One-Eyed Jack

by Kristi Belcamino

  It wasn’t that she was avoiding it, but if she allowed herself to wallow in her grief and self-pity every time it struck, she would never surface from it. She knew it would devour her completely. She would either end up dead, homeless, or in an insane asylum.

  Her coping mechanism was to allot herself a designated time to mourn her family.

  If it cropped up at any other time during the day while she was busy, she would tell herself, “I will mourn them later.” And she kept her word. Once she was alone, she would allow herself those moments of grief. But never in public.

  Later, in the privacy of her hotel room, she would mourn. That knowledge was the only thing that kept her from breaking down right there on the patio. The other tables, filled with doting couples, didn’t help matters. But she pulled it together and dug into her linguini with gusto.

  So much so that she barely noticed when the waiter set down a drink she didn’t order. He waited until she looked up.

  “From the gentleman,” he said and gave a slight nod toward a table on the other side of the patio.

  It was the British guy from the plane.

  Normally, she would’ve told the waiter, “Tell him thank you, but I’m not interested.”

  But instead, she ignored the waiter and gave Alex a small smile and a nod toward the empty seat beside her. He carefully folded his linen napkin and placed it on his seat before he walked her way, never taking his eyes off her.

  His stare had a strange effect. It made her want to bolt away from the table while at the same time pinning her in place.

  Oh no, she thought. What am I doing?

  Before she could flee, he was at her side, “May I?” His hand gripped the back of the empty chair.

  “Please,” she said.

  “Have you ordered?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The waiter just cleared my plate. Why? Do you have more of that delicious Camembert in your pocket?”

  He laughed. She liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “No, I’m afraid we polished my supply off on the plane. But I would love to buy you a drink, maybe somewhere else. A nightcap, perhaps? I’ve heard there’s a bar down the beach that has fantastic Margaritas.” He paused. “Wait, do Italians even drink cocktails?”

  “We do. We just think wine is better.”

  He laughed.

  “Shall we?” he said.

  Eva felt a stab of guilt race through her. But her husband was dead. She’d been a widow—a celibate widow—for more than a year.

  “That sounds lovely. But I have to be perfectly honest, I don’t drink hard alcohol and not because I’m Italian. I have another idea.”

  He tilted his head waiting.

  “Why don’t we order another bottle of this wine, grab these two glasses, and do some stargazing from your room? Where it is more…private.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off his and bit her lower lip slightly waiting for his response.

  His eyes widened, and he held her gaze a second longer than necessary before he raised his hand for the waiter.

  14

  Conrad/Username: One-EyedJack

  It wasn’t as hard as he thought to watch the footage of him with Molly.

  It looked real. And Molly had been right. Even as a virgin, he didn’t have any problem not getting a hard on while he was mock raping her. The thought of the violence he was portraying was so distasteful there was no way he could have felt any sexual desire in that moment. Not even with his entire body pressed up against the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

  He thought about it. Molly was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Inside and out.

  For the first time in his life, he realized what it was like to find the inside of somebody beautiful. When he thought of Molly, he honestly couldn’t really recall her physical features. He remembered how she felt. As a person. As a human being. As a spirit.

  It was, frankly, mind-blowing.

  And also, possibly the most enlightening moment of his life.

  A tremendous shame overcame him. For the past two years, he had been completely immersed in a world—an online world at least—that hated women. It was possibly the most misogynistic group on earth. And he had helped create it. He had nurtured it. He had given everything to it. It was reprehensible.

  He had to stop ChadHater. He had created a monster. It was up to him to right his wrongs. Once he stopped ChadHater, he would shut down Incel Nation for good. But first he would post his own manifesto. He would post a picture of himself. The thought made his stomach heave. But he would do it. And he would say he’d been wrong. That hating women wasn’t the answer. The answer was to love yourself.

  For the first nineteen years he’d been on this planet, he’d been utterly, one hundred percent convinced that the only path to love and attraction was physical. It had prevented him from loving himself.

  When he heard people say you could find someone beautiful inside, he thought it was utter bullshit. Things people who were attractive on the outside said. Or things people said to make him feel better about this own looks.

  But after this morning, he realized, fuckin’ A, it was true.

  He was incredibly attracted to Molly. Not because of the way she looked physically, but because of who she was inside. Honestly, her physical traits were totally not his taste—if he had to name women he was most attracted to he would have described someone the opposite of Molly.

  Molly was skinny. Like no curves at all. Flat chested. Straight, skinny legs. Flat tummy. Blonde. Freckles. Fair skinned.

  Last night, he would’ve told you his type was basically the woman who’d walked up to his door and introduced herself as Eva. The Queen of Spades. He’d always dreamed of and felt attracted to tall, brunette women with ample curves and olive skin.

  Not this skinny little blonde and freckled white girl that he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Ultimately what this meant was—holy shit—maybe someone could actually like him for what was inside. Maybe, just fucking maybe, Molly might see past his physical defects. They already were friends. She’d said as much to him before she left. They even had plans to hang out when all this was over. Go see a movie.

