Except Monica was a badass.
Kelly was, for lack of a better term…what? A junior badass? No. He and Amy had often talked about Kelly and Monica in the same breath. Was Kelly a Monica Junior? No. Monica was highly trained. A lethal assassin in addition to being a raving whacko. But Kelly? Amy had once asked whether Kelly had the potential of Monica. Sure, Domino had replied without much thought. Not the training, but the potential? Sure. The desire—that impulse that drives the sick minds of the world—was there. Perhaps Kelly even had the potential to surpass Monica. Doubtful, but possible. The urge for atrocity was certainly not in short supply. And the need for self-gratification at all costs was paramount.
Still, Domino could do nothing but laugh at her claims of innocence, of being under bad old Monica’s influence—he’d had a front-row seat to it all back in the Pine Barrens. Had seen it in the girl’s eyes. Yes, Monica had manipulated her, abused her, and turned her into a marionette, but hadn’t he seen satisfaction in the puppet’s eyes when she was carrying out those terrible deeds on him and Ben Jane back in the Pines? Satisfaction and delight? Kelly would never be content to dangle beneath the strings of Monica forever, this Domino knew surer than his pulse, and so the fire Kelly set—their ironic savior—had certainly not been an attempt to save him and Ben, but a big middle finger to Monica. A fuck you, lady; think you can out-crazy me? I’ll show you crazy.
And she had, hadn’t she? Pound for pound, Monica beats Kelly a million times out of a million, but that night Kelly had pulled the upset. How?
By being Kelly, a voice inside his head whispered, sending a finger of ice down his back. Wasn’t that Kelly’s way? The beautiful little flower somewhere deep in the remote jungles of the Amazon, so harmless and unobtrusive, until it brushes against you unnoticed, getting its venom deep inside you. And then what? Two days later you’re dead. But how? And when and where? Certainly it wasn’t the harmless flower. Never the flower.
Christ.
Domino shook the thought away, actually said “fuck you” out loud, and took a deep pull from his glass of vodka. “You were Monica’s bitch, kid,” he said to the TV. “Nothing more.”
Joan Parsons readied her bombshell.
“Kelly, one of your most outspoken critics, perhaps the most outspoken critic, has been Kevin Lane, a former employee at Stratton Grove.” Joan turned toward the audience. “For those who don’t know, Kelly had been under Kevin Lane’s watchful eye at Stratton Grove for the five years she was there.” Back to Kelly. “Kelly, during the trial, you, along with a few other girls from Stratton Grove, testified that Kevin Lane demonstrated multiple acts of sexual misconduct during your tenure there.”
“That’s right.”
“Yet, in a somewhat unprecedented series of events, these facts only came to light after Mr. Lane had taken the stand on behalf of the prosecution, testifying to what he believed to be your guilt after spending such an extended period of time as one of your primary counselors.”
Ah! Domino thought. Was that a slight curl of disgust I just saw flash on your upper lip, Kelly? The world probably missed it, but not me.
“Are you asking me a question?” Kelly asked.
“Why weren’t the allegations of sexual abuse brought forth at the beginning of the trial?”
“What does it matter?”
Domino grinned. Keep chopping away, Joan baby.
“Mr. Lane has since claimed that the allegations were brought forth simply out of spite after his testimony. An attempt to ruin his career.”
“It did ruin his career.” Quick flash of satisfaction from Kelly. Again, likely missed by all, but Domino was trained to spot micro-expressions on a mannequin. He shook his head with a dry chuckle. Evil little bitch.
“Why do you suppose the judge allowed your newfound accusation in the middle of the trial?” Joan asked. “It’s my understanding the prosecution went berserk over it.”
Kelly shrugged.
And there’s that quick flash of satisfaction again. If Kevin Lane is watching this—and Kevin Lane IS watching this—he must be spitting up bile by now.
“I don’t know. I’m not a judge,” Kelly said.
Joan sat upright in her seat. Adjusted her attire. Addressed Kelly but kept her eyes on the audience. “Well, Kelly, we have Kevin Lane standing by on live feed right now…”
Domino nearly choked on his vodka, leaned forward with a grin, and blurted: “Oh shit!”
“…He would very much like to tell his side of the story and has promised to keep things civil. You have every right to decline, but if your goal here today is to tell your story and clear your name, this might be something you might want to consider. Are you willing to have Mr. Lane join us?”
She’ll say yes. With her ego? It would be too damn fun to pass up.
Kelly actually smiled. Small and short but ever present.
And that, Domino thought, was as genuine a smile as they come.
Kelly was finally going to get a little action. Her psychopathic impulses had been under lock and key with the trial and media all over her these past two years. An ungodly itch she’d been desperate to scratch. Seeing poor Kevin Lane—long since fired from the job he loved, long since a pariah in his once harmonious community—plead his case would be more than enough temporary freedom to have a go at that itch. And on nationwide TV no less.
She’ll say yes.
“Yes,” Kelly said.
4
The second the commercial break started, Amy phoned Domino.
“Are you watching this?” she blurted.
“I knew she’d say yes.”
