by Jade Eby
Theresa stared into the camera as if targeting me with her sad gaze. “This time, Cupid killed the wrong person.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I think Cupid believes he is saving people.” An odd smile widened over her face. “Cupid didn’t save anyone this time. If anything, he’s made it all worse.”
The correspondent raised her eyebrows.
Diana dropped the bag of popcorn and shut the TV off. “What do you mean, you evil bitch? What are you saying? Was it you that hurt those kids or are you trying to lure Cupid into a trap?”
Maybe, we should kill Theresa.
Diana despised the wench, but she also felt sorry for herself, in this sudden realization that the woman and maybe even those foster kids were beyond saving.
Or maybe we are all crazy? Who am I to judge anymore? Everything that I’ve done so far could put me right into a mental hospital for the rest of my life.
Who kidnaps someone else like she did unless they’re crazy? Theresa. Who gnaws on their cheek and bites into flesh? Me. Who carves their name into a dead man’s chest? Asher. Who asks another man to kill for her? Me.
Who may ask him to do it again?
Me.
Diana crawled off the couch and lay on the floor. Popcorn kernels scattered all around her. Since watching the news, she hadn’t bathed, changed her clothes, or even slept.
“Cupid didn’t save anyone this time. If anything, he’s made it all worse.”
She was going stir crazy. She thought everything would be better once Maxwell was dead, and she was away from Asher and back in her apartment. Justice would be served, and she’d have her freedom, her familiar closet of designer clothes, and her well-worn but cozy bed in her warm, inviting bedroom.
But none of it mattered.
“Cupid didn’t save anyone this time. If anything, he’s made it all worse.”
It didn’t mean a damn thing to her anymore. Not if a pedophile still walked around those foster home walls, spreading disease and horror to little children.
She decided to end it once and for all, really investigate what was going on.
She picked up her phone and called the one officer she’d made friends with at the Ovid Island police station.
Office Slattery.
He’d called her in long ago to question Diana on her husband’s murder. She’d met him, and his superior, Captain Rothschild. Both men were so different. The captain had been tall, tanned, and skinny with a neat uniform, and the greed for money in his eyes. Just with one glance, Diana knew that probably half of the millionaires on the island had their wicked fingers in his pockets, filling them up to his desire.
Officer Slattery had been the opposite—pudgy, short, bags under his eyes from probably over-working himself on cases. Food stains and wrinkles decorated his too-tight-for-his-body uniform as if he hadn’t enough money to buy new ones.
She’d decided that he could be trusted, and so far she hadn’t been wrong.
Picking up the phone, she typed in a message to him.
Diana: I need your help.
Office Slattery: Yes.
Diana: I need as much information you can give me on Maxwell Grayson and the Grayson Foster Home.
The officer was smart. He called, instead of continuing the conversation on text. Something like what she had to say, didn’t need to be further recorded in text for lawyers and judges to use against her or him.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I thought we had a deal.”
“Things are different, since you’ve been gone.” His voice shifted to a whisper. “More cops are here. Federal agents too. Everyone is being watched closely.”
“I’ve been on tons of cases that went that route, and all that my inside people did was print copies of the files.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re on the case, right?”
“Somewhat. I’m more getting everyone coffee and donuts.”
“Well, now it’s time to do your job. Get me copies of anything on Maxwell and the home.”
“Mrs. Carson—”
“Don’t you want to be the cop that finds Cupid before anyone else?”
“Yes.” Silence passed for a minute, before the officer asked. “Do you have an idea of who Cupid is?”
She swallowed. “I might.”
“Hmmm. Who?”
“Just bring it all over.” She cleared her throat and hoped she didn’t sound desperate. “Please.”
“What do you think you’ll find?”
“I’m not sure Maxwell Grayson is as innocent as people believe. Someone hurt those kids.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“But you want me to give you all of my information?”
“Grayson’s nurse confessed that she thought he molested those kids.”
“Why are you doing this? How is this going to help you find Cupid?”
“I need to know the truth.”
“Hasn’t the community suffered enough at Cupid’s hands? You want to dig up old history and expose the dirty laundry?”
“If the dirty laundry involves kids, yes, I want to air it out for all the world to see.”
“That poor man looked like hamburger meat when we came on the scene. Raw and beaten down meat that had been left out for days.”
Diana shut her eyes and tried to get that image and Asher’s face out of her head.
“Whoever did that is a monster,” Officer Slattery said. “He went too far. The federal agents said that they can tell that this guy loves it. Do you hear me? This monster actually is enjoying pounding and flattening human bodies into—”
“I got it, Officer Slattery.” Diana dry heaved and held a hand to her mouth.
“We had to find his teeth on the other side of the room, several feet away from his head, just to identify Mr. Grayson’s body.”
Diana vomited, right there, among the scattered popcorn and old piles of newspapers that had been delivered to her door while she was away. It wasn’t long, just a few seconds of brown, buttery fluids leaving her mouth.