  Even if they only stayed friends, that friendship alone made life worth living again.

  After reviewing the video one last time, he logged onto Incel Nation and messaged ChadHater.

  “It’s done.”

  He waited, realizing he was holding his breath. A few minutes later, a message popped up.

  “Proof.”

  He uploaded the .mpv file with the video and hit send.

  There. The deed was done. Even so, he felt a pang of guilt. And then, also, jealousy. He hated the idea of that fucking lunatic looking at Molly and watching her get violated in the most degrading ways. Even if he knew it was all acting, it still felt like he was violating her by sharing the footage. That was the guilt part. The jealousy part was that a scumbag like ChadHater was looking and thinking about Molly in such a disrespectful, horrific manner. But he had to let those feelings go. He was doing the right thing. Keep your eye on the prize. The goal was to stop this maniac from embarking on a mass killing spree. That was what mattered most.

  A message popped up on the screen.

  “Well done. That stupid bitch deserved it. BTW I didn’t know your Stacy was so hot. You sure aimed high there, old sport.”

  Conrad flinched reading the words. It was true. Was he delusional to think Molly would ever really call him to hang out? No fucking way. She was just being nice to his face. Probably for the benefit of the Queen of Spades. He would delete the number she gave him immediately.

  He wrote back. “She is a bitch.” Another flicker of guilt ran through him. Molly had been so decent. They had laughed together. There was even a moment when their eyes met, and he’d felt something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was undeniable.

  “How do you know she’s not going to the cops?” ChadHater wrote.

 
They’d already prepared for this. “I told her if she did, I’d rape and kill her little sister. I told her the address of her parents and the middle school her sister went to. I said if I didn’t do it, one of my friends would. She was so scared there’s no way she’ll go to the cops.”

  After he hit send, he waited, heart pounding so loud he could hear it reverberating in his ears. Finally, a reply: “You better hope so. Delete your copy of the video immediately. And I’m going to delete this entire thread. I don’t want anything pointing to me. At least not yet.”

  There it was. The briefest mention, the slightest reminder.

  “About that…” Conrad wrote.

  “What?”

  “I think I want in on it.”

  He hit send and closed his eyes for a second.

  The reply was immediate. “There is no ‘in on it.’ This is my show. My party. You’re not invited.”

  “I mean, what can I do to help? And after, how can I help spread the word that it was you? You know, so you get credit and stuff.” He purposefully tried to sound deferential. Hopefully, it was working.

  “Man, you just get the glory of saying you knew me. You can tell whatever stories you want about me and us after. Like you could say how I got you laid for the first time with your Stacy. How’s that feel anyway? Pretty damn good I bet?”

  That was an easy one to answer honestly: “The entire experience changed my life. I will never think, or be, the same again.”

  “Wow, dude, that’s some heavy stuff. Maybe I’ll have to try that myself before I go out in a blaze of glory.”

  Conrad decided it was a good moment to push him.

  “So, you’re still a virgin?”

  The screen remained blank for several seconds and then one word: No.

  He was lying. Conrad could tell. It didn’t matter. You didn’t have to be a virgin to call yourself an incel—some other incels had gotten lucky before, once or twice.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Conrad wrote. “What you’re doing is going to show all of them. Stupid cunts with their fancy outfits and too-thick makeup.”

  He hoped the comment was casual, but he was also hoping that whatever ChadHater said in response would help point to which event he was targeting. The Queen of Spades had messaged him saying there were three potential targets. The largest—the Miss America Pageant—was expecting thousands of people. Same for that make up convention and Women’s March. All were in the same city, so that wasn’t going to help narrow it down. Eva had told him his goal was to find out which one.

  “Yeah, they won’t think they’re so hot when half their face is missing.”

  “Make up can’t help that,” Conrad typed. He winced as he wrote it. Was it too obvious?

  But ChadHater didn’t take the bait.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “I’m writing my manifesto.”

  “Cool. Like ER?”

  “Yeah. But better.”

  He needed more info. Now. He tried the obvious as a last-ditch effort and said, “Can you just give me a hint about where you’re going ER?”

  “No way, dude. You’ll find out in two days.”

  Conrad was crushed. He saw ChadHater log off.

  The whole goal of making the video was so ChadHater would trust him and give him details. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  But he had one small nugget of information. It was going down on Saturday.

  He immediately dialed Eva.

  15

  Sebastian/Username: ChadHater

  After he clicked off, Sebastian sat there, thinking.

  That little fucktard had pulled it off. He’d proven his loyalty with that Stacy.

  But he still was asking a lot of questions. Sebastian wasn’t stupid. He knew the One-Eyed Jack was fishing for information—trying to find out more about D Day. But the question was why? Was he eager to ride Sebastian’s coattails? Did he want to show off and say he knew about it first? Or spread rumors? Who knew?

