddenly dreading going home. I'm starting to regret this decision, but what other choice do I have? She's my mother...
Kaston snakes his arms around my waist from behind. "Y'all aren't close I'm assuming."
I relax a little as his body aligns against mine. It's strange. "No. Not in the slightest. It may take a long time before I can really venture into that part of my life completely, but little by little I'll try. Your story may have been set in the shadows of the woods, but from the little I've heard there was still someone to protect you from the wolf. I was left to fend for myself, so just keep that in mind when you get frustrated from me becoming skittish if you really want this to work."
He turns me around and presses my front against him. "I promise to show you that your future won't be a repeat of your past. Does this mean you won't be staying tonight?"
"I can't. I have to deal with her. I promised myself I would try. She's my mother."
He tucks a strand of my brown hair behind my ear. "Okay. I have a job that I've been putting off anyway. Time is running out. Call me the second you can come and I'll be here. You know where I live."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, beautiful."
"Why you?"
He looks into my eyes before responding. Hell he may not even know what I'm even referring to anymore.
"Why do I continue to fight his battles? Probably for the same reason that I am almost positive you did for her then and still do now. Blood is thicker than water, and because I owe him my life. We’ve lived more similar lives than we both probably realize yet, but we'll discover everything in time. He deemed it important enough to die for, so this is how I repay him, by becoming him. He's all I had, Lux, and that is worth far more than a conscience for criminals."
He kisses me. I'm becoming an accomplice, but I don't care. I've been the victim of bad things, but I'm a survivor. There are so many that didn't have enough strength to overcome the shitty hand they were dealt. The world isn't black and white. There isn't a right or wrong answer. There is no longer a boundary between good and bad. Peace is fought for. The answer is often left open to interpretation of where it stands on the scale, by the person, the situation, and circumstance.
He makes himself pull free so he can speak. "When do you have to work?"
"In three hours."
He smirks, walking me backward until I fall back on the bed. "Good, because I'm going to starve you for a little while longer. I want to be inside you," he says with a needy tone and crawls up the bed with me in tow beneath him. I may actually miss this, and those words I thought would never develop in my mind.
I stand at the mirror wearing a towel around my waist, rubbing my freshly shaved head. Opening the drawer, I grab the mold from the container and place them over my top teeth, pressing them into place to alter my dental records. I've already sealed the cut from earlier today on my hand to avoid any bleeding, and I’ve trimmed all other places covered with hair. My palms meet the bathroom counter, bringing me closer to the mirror. I whisper, reminding myself, but pausing long enough between each to lock it in.
"Be undetected."
"Know your surroundings."
"Kill quickly."
"Clean up."
"Leave nothing behind."
I push off the counter and make my way to the back of the closet, grabbing the fitted long sleeve Under Armour and pulling it on, as well as a hoodie, followed by Under Armour’s man version of leggings and thick jeans that will be burned later. The average person doesn't think about how much hair the body sheds naturally, leaving evidence behind. Every part of my body is trimmed and covered.
I grab the black boots and slide my feet inside, before tying them tight. The doorbell rings, signaling his arrival. Opening the top drawer in my closet, I remove a beanie and shove it in my pocket, before shutting off all of the lights and running downstairs to the door. When I open it Chevy is standing on the other side. "You park around back?"
"Yeah."
"Anyone tail you?"
"Nope."
I back up, letting him inside. "Basement."
He heads that way with no other words. I walk out the door and scan the distance. Nothing. As it should be. I back up, shutting and locking the door when I re-enter. Chevy comes into view as I jog down the basement stairs to the back wall, lined with safes. I grab the dial of the one in the center, turning it until the code unlocks the door. "Synthetic fingerprints. Gloves. Then gun. In that exact order. Got it? Tonight you get to earn your stripes. Everyone needs a spotter."
He nods as I hand him the first of the three. "Slow and steady. It has to be natural. Always strive to be one step smarter than forensics."
I take my own, preparing for application on my fingertips. "Have you memorized the mark?"
"Yes."
"Recite it to me."
"White male. Thirty-two. Height: six-foot-two. Weight: a hundred and sixty-five pounds. Description: red hair and green eyes; fair skinned. Priors: domestic violence, attempted rape, and statutory rape. Attempted rape charge was tried and convicted as a juvenile. He served a partial sentence for statutory rape and was released early on good behavior. "
"Who put out the hit and why?"
"Father of a missing person case gone cold. Nineteen-year-old female, blonde, last seen at a club leaving with the mark. She still hasn't been found. He was questioned but nothing found to hold him. No body. No evidence. I think the father wants closure, and justice."
I pull on my gloves and secure them at the wrists for tight fit, before grabbing two handguns and a bandana, tossing one of the guns to Chevy. "Are you sure he's going to be there?"
"He is every week at this time. Even if I hadn't been watching him he's fucking predictable, his behavior down to a schedule. I'd bet my freedom her body is out there buried, probably under that rose bush that's planted in a location that is random as fuck."
"Let's go. I've heard all I need to hear. We'll find out soon enough. The vehicle is ready to go."