Amy frowned. “It’s gonna turn into a shit show. She’s got that whole audience sympathizing with her, and now she’s going to risk blowing it by allowing them to bring on some guy with a vendetta against her? It makes no sense.”
“She couldn’t resist. A chance to see this man rant and cry and plead, no, scratch that, a chance for the world to see this man rant and cry and plead? She couldn’t pass that up.”
“I never followed up on this Kevin Lane guy after the trial,” Amy said. “Was Kelly right? Was his career ruined?”
“Yep. Lost his job at Stratton Grove and hasn’t been able to find work in his field since.”
“But it’s alleged,” Amy said. “All the things Kelly and her classmates claimed. That hasn’t gone to court yet.”
“It doesn’t matter what any future trial is going to say, Ames. In today’s society, simply being accused of something like that is as good as any guilty verdict. Enough to ruin any man.”
Amy thought about it for a second. Domino was right. Society can forgive all kinds of things in time, even alleged murder. But a sex offense? That was something altogether different. Whether you were found guilty or not, once the accusation was out there, it became a stain, impossible to scrub away. Kelly Blaine knew how to destroy this man without ever laying a finger on him. Had she once thought herself wrong for expecting Kelly to look like Monica? Yes. And she was wrong. Outwardly, the two appeared very different. But if we cracked the shells, took a look inside… “They could be twins,” she whispered.
“Huh?”
Amy came to and shook the thought away. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“It’s about to come back on,” Domino said. “Call you after?”
“Wanna stay on and watch together?”
“You mean like high school sweethearts do?”
“Forget it.”
Domino laughed. “You need more wine.”
“I wish. Figured it best Mommy wasn’t slurry when the kids came home.”
The show came back on.
“You staying on or not, dreamboat?” Amy asked.
“I’m staying, Peggy Sue.”
• • •
“We’re joined now by Kevin Lane, former head counselor and teacher at Stratton Grove Youth Ranch for Girls. Kevin, thank you for joining us.”
Kevin Lane appeared on the studio’s giant screen for all to see
. Once a fit and attractive man, Kevin Lane now looked exceptionally thin and tired.
Amy: “He looks awful.”
Domino: “Probably hasn’t been able to eat or sleep since Kelly ruined him.”
“Believe me,” Kevin Lane said, “it’s my pleasure.”
“Are you surprised Kelly gave her approval for you to be joining us today?” Joan asked.
“Curious, not surprised.”
“Curious, how?”
“Kelly always has an ulterior motive. I just can’t figure out what this one is yet.”
A murmur from the audience. Kelly remained stoic.
Domino: “Smart dude.”
Amy: “He spent five years watching her. Probably knows her better than anyone.”
Domino grunted in agreement.
“Kevin, what have you been doing since the trial? Are you teaching again?”
“No, I am not. I haven’t been able to find work in the field I love since Kelly’s accusations.”
Joan gave a theatric shift in her chair. “Well, it wasn’t just Kelly’s accusations, though, was it? Three more girls from Stratton Grove eventually came forward.”
Kevin Lane laughed. “If the jury knew Kelly Blaine like I did, you’d know the testimonies from those three girls held about as much water as a colander.”
Domino chuckled.
“Care to elaborate?” Joan said.
“It’s simple. The testimonies of the three girls were coerced.”
“By Kelly?”
“She was certainly behind it. I’m not sure how she did it, but she did.”
Murmurs from the audience again.
“You’re saying Kelly tracked down three former students from Stratton Grove and…what? Strong-armed them into giving false testimonies under oath?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lane, I hope you’ll forgive me when I say that this accusation seems far more fitting for your colander analogy.”
Kevin Lane leaned in closer to the screen, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. It was evident he hadn’t shaved today.
“No apology necessary. Why should you think differently than anyone else? This is who Kelly Blaine is; this is what she does. Everyone at Stratton Grove was terrified of that girl. And these were tough kids, street kids. Stratton Grove was their last shot at flying straight. They did not scare easy.”
Domino: “She’s loving this.”
“Be that as it may,” Joan said, “I still don’t see how she could have gotten three girls, long since left Stratton Grove, to give those testimonies.”
“Of course you don’t. No one does. Including me. But she did it. She got to those girls somehow and told them what to say or else. And they did. Those girls were so frightened of Kelly Blaine that they were willing to lie under oath. Destroy my career—”
“You destroyed your own career.” Kelly’s first words since Kevin Lane came on. She spoke them calmly and succinctly.
Amy: “Oh shit.”
Domino: “It was killing her to keep quiet.”
“You know I didn’t,” Kevin Lane said. “You know it!”
“Mr. Lane,” Joan said, “please lower your voice. I would like to conduct the remainder of our show with as much civility as—”
“Accidentally walking in on us during the precise time we were undressing?” Kelly said. “Groping us in those oh-so-subtle ways you pawned off as being nothing but friendly and harmless whenever we complained? Spying on us as we showered?” She turned toward the audience. “Do you know he actually drilled a hole in the communal shower’s outer wall?”
The audience gasped.
“You have no proof,” Kevin Lane said. “None. Zero. All you have is conjecture. This hole you said I drilled? Where is it? My attorney has since been to Stratton Grove. He found no such makeshift hole in the communal shower’s outer wall.”
