by Shade, S. M.
Her friend wears tiny shorts, a tank top, and flip flops. Fluffy blond hair is chopped off short at her chin and small glasses perched on her nose give her a birdlike quality. Her lightly graying skin and extremely thin body scream of a serious illness.
A young woman a few feet away picks up her wailing toddler, exhaustion written on the apologetic glance she gives the people around her. A few teenage boys toss quarters at the brick wall, no doubt wagering money they were sent with to wash clothes. A couple pull in and start unloading trash bags out of the back of a pickup truck, dragging them inside.
What do I see?
“Struggle,” I finally reply. “And tenacity in the face of it. Hopelessness steeped in strength.” I watch as the two women laugh loudly about something, and one of the teenagers hoots in celebration while he scoops up his winnings. “Life. It amazes me sometimes. How some people can find happiness no matter their situation.”
Reeve grins and shakes his head. “You know, most people would only see a grungy laundromat. Writing isn’t a choice for you. The words are there, in your head, whether you let them out or not. You’re a writer.”
“Last time I tried, I almost killed myself.”
He pinches my chin and turns my head until we’re eye to eye. “I won’t let that happen.”
All I can do is nod and drag my gaze away. Across the street, two little girls emerge from the laundromat with a plastic wagon between them. It’s piled high with wet clothes, and they do their best to balance the load without letting anything touch the ground. The bigger girl—who might be six at most—gets behind the wagon and calls to the other one to grab the handle.
“You steer, JJ, and I’ll push. Don’t go into the road!”
“Are they alone?” I mumble to myself.
“Looks like it,” Reeve replies.
Once they get the wagon moving, they do okay, but it’s obviously a struggle. One of the women at the laundromat waves at them, and the girl in the back waves back. It must be a common occurrence here since no one seems to be disturbed by it. Maybe they live right around the corner. Still, they’re awfully young to be out alone and tasked with such a chore.
We watch as they slowly make their way up the gravel edge of the road, past a gas station, before pausing in front of a tiny dive bar. I can’t hear the conversation between them, but it appears the older girl cautions the younger one to stay put while she goes inside.
A few minutes later, a man steps out with the older child, stumbling over his own feet before catching his balance. He walks ahead of them, and they resume their places to push and pull the wagon. The girl pushes a little too hard and the pile teeters, knocking a few items into the dirt.
The man looks back and screams at her. She frantically gathers the soiled clothes and shoves them back inside, but it’s too little too late for the drunk asshole. He slaps her on the back of the head hard enough that I can hear it.
Sobbing, she grabs the back of the wagon again, and they continue. Reeve’s eyes mirror the anger I’m feeling, and he nods when I get to my feet and announce, “I want to follow him. They aren’t safe.”
I’m not sure what good I can do. I’m not going to call authorities because CPS only makes things worse. That’s a lesson learned firsthand. There’s no plan in my mind other than to follow them and see what kind of place they’re returning to, if they need help as much as it appears they do. Then we can try to come up with a solution.
We stay a good distance behind them to avoid looking suspicious, but we needn’t have worried. The man never looks back again, only shouts at them to hurry the fuck up. I’m shocked how far they pull that wagon. That poor little girl’s back must be screaming.
They lead us into an area I haven’t explored much. It’s seedy and looks rough. It’s getting dark when we follow them onto a dead end street and down to the last house. The man goes in the front door and it slams shut behind him while the girls continue around the back of the house with the wagon.
There’s a group of overgrown bushes on one edge of their yard, and we stop there. The house looks like a good storm could take it down, and I wonder how bad the conditions are inside. What are those poor girls living in?
We wait for a few minutes to make sure he isn’t coming back out. Reeve grins when I take his hand and creep onto their property. His heart probably isn’t beating out of his chest like mine is, but then again, I’m not the one adept at stalking or trespassing. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take good instincts to know those girls are in danger.
Terrified I’ll be seen, I take a deep breath and peek through a window. The thin curtains are easy to see through. The man lies in a recliner with his back to me. There’s no danger of him seeing us since his snores can probably be heard down the street.
My hope that there was a mother waiting on them is dashed. What we see over the next few hours is heartbreaking in many ways. While the father lies passed out, the older girl dries their clothes in a dryer on the rickety back porch. She splits a can of tuna and a pack of crackers with her sister for dinner, then helps to give her a bath. A pile of blankets and pillows lay on the floor of a bedroom that doesn’t hold much else. She spreads them out, making a pallet, then tucks her sister in like a mother would, and lies down beside her.
Their conversation is whispered, but clear through the screen of the open bedroom window. “Kay? I’m hungry. My belly hurts.”
“I know. We can have some more crackers when we wake up.”
“Will Daddy be at work when we wake up?”
“Yeah, he will. Be good and go to sleep. We’ll play school tomorrow in our playhouse.”
“Okay.”
It’s silent for a few more minutes until the little one, JJ, asks, “Do they hit you at school? Like Daddy does?”
“No, there’s no hitting.”
“And there’s food. And toys. And you get to play at the playground. I want to go to school so bad.”