I shut the safe and spin the dial, locking it. These are the kind of sick fuckers I hate hearing about. I have a special place waiting for people like him. I hope he can endure the heat.
"Park right here. We walk. I can only do so much to tires. I can't completely wipe the tracks in dirt. They are specific to make and model." I open the glove compartment and take out the shoe covers, handing him a pair. "Put them on. When this is done cops will be crawling all over this place. We are partners, so listen to me and sear it in your mind. Pay attention to detail. Do not get us caught. We aren't in the fucking military in a foreign territory. This isn't lock and unload. Leave everything just as it was when you found it. Never develop a signature with marks. Every one must be custom. With this one, angle is imperative. This is a framed suicide. If he can't do it himself it doesn't happen. Do not so much as fucking spit in the grass. We don't add to the crime scene and we don't take part of it with us. Do you understand?"
"You're a cop, aren't you?"
"Not anymore. Let's roll."
I pull the black beanie on my head and flip up the hood to the black hoodie, before opening the door of the SUV and then closing it softly, locking the keys inside. I can see the destination through the trees. The light to the barn is on, lighting up the night sky. I glance around to ensure the coast is clear as we make our way through the woods, before veering off toward the back of the barn, Chevy slightly behind me. You can hear him shuffling around in the barn. I signal Chevy to take left and I go right, pulling the bandana from my pocket and stretching it between both hands, wrapping the ends around each slightly to get a better grip.
When I reach the entryway my head extends just enough to see inside. He's coming out of a small room, closing the door behind him and securing it with a padlock, before shoving the key in his pocket. Who the fuck puts a padlock on a tack room d
oor? He lives out in the fucking boondocks.
He walks toward me. I stand against the wall of the barn, waiting for him to exit. When he gets far enough ahead of me I come up behind him and grab him in my hold, the bandana pressing into his mouth. He tries to scream and I pull tighter, cutting into the crease of his lips. "Say a word, motherfucker, and I'll pop a cap in your ass so fast you won't have time to blink. I'm watching your hands. Hold them up where I can see them."
Chevy appears before us, pointing the barrel of his gun between his eyes as I back into the barn, dragging him along. I have a bad feeling about this one. I lead him to the door he previously closed. "Open it, slowly."
Chevy moves closer to change positions, the barrel now pressed into the guy's temple. He reaches into his pocket and shoves the key into the lock, turning it. "Open the door." He removes the lock and flips the hinge back, replacing it to hang loosely. "The light."
He flips it on, revealing what's inside. "Dear God. You sick fuck."
Everything inside me snaps, wanting to do this fast. It's taking every fiber inside of me to remain calm. Emotions lead to sloppiness. I push him inside until his face is against one of the photos on the wall; the shrine he's created of girls ranging from eighteen to about twenty-four. None of the photos are taken as if he's a stranger to them. Each appears to be from a photo shoot, the subject posing. There has to be at least twenty photos here, about five marked with a red X. I instantly pick out the missing girl from my file in one of the five.
A surge of anger spurs, blasting through my bloodstream.
I pull his head back and shove it hard into the wall. "Do you know how bad I want to snap your neck right now? Where are the ones that are marked in red? Are they dead? Nod for yes, shake for no."
He nods.
I tie the bandana behind his head into a knot, keeping it in his mouth, and then grab his arms, securing them. "Where are the bodies? Are they here?"
He nods again.
"Did you rape them?"
Another nod.
"Who are the other girls on the wall? Are they in line to be next?" He looks at me, remaining silent this time. I kick the back of his knees in, knocking him down. He nods.
A lead rope and a rope used for cattle roping catches my attention in the corner. "Hoss, hold on to this one for me."
Chevy grabs him around the neck with his arm, the gun still pressed firmly to his head. I grab the lead rope and tie his hands together loosely, careful not to leave marks, before sliding the rope on his head, circling around his neck, and pulling it to fit snugly, wrapping the long end around my hand a few times. I jerk him toward me and grab the red marker from where it hangs on the nail in the wall, shoving it in his hand. "Write a confession. Include the location that they're buried."
I hold the marker down for him to grab in both hands, unable to move them separately. I loosen the slack on the rope just enough for him to crawl to a void space on the wall. He removes the cap and starts writing on the wall. "Be remorseful. Make it fucking believable," I grit out.
Letter by letter it starts to form...
My name is Benton Barker. I am a rapist and a murderer. The photos represent my victims. They lie beneath the roses. I'm sorry for what I've done, but I cannot change who I am.
I jerk him backward, letting the marker fall to the floor. I've read enough. Fuck. Some people aren't worthy to be called humans. My head falls back, looking at the loft above. My eyes follow, revealing the stairway that leads to it. I grab him under the arm and drag him toward it. "On your fucking feet."
He makes an attempt to stand from his knees, successful just as we reach the first step. They are narrow and wooden, leaving only enough room for single file. I release him, but keep the rope in my hand as I grab my gun and hold it to his back as we ascend, Chevy behind me until we reach the top. The floor is rough cut wood and flat, the storage for feed and hay. There is no railing at the ledge, but there is a beam that runs across the ceiling.