Kelly shrugged. Gave a subtle scratch of her nose with her middle finger.
Domino: “Ha. She just flipped him off.”
Amy: “Huh?”
“Do you know she killed her older brother?” Kevin Lane’s blurt had the impact of a train. For a brief moment, it was as though the entire audience had been muted. Never at a loss for words, even Joan Parsons herself could only stare and watch.
Domino and Amy together: “Oh shit.”
“I did not kill my brother.”
“You burned him alive. It’s why you were sent to Stratton Grove. Even your own parents thought you did it. We could ask them, but you know, they’re dead too. Also burned alive. Quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Joan Parsons finally found her voice. “Mr. Lane, I think—”
“Do you know why she killed her brother? Because he caught her smoking and told on her. That’s it. That’s all he did to warrant being burned to death. Her own brother.”
“My brother was the one smoking,” Kelly said. Her voice began to crack. “I would never…” She dropped her head, long brown hair falling forward. “I loved my brother so much.” She wiped at her eyes. Joan Parsons handed her a tissue. Kelly took it. “I would never…” Her voice cracked again.
Joan Parsons leaned in and put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said.
“Cry me a river,” Kevin Lane said on the big screen.
Joan flashed a look of contempt his way. “I think we’re done here today, Mr. Lane. Thank you for your time.”
“You’ll see,” Kevin said. “One day, you’ll all see that I was right. How about you have me back on the show when that crazy little bitch is behind bars, Joan? What do you say to—”
The screen went black. The audience whispered nervously to one another.
Kelly eventually raised her head, sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with the tissue.
“Are you okay?” Joan asked.
Kelly nodded. Took a deep breath. “I just—he knew it would get to me.”
“Mentioning your brother?”
Kelly nodded again. “He knew how much my brother’s death upset me from our time back at Stratton Grove. He said it deliberately, just to upset me. He did it all the time back at Stratton Grove.”
Joan gave a practiced tilt of the head to project deep sympathy. “There are always going to be detractors, Kelly. Those who will always believe you are guilty, no matter what. But you know the truth, and the jury saw that truth. Monica Kemp, you are not.”
The audience applauded.
Kelly did not seem grateful.
Domino: “Ooh—she didn’t like that.”
Amy: “What?”
Domino: “That comment about Monica.”
Amy: “Why?”
Domino: “Ego. I promise you, what Kelly just heard was ‘Monica Kemp is better than you.’”
Amy: “You think?”
Domino: “I know. Still, the show couldn’t have gone any better for her. Kelly let the world see Kevin Lane for the man he isn’t. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”
Amy: “Think she really killed her brother?”
5
Bucks County, Pennsylvania
May 2005
Kelly Blaine asked for a treehouse when she was eight. She got a dollhouse instead. Earlier that year, her ten-year-old brother Kyle had asked for a treehouse, and their father promptly went to work, not building one himself, no—the only dirt the Blaines got on their hands came from money—but calling contractors to come and build an impressive little dwelling, high up on a massive oak within their vast wooded property.
Kelly’s response to this had been to remove the small glass panes that were the tiny windows in her dollhouse, grind them into a near dust, and then mix them in with her father’s tapioca he ritually had every evening following dinner. Conrad Blaine was later rushed to the ER with intense stomach pains. The culprit was soon found—the pulverized glass—and a lawsuit against the tapioca company was instantly filed. The result was a tidy sum, a lifetime supply of tapioca, and the beginnings of
Kelly Blaine’s realization, at the ripe age of eight, that God either didn’t exist, or He simply didn’t care what she got up to.
Either way was fine with her.
• • •
Kelly first tried smoking when she was ten, liked it, and habitually used her brother’s beloved treehouse to indulge her habit when he was due home late from basketball practice.
Today practice had been cancelled, and Kyle Blaine ascended the long wooden ladder to his treehouse to discover his eleven-year-old sister smoking a cigarette and drinking a soda.
“What are you doing?”
Kelly immediately dropped the cigarette butt into her soda can and fanned the smoke away. “What’s the big deal?”
“You’re smoking?”
Kelly rolled her eyes. “I was just trying it.”
“Do you know how bad smoking is for you?”
“So?”
“I’m telling Mom and Dad.”
Kelly stood. “Big fucking surprise.”
“I’m telling them you swore too.”
“You are such a baby. I guess that’s why you’re so little.”
Kyle Blaine, thirteen, had yet to hit puberty. His size had become a sore spot when the friends around him seemingly grew inches by the day, started growing hair where there hadn’t previously been, and spoke with deeper voices. Kyle was often mistaken for Kelly when he answered the telephone.
Kyle stomped forward, boards beneath them creaking. “Look who’s talking!” He placed a hand on his sister’s head.
Kelly swatted his hand away. “I’m a girl, I’m supposed to be small. But you…you’re going to be a little fucking pussy the rest of your life.”
Tears welled up in Kyle’s eyes. He began to stammer, a habit that happened to him under times of stress. “I-I-I-I’m telling M-M-Mom and D-Dad.”
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