Kay wraps her little arm around her. “In about a month, you’ll go to preschool and I’ll go to first grade. Right now we have to go to sleep before Daddy wakes up.”
“He might get mad and wake us up.”
The matter of fact manner of that statement is almost as hard to hear as the resigned sigh from the child beside her. “I know. But try anyway.”
They both fall asleep, and we retreat back to the tree line where we won’t be seen before talking. “They’re babies.” The words come out in a fierce tone, but tears leak down my face. “She’s trying so hard to take care of her little sister. They’re going hungry, getting hit. We have to do something.”
Reeve’s grin is sinister in the moonlight. “You want me to kill him?”
Yes.
“No, we don’t know enough. Maybe they have a mother they could go to or a relative. Maybe this is a temporary situation.”
“We need to watch,” Reeve says. “Watch and then make a plan.”
He’s right. Guess I’m the stalker now.
Chapter Seventeen
Those little girls never leave my mind. Over the next couple of days, I learn a lot about them. Some of the information is disturbingly easy to find with an address search online. Kay and Jessica Jacobs. A social media search of their names brings up a picture of them that’s a couple of years old, posted by their aunt. They’re posing with a boy around their age and two blond women. The post talks about how much she misses her sister and nieces. A quick click on her profile shows she lives a couple of states away, but it’s what I was hoping to see. Family.
The discovery is the deciding factor. They have family that can take them once their father is gone. They won’t go into the system. I want to do this. It isn’t a choice I agonize over in the least, and when I tell Reeve my decision, he agrees with a smile. It’s clear he’s only been waiting for me to say yes, because he already has a plan, and assures me he can take care of the body afterward.
First, we need to spend some time watching their house and following their f
ather, Vernon Jacobs, to learn his schedule. We need to make sure there are no regular visitors that could show up at the wrong time.
Since he lives on a dead end street with little traffic, we can’t hang out or park near his house. We’d definitely be noticed, and while no one may give us a second look now, they may remember after he goes missing. Driving by once isn’t a risk, and that’s how we start our little stakeout early one afternoon.
The girls sit on the front porch, playing, and as far as we can tell, they’re alone. The ancient truck that was parked in the driveway is gone. “I guess the truck does run. Why did he make them take laundry in a wagon?”
“Maybe it wasn’t running then. Or maybe he’s just a dick,” Reeve replies. I’m betting on option number two.
After we drive by, I park on the busier road that crosses one end of their street. We won’t be noticed here and since there’s only one way in, we can see when Vernon returns home. It’s not an unpleasant experience, sitting and talking with Reeve in my car while we keep an eye on the street. Is this what date night with a murderer is like? The thought makes me giggle, and Reeve turns to look at me. “You’re having fun.”
It’s not an accusation. He sounds pleased.
“Because I’m with you.” Before he can say anything else, I point to the truck turning onto the dead end street. “There he is. It’s after eight. Maybe he works a mid-shift?”
“Only one way to find out. We’ll watch the house tonight, see if anyone shows up, and what time he leaves in the morning.” My stomach growls, and he grins at me. “After we grab you something to eat.”
We return to my house long enough to eat and grab a jacket. The days are hot, but nights can be cool, especially if it’s windy. We park on another block, then walk to the Jacobs’ house. The streets are mostly empty and no one seems to give us a second look. Adrenaline kicks my heart into gear when we enter their backyard and duck into the trees behind it.
Light comes from most of the windows, and I’m tempted to look inside, but there’s no reason to risk it. There’s nothing to be learned from watching him mistreat his girls until they go to bed.
Reeve sits with his back to a tree and motions for me to join him. The ground is cool through the seat of my jeans and leaves rustle as I get comfortable beside him. It’s not the most entertaining thing to watch, but the anticipation of wondering what we’ll see keeps me alert.
After a couple of hours, the lights go out one by one. No one has visited or left. Now we’re just waiting to see how early he goes to work. The stars are out, and I crane my head back to see them through the gaps in the branches overhead. A shiver runs over me when the breeze picks up.
“Come here,” Reeve says, and tugs me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me, enclosing us both in his jacket.
The night inches by while we cuddle there together. Who knew stalking a man you plan to kill could be so romantic? I force myself to think about it a moment, to focus on the reality of what we’re going to do so it doesn’t start to feel trivial. I don’t want to be a psychopath who can take death lightly.
“You’re tensing up,” Reeve says, holding me tighter. “What’s going through your head?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d be afraid, but I’m not. I’m excited, and that’s fucked up, isn’t it? I’ve changed. It’s like I’ve stepped outside my life and I can’t get back in. I don’t even know if I want to.”
Reeve shifts me on his lap. “Look at me, Darcy.” His face is dappled by moonlight through the leaves as he brings those amazing lips to mine, kissing away my self-doubt. “The dark of you is a beautiful thing. Don’t be afraid. Embrace it.”
It’s an experience I can’t even describe, having someone adore the darkest parts of you. It feels like there’s nothing I could do or say to push him away from me. And there’s nothing he could do at this point to scare me away from his side. I’ll slide right down to hell with him and love every second.