  Sebastian doubted the little love-shy boy would want to interfere.

  But he might try to get a piece of the action somehow.

  Either way, he still wasn’t quite sure he trusted the One-Eyed Jack. That’s why he shut him down. So One-Eyed Jack couldn’t open his big mouth and blow it somehow.

  But the video. Holy hell. It created a mixture of strange feelings in him. First off, it made him horny as fuck to watch. What it really made him want to do was to track down that Stacy and show her what a real man was like. As soon as he thought this, he knew that was the answer. He would kick off his legendary mass killing spree by finding her, fucking her, and then killing everyone else. At that point, it didn’t matter whether the One-Eyed Jack was suspicious or not. Because the date he’d revealed—Saturday—was the day after he’d go full ER times ten.

  It was just one more safeguard in place, one more layer of protection around him to make sure nothing stood in the way. By then it’d be all over except the crying.

  He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to broadcast the details publicly beforehand.

  That’s how you got caught.

  That’s also why nobody would ever know who he really was. Unfortunately, he’d realized this just a little bit too late. There was still an outside chance that the One-Eyed Jack could figure out his identity from the old posts on Dr. Frank’s site.

  Putting your real name and plans out there led to getting caught.

  Like the guy who texted his girlfriend that he wanted to break the record for the furthest gunshot death.

  Or the kid who called his grandma from where he was holed up in a hotel room planning to kill dozens.

  Or the teen who boasted on Facebook that he was fascinated with mass shootings.

  And the guy who posted a photo on Instagram of a shooter aiming at a church.

  All fucking idiots. He couldn’t even remember their names.

  He was much smarter than all of them. The only person in the world who could trace him to his real name was the One-Eyed Jack.

  He thought about that for a second.

  That was a problem.

  An immediate problem.

  He opened up the .mpv file and then downloaded some software that would enhance and magnify the images. After rewinding a few times to watch Conrad fuck the girl, he decided to watch from the very beginning.

  The video started with One-Eyed Jack’s ugly mug leaning down in front of the camera as he hit record. Then it showed him opening the door to the girl. She stood hesitantly in the doorframe; she had some weird flower-print cloth bag hanging on a matching cloth lanyard around her neck. It had a plastic front with something inside. It was about the size of a pack of cards. He watched as she stepped into the living room and spoke to the One-Eyed Jack. After a few moments, he handed her a drink. She smiled and downed it.

  He helped her over to the couch. She sat down and then slumped to one side.

  Rewinding the film, Sebastian paused it right there to examine the wallet thing hanging around the girl’s neck. It was a quilted ID case that he’d seen on some of the girls at the mall. He could tell it had her picture and some writing. God damn. It was her driver’s license.

  He zoomed in, but couldn’t read the street address.

  A few seconds later, the girl’s eyes fluttered closed. The One-Eyed Jack laid her down on the couch. It was hard to see since his body blocked the camera view, but Sebastian could see him unbuttoning her shirt and yanking the small bag off from around her neck and flinging it on the floor.

  Pausing the video, Sebastian zoomed in on the wallet. Boom. There it was. The Stacy’s address.

  “Thank you, bitch. I’m really, really looking forward to my sloppy seconds.”

  16

  When Alex gently pushed her up against the elevator wall and kissed her throat while pushing her silky skirt up with one hand, Eva knew she had made the right decision.

  His “room” was the penthouse of the hotel. When they stepped into the cavernous space, he didn’t turn on the lights. In
stead, leading her by the hand, he walked her over to the balcony and threw open the sliding doors, letting the ocean breeze and moonlight in. He pushed her up against the rail of the massive balcony and began kissing her, starting at her mouth and making his way down her body until she begged him to take her to the bed.

  Much later, Eva thought she was being stealthy as she crept out of bed until Alex’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “Must you?”

  She froze. And for a few seconds she considered staying.

  “I can’t,” she said. But she leaned over and kissed him long and hard on the lips.

  “Will I see you again?” he asked, sitting up in bed. In the moonlight, his hair was adorably mussed.

  “I don’t know.” At least it was honest.

  “Fair enough.”

  In the elevator, she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall. She wondered if it was the same mirror in the same elevator he’d pressed her against and done such wonderful things with his mouth. A shiver of pleasure raced through her thinking about it.

  He was nearly twice her age. But he was the best lover she’d ever had. He was in good shape—yoga and running really paid off in his case.

  But it was more than that. Lots of men had fit and toned bodies. It was his insistence on her pleasure. He was a selfless lover. His pleasure came from hers. She sighed as the elevator neared her floor. She would most likely never see him again and, while that was a shame, it was also a relief.

  Back in her room, the guilt of how she spent the evening overcame her. Her original plan for the night had involved calling Jonathan and telling him about Molly, ordering room service, and doing online research until bedtime.

  She still needed to call Jonathan but first, a shower. She reeked of sex.