The reality bared down on her, and she’d finally lost it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She wiped her mouth with her pajama sleeve, got up, and rushed to the bathroom to get towels. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
I’m a mess.
“A lot has happened in the last few days and while it’s gone on, I’ve had this terribly bad feeling about you, Diana. Something isn’t right.”
“Trust me. I was busy.” She balanced a pile of towels in her arms and rushed over to where she’d made the mess. “Will you bring me the files?”
“I’m worried that you’ll get hurt.”
“I’m fine. Trust me. I’m the last person Cupid would kill.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. It’s my gut feeling.”
“I hope your gut feeling is right.”
“So… are you going to bring the files over?”
“Yes, Mrs. Carson, but here’s my advice, Tread carefully. You know how things work in this town.”
“That’s the problem,” Diana said. “If we’d all be a little more honest and dole out a bit more justice—maybe Cupid wouldn’t have to do our jobs for us.”
“Maybe, you’re right.”
They hung up, and Diana spent the rest of the day, trying to get the smell of vomit out of her apartment. By that evening, Officer Slattery had delivered over several boxes of files, and she poured herself into Maxwell Grayson’s life.
Fifteen
Cupid
Asher: Anything to report?
Flame: A cop came by and delivered about six boxes.
Asher: Are you sure it was a cop?
Flame: He had the uniform on and everything.
Asher: Okay. Thanks. Keep close to her.
Flame confirmed what Asher had alread
y known. Although Asher had let Diana go back home, he’d also made sure there were several cameras installed throughout the rooms. He kept the bathrooms without them, not wanting to push so much into her privacy.
Drinking and sitting in his private security room, he watched Diana curse out loud, slam a folder onto the coffee table, and pace back and forth.
And then his mother’s annoying voice filled the space. “Stop acting like such a pathetic sap, Asher. Really? You’re starting to look just like those whipped men who wait on their wives hand and foot. She’s just a girl for Christ’s sake. Nothing more. I told you to never get too close to a woman and as soon as I’m gone, you’re sniffing between some stupid bitch’s thighs like a motherless child in need of healing.”
Asher ignored his mother’s condescending tone, gripped a glass of bourbon in one hand, and watched the screen some more as Diana paced back and forth in her apartment.
What was going through her head? Do you miss me? Do you care that I’m drinking myself into a stupor knowing I can’t be with you? Feel you? Kiss those supple lips, come into your wet, beautiful cunt?
The truth of his decision hit hard. She’d had files and folders on the Cupid case, no doubt, had them delivered as soon as she got back. She was going to dive into working and realize how much she loved it. He was going to lose her.
“It would be for the better, son.”
He whipped his head around to see his mother leaning against the wall and sipping a martini.
“Huh?” he asked.
“You’re meant to lose her. A woman like that can’t stay with a monster like you.”
Asher sighed. “You did, Mother. You stayed right by my side.”
“Of course. You’re my son. I love you by proxy. Not by choice. I’ll never leave you like she did.”
“Shut up. Just shut up. She will come back. I know it.”
His mother slapped the wall with her palms and screamed, “You foolish boy! Do you not see what’s in front of your face? You scare her. You sicken her. You make her question everything she believes in. How can you expect her to want to be with you?”
His mother walked toward him and bent down to eye level. Then she got eerily calm and whispered, “You were better off fucking her and then killing her like I told you to do. But no. You never listen to dear old mother.”
“Shut up!” Asher dropped the glass of bourbon and cuffed his hands around his mother’s neck. For one beautiful second, he could feel his fingers digging into the soft flesh, hear her ragged breaths as he squeezed the life out of her,
but then she was gone.
Just a visceral memory he couldn’t ever erase.
The ghost that always kept coming and coming, never shutting up, never giving him any rest.
In the end, all he really choked was air.
Diana will come back to me. I know she will. You can just shut the fuck up, Mother, and stay dead!
* * *
Another day passed.
Asher drifted between slumber and the hazy state of his inebriation.
He sat crumpled in his security room. Another drink sat in his hand. He’d stopped counting how many glasses he had, after finishing the second bottle of bourbon. He hadn’t slept, just like Diana, who continued to move all over his screen.
Diana remained in her apartment, rushing off to the bathroom and vomiting every now and then.
Is she pregnant or is she that disgusted with the case? Is she looking at pictures of my crime scenes?
All that time had passed, and never had she even considered to text or call. Instead, she did everything else,
reading,
writing,
cursing under her breath,
and pacing.
She was engulfed by something and little bubbles of furious jealousy raged inside of him.
Files, as well as, ink, and paper were stealing Diana away from him, and he would just have to sit back and drink more to get rid of the lingering scent of roses she’d left in her wake.