A light flips on in the kitchen window, and I sit up straight. “Reeve.”
“I see it. Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, we rush out of the yard and back to my car. I drive around the block to park where we can watch the end of his street again. It’s still early. The sky is scarcely brushed by the sun when his truck turns the corner and drives away from us.
“Five a.m. Where’s he going?”
“Follow him,” Reeve says. “Stay a good distance back.”
It may be early, but I’m wide awake now. Adrenaline thrums through me while I carefully track him for a few miles until he pulls into the auto parts plant. He parks and heads inside with a lunchbox in hand. “So much for the mid-shift,” I remark.
Reeve nods. “Let’s go. We’ll get some rest and come back this afternoon to see when he gets off. And where he goes.”
It’s a good plan. Rest is what I should do, but once we’re home and in bed, I can’t sleep. I’m too wired. Reeve doesn’t stir when I slip out of bed and move to the living room. My plan was to watch some TV and see if I could distract my brain, wear it out enough to shut down for a while, but my attention is drawn to my laptop.
It taunts me from the desk. No matter what else is going on in my life, there’s a hollow spot where my writing used to be. I miss it. It hits me how ridiculous it is that I’m brave enough to commit murder, but too afraid of what I’ve always loved to try again.
Just fucking do it, Darcy. Don’t be a coward.
Before I can change my mind, I sit down, turn the computer on, and open a blank document. There’s a story idea in my head that I’ve been doing my best to ignore. A few paragraphs are all I need to write, just to get started, to show myself I can. My gut churns, but as soon as my fingers hit the keys, I’m fine. Better than fine. I don’t let myself stop to plan or research. Just allow the words to pour out of me while tears of relief run down my face.
It’s something I know others don’t understand sometimes, how “writer” goes from being your job description to who you are. That the hours spent agonizing over your words and ideas aren’t made worth it by sales numbers or bestseller lists. It’s this feeling, that sensation of being taken into some other world and emptied out in some wonderful way. That’s the high we chase. I’ve missed it terribly.
It isn’t until hours later that I save what I’ve written, turn off the computer, and go back to bed. This time I fall asleep as soon as my eyes close.
Reeve stares at me from across the room when I open them again. He’s already up and dressed, ready to go. It takes me a quick cup of coffee to find my enthusiasm again. A few hours of sleep after staying awake all night isn’t enough, but it has to be.
We get back to the auto parts plant in time to see the shift change. It’s easier to be inconspicuous following Vernon in the afternoon traffic. He doesn’t go home where his two girls are alone, but turns the opposite direction. It’s not a huge surprise when he parks in front of a bar and goes inside.
After hours pass, and he doesn’t emerge, I turn to Reeve. “When?”
He knows exactly what I’m asking. “Monday. I need the weekend to get some arrangements in place. It’ll be easier to grab him on a weeknight, when we know he won’t be at the bar all night.”
“Okay, Monday.”
* * *
Reeve isn’t around much during the weekend. I’m not sure whether it’s because he wants to give me the space to write, or because he’s arranging things for Monday, but either way, I’m okay with it. He always comes back by the time I’m ready to climb into bed. I’ve gotten so spoiled falling asleep in his arms.
When Sunday comes, he’s up early, dropping a kiss on my lips before he leaves. As soon as I’ve eaten breakfast, I head back to my laptop. It’s one of those days when my first waking thought is an idea for my work-in-progress, and I can’t wait to get back to it.
The day slips away from me in the best way. I’ve missed this feeling so much. Everything around me is a distant buzz while the words fill the screen. Lik
e before, the story falls together in my head faster than I can process it and get it out. Even after hours on my laptop, I grab a notebook to spend another hour jotting down notes and beginning an outline.
It helps me to push our plans for tomorrow and the anxiety surrounding that to the back of my mind for most of the day. Until Reeve comes back to let me know he has arrangements in place to dispose of the body.
We’re really going to do this.
We’ll take another abusive asshole out of this world, and those girls will get to grow up with family who can actually care for them. The plan is to grab him in the middle of the night when the girls are sleeping. They’ll never know anything except that he isn’t there when they wake up.
They won’t know he’s been dragged out to the trunk of my car, then brought back here to be executed and dismembered like the senator was. We got away with it once. What’s a little more blood in the soil? Reeve will take the body to wherever he knows it won’t be found and it’ll be over.
That’s one thing that chips away at me, not knowing where the body ends up. Not just that, but still being blind to a lot of things when it comes to Reeve. Look what we’re doing together. He should trust me to know more about him.
Tonight’s as good a time as any to talk to him about it.
It’s odd how normal the evening seems, considering what we’ll be doing soon. We sit on the front steps of my porch while our dinner of chicken and vegetables bakes in the oven. Sure, just an average evening of food, shower, murder, then off to bed.
The ludicrous thought makes me laugh, and Reeve glances over at me. “What?”
“I don’t know. Things feel so…ordinary. I guess I thought I’d be more nervous.”
A proud grin stretches across his face. “Because you’re ready.”