I shove him forward, toward the edge. The beam is low enough from the height of the loft for me to reach if I stretch. I look at Chevy. He nods and grabs him by the arm, bringing him closer so I can secure the rope. Grabbing the beam in my left hand, I toss the rope over with my right, pulling it down and repeating until the rope is wrapped a few times, then form a simple knot that most would know how to make but still holds.
Gripping his red hair in my glove-covered hand, I pull his head back to look at me. His eyes are void, slightly glossy as if he's holding back tears. It's funny how much of a coward they become when being overpowered by someone else. "One scream and you get a bullet in your mouth as you pull the trigger. Fuck with me and see."
I loosen the knot of the bandana behind his head and remove the fabric, shoving it in the pocket of my hoodie. "Why are you doing this," he asks in a hushed tone. "Why do you care?"
"Because I care about people. Innocent people deserve to be left alone. You want to kill someone, kill someone that takes up air instead of those that mind their own business, abiding by the laws of the land. No sin must go unpunished, even when you're smart enough to get away with it. You have a daughter, Benton?"
"Yes."
"Imagine a lion like you luring her to his den to attack her, raping her viciously and then murdering her to shut her up or to get off on the power trip of dominating someone else. There are other acceptable ways to satiate your fucked up desires without harming someone else. Those girls were sisters, daughters, possibly even fucking mothers you selfish bastard, so now you can spend the rest of eternity regretting what you've done, as you burn alive with no relief, thirst with no water, and as your skin crawls with bugs eating at you from the inside out with nothing to stop them. You will feel their pain, plus so much more. Step forward."
"Who are you?"
I remove the rope from around his wrists, freeing his hands as Chevy aims his gun at ole Benton here. "Me, I'm just a shadow in the dark."
I push the barrel of my gun into his spine enough to offset his balance as he stands at the edge. He falls over, the rope tightening around his neck as gravity pulls his weight. His hands instantly go for the noose around his neck as his legs flail, fighting for his life, and resembling a fish out of water as he figures out he’s in a losing battle. I stand here watching until he stills, his body hanging from the beam in dead weight, no longer alive.
I back up and turn to look at Chevy. "Let's get the fuck out of here before someone comes looking for him. This job is done."
I can hear Chevy follow behind me down the staircase, back into the tack room. I replace the lead rope in the exact position I found it, taking one last look at the photos on the wall. The way I still sleep like a baby after a sight like that is in knowing that five of those girls couldn't be saved, but fifteen at the very least will still get to age another day, by an act as simple as removing the predator...
I pull the car into my apartment complex, parking as far as I can from any other vehicles in the lot, afraid to scratch the yellow paint. In all my life I never thought I'd be driving a Ferrari. I glance at the digital clock: 12:30. I grab my purse after pulling the keys from the ignition, stepping out of the car.
The alarm sounds as I lock it from the keyless entry. My nerves have been fucked up all night, the reason I stopped and bought cigarettes from a gas station on the way home. I hate fucking dealing with her. I have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea. At the moment I just want to climb back into that dark cloud with Kaston and pretend time doesn't exist, because that's the way it feels when he holds me hostage, but instead I put my game face on at work, served drinks and appetizers like no one's business, and eventually found myself in the kitchen, watching Jason and practically drooling with stars in my eyes. Take out the flirting with countless men and my job isn't that appealing.
La Cordon Bleu...
"Fuck," I whisper, shoving it out of my mind. It's fucking me up mentally, detouring my thoughts to places they don't need to go. That isn't possible
. "Just help her get a job and her own place, then you'll be done with her.
I open my purse and remove the pack as well as the lighter, before closing it and shoving it under my arm. I stare at my building from the short distance as I stand in the dark, out of range for the security light to make me visible. I hit the bottom of the box on the heel of my palm repeatedly, packing the cigarettes, before tearing the clear plastic to open the lid to remove one. Placing the filter between my lips I light it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm the fuck down. "It's peaceful out here this late, isn't it? Most people are sleeping or partying, leaving the rest of us in silence."
I turn toward the voice of the female I don't recognize: a blonde, sitting in a patio chair on her first floor balcony with her knees to her chest, sipping on a glass of white wine. That's about all I can make out since she is sitting in the dark. "I wouldn't know. Most of the time I'm at work or one of the two you just mentioned. I have a fucked up schedule to be honest."
"Yes, I'm a night owl myself, but work, always work. This is a rare moment for me, so I try to enjoy it when I can. Mind if I bum one? I have a seat and extra glass with your name on it if you want."
I take another puff, looking between her and my building, still not ready to face the pain in my ass that will be waiting when I get home. She's probably asleep anyway. If I don't know anything else, I do know that she most likely found my liquor cabinet and has already drank herself into a coma. If I go home now I'll end up staring at some stupid shit on television since it's still pretty early for me, and I haven't talked to Kaston since I left his house for work, hours ago. "Sure, I have nothing else to do at the moment."
I make my way up to her balcony and climb over the guardrail, which is pointless since it's on the first floor, but I guess it's just a decorative piece to make it match the rest. I sit in the empty chair and hold my hand over the small table that separates us. "Lux Larsen."
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