Sixteen
Diana
After reading thirty-six files filled with summaries on Ovid Island’s Foster Home kids, Diana was no closer to figuring out the mystery of Theresa than when she first started. She couldn’t find any evidence Theresa even existed. No adoption papers, no court papers. Nothing. Zilch. Like the woman was never there.
Even worse, Diana got to see all of Cupid’s crime scenes. They were hard to stare at for more than a few seconds. Blood and torn skin, cracked bones and arrows balanced in empty skulls.
How could I have let him touch me? How could I even feel safe around him? He’s not a monster, but he’s not normal, either. Focus on Theresa. Focus.
In all of the files, there was no Theresa.
Diana swiped the folder off the counter and screamed as papers fluttered down around her.
She knew Theresa had been there. She recognized the crazed terror in her eyes. So why didn’t she have a medical and psych report like all the others? Even the kids that had grown up and left the home had small summaries on them. The police wondered if maybe Cupid was somehow connected to the foster home and had requested everything they could get.
Meanwhile, Theresa continued to crowd all of the news channels. She was the poor mourning friend, crying at the appropriate moments, tugging her bow, and concluding her sad story with the fact that people could send their donations to a special Foster Home PO Box.
Diana planned to visit her psycho friend again, but not until she figured Theresa out. Not until she knew more about what she was dealing with.
If you’re involved, then I’ll make sure Asher kills you.
“People aren’t always who they say they are.” Asher had said that to her in bed one night as they laid side-by-side, sweating and panting from their sexual escapades. She’d looked at him and wished it didn’t have to be that way.
“People aren’t always who they say they are.”
And like lightning striking down from the heavens, Diana fell to her knees. She crawled around her kitchen, picking the stray pieces of paper up. She set them on the counter and arranged them back in order.
One by one, she looked through them again. Studied the name and dates and information listed for each child that had a folder.
Okay. Maybe, your name isn’t even Theresa. Maybe, it’s someone else.
She stopped on Mary Anderson. It wasn’t that the little girl was Asian. There’d been other Asian girls that stayed at the foster home until they became adults.
What stopped her was the big polka dot bow on her tiny head. It stared back at Diana from the photo.
How the hell did I miss the damn bow? I need to sleep. I’m missing stuff. Important things.
Mary Anderson had been born on the twenty-fourth of December in Nineteen Seventy Nine in a snowstorm, left to die on the steps of a Catholic church.
Unlike her story on the news, Mary had been sent to Ovid Island Foster Home by Holy Trinity after reports of her “bothering the other kids” and “not understanding the difference between good and bad touch.”
By thirteen, Mary was brought up on juvenile charges. Ovid police had caught her with stolen binoculars from the island’s hardware store. When they searched for her, she hadn’t been there. Hours later, they found her outside of a neighborhood home nearby, watching a mother bath her twins.
Her being a cute girl with a lovely bow, they’d only charged her for the binoculars.
If she’d been a boy, they would’ve put two and two together and figured she was looking at the naked little kids.
The most interesting piece of paper was a handwritten note on an Ovid Island Police ledger.
Gina Santos, nurse at OIFC called and said one of the children complained that resident (Mary Anderson) touched her inappropriately. Sent officer out, but child denied it. Ms. Anderson denied it also. No charges or investigation necessary. I am sure this all was a misunderstanding between two confused little girls.
Diana felt the first
clenching of muscles start in her right shoulder blade.
Stress and anxiety.
The more she thought about the note, the further down the clenching went until her entire body felt rigid. Constrained. Her blood ran cold and she knew right then what the answer was.
Theresa didn’t exist because she was really Mary Anderson.
“And Mary has grown up to straight up molestation.” Diana hugged the file close to her chest and raced around her apartment.
But did you do this all alone? Did Maxwell know? Was he supposed to die?
She grabbed a coat, her apartment keys and her cell phone. She wished she had a gun or a pocket knife or even Cupid to protect her, but she had to do this alone. She would confront Theresa with the truth and offer her help. And if she refused…
Well then, Diana would call Asher, and leave the woman’s life in his deadly hands.
Her phone buzzed right as she took out her keys to lock the door.
She answered, “Hello?”
“Have you found anything?” Officer Slattery asked.
“I think something is up with Theresa.”
“The assistant?”
“Yes.”
“Funny you should say that. There’s been some new developments.”
“What?” She paused in the middle of the doorway.
“Maxwell Grayson had hired a private investigator to watch her.”
“Do we know why?”
“The investigator hasn’t been found. We’ve been searching for him. He’s Miami based.”
“Could you let me know what comes out of that immediately?”
He sighed. “Yes, but I think eventually we may need to stop this relationship. I’m getting nervous. This is dangerous for both of us. I could lose my job, and you... you could lose your life.”
“No one is killing me. Relax.” She stepped outside and locked her door. “Oh, by the way, when did Grayson hire the detective?”
“Around two months ago.”
Right around the time he’d gotten rid of the nurse.
“Thanks,” Diana mumbled and hung up on Office Slattery.
