“You think they knew each other?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t think of that. More along the lines that the same person killed them both. You make a good point. I’ll ask my contacts. See if they’ve found a connection between the two.” Grayson bolts out of his seat, watermelon juice running down his arm. “Of course there’s a connection. They all had animal cruelty charges.”
My mouth goes dry. Behind my sunglasses, I’m sure my eyes are the size of dinner plates.
“Can you imagine? One day someone simply decides they should die for what they’ve done.” He looks at me, his gaze sliding into the dark places of my soul.
“Hell, it could’ve been you. Maybe you killed them. You’re an animal lover.”
I laugh, the noise brittle like the crackle of fall leaves.
“Of course I did. Like in the movies. Walk into a crowded restaurant; tell them they betrayed the Godfather. Then open fire.”
He chuckles, and I laugh along with him, but inside I’m at DEFCON 1. He has no idea how close he is to the truth.
Jackson looks thoughtful. “Well, if it could’ve been Hope, it could’ve been you. You would have the knowledge.”
Grayson looks startled, and I purposely keep my tone light and fun. “The job was getting to you, so you decide enough. Kill them.” I lean forward enough to dip my toe into the water and flick water at him.
“Why not all three of us? You, Jackson, and me? We could be a gang. Running around getting rid of the rotten people.” I pretend to think. “But I’m the ringleader, and before we kill them they have to kiss the ring. Better go practice my best mobster voice.”
“People that abuse animals tend to go on to other crimes. It doesn’t seem like something that stands out to me,” Jackson says. “Drugs and satanic rituals. Sounds like seriously screwed-up individuals.”
“When you put it that way, it does sound ridiculous.” Grayson sighs, the weight of knowledge and ugliness pressing down on him. Spilling over into day-to-day life. Someone who can no longer compartmentalize. I know the look well.
I want to hug Jackson. He has no idea, and yet I can see Grayson is thinking about what he said. Jackson always sounds rational and makes perfect sense. Good. Anything to move Grayson off this path. The only place it leads is straight to me. And I’ve got another name on my list for tomorrow.
“Just a thought.” But as he gazes into the depths of the pool, unease ripples through my body.
Of course, I have to wonder what they both would think knowing they were sitting beside a murderer. Laughing and talking with someone who has killed six people and counting.
CHAPTER 42
WITH NO DAY JOB, I find myself staying up later and later. Sleeping in until ten or noon. Blackout curtains keep the summer sun out. They were super easy to make, one afternoon and done. Now it’s blissfully dark while I sleep, no matter what time of day.
Thank goodness there aren’t many kids in the apartment complex. Though the noise from the pool has me seriously thinking I need earplugs. I consider and reject the idea, worrying I’ll no longer wake at the slightest sound. Living in an apartment, there are a lot of sounds. It isn’t unusual for me to wake up five or ten times a night. Funny how becoming a thing that goes bump in the night makes you attuned to others.
And a job? Haven’t even bothered to look. When I promised I’d go visit Gram in September and stay through the holidays, I meant it. But how can I look her in the eye? If I do go, there will be plenty of people who need to pay for what they’ve done in Kansas too. It would be nice if I could build a network to help with the work. I snort, thinking of getting an intern.
The apartment complex told me I could go month to month on my lease. I only signed a six-month lease when I moved in. There are tons of apartments for rent all over the Triangle, so they’re happy to work with me.
Back in April, Kenny Parrish made the news. He thought he’d be the big man in front of his skater friends by throwing rocks at a pair of Canadian geese. They’ve become known as the Belk geese, as they return to the department store to nest every year.
The first year, they made their nest in the shrubbery and grasses on the side of the building. After the male started throwing himself against the mirrored glass, thinking it was a rival, the department store covered over the bottom of all the doors with paper so he would no longer see his reflection. Someone put out a small pan with food and another with water. People loved to see them. And every year they came back. I guess it was just a matter of time before some idiot decided they were fair game.
As the male tried to defend his mate, one of the rocks hit his wing and broke it. A local rescue group helped both geese.
And Kenny? Thanks to wealthy parents, he got community service and probation. But I looked closer. Found he’d also set a raccoon on fire a year ago. This is not a nice teenage boy simply getting into mischief. He has the makings of something much worse.
After I pull on the gloves and load the pink gun, I change. Become darkness. The act of touching the gun and putting on my uniform shifts something deep within me. During these times there is no Hope. Only justice.
The boy and his friends like to hang out across from the department store, skating and smoking.
Soon the cops will know they have a single killer on their hands. Vigilante. Serial killer. Nothing more than labels. I don’t care what I’m called. Actions speak for themselves.
During the time I spend following Kenny, I learn his routine. Almost every evening he shows up after dinner in the parking lot of the mall and stays until eleven o’clock. Plenty of time. He and the two boys he’s usually with smoke cigarettes—and weed, by the smell of it. They also drink beer and leave the bottles scattered in the bushes, where they like to sit on the curb in between riding their skateboards. And all of them wear earbuds or headphones with the music cranked up loud enough I can hear it when I park in the spots closest to them.
I decide to arrive before them so they won’t notice a car coming in. With the tinted windows, it’s difficult for anyone to tell I’m in the SUV.
While I wait, I drink a green smoothie. This one is made with fresh spinach, blackberries, a few grapes, half a cucumber, and a couple scoops of chia seeds. Orange juice gives it a nice bite. When it’s hot out I like easy meals. Green smoothies, fruit plates, and sorbet.
The plastic underneath me crinkles. It’s stifling in the car even with the windows cracked. One of the boys left at nine thirty. Kenny and the other one sit on the curb, pulling beer out of brown paper bags. The smell of marijuana drifts over. By now the mall is closed. Unless you were to drive right by, you wouldn’t see them.
Still I wait. A little after ten, the employees trickle out. By now both boys are high and drunk. At ten thirty the other boy stands, swaying on his feet.
“I gotta get going. The parental units been a pain in the ass lately.”
Kenny waves goodbye. “Leave me a joint.”
And there he sits alone. The small part of me that can still feel is sorry for the fact he will never see adulthood. Never marry and have kids. Laugh about what he did as a teenager. And just as I’ve almost convinced myself to give him one more chance, I see him kick his foot out, hear the squeak as the mouse goes flying into the bushes. And while perhaps I shouldn’t care about a mouse, to me it simply solidifies the fact he isn’t going to grow out of his cruelty. If I let him live he will grow up not only to continue to abuse animals but move on to people. His two buddies or his parents may be his first victims. Harming those he professes to love. No. It ends tonight.
Kenny leans back on his elbows, eyes closed, when I approach. Taking careful aim, I hit him in the center of his forehead. He falls back gently as if he’s fallen asleep. A couple of open bottles scatter around him, along with the half-smoked joint.
Some people are broken. The only way they can be fixed is when they are dead.
Driving across town, I end up in a shopping center in Apex. Right before I throw the bag
in the trash, I open the bottle of bleach and pour it all over everything. I wish I’d done it from the beginning, but it isn’t like there’s an online course on how to commit murder.
Arriving at Warlock’s for my appointment, I decide to put the tattoo on my hip. So the only time it will be seen is if I’m going swimming or when Jackson sees it. He’s going to have a fit. Thinks no one should ever get a tattoo unless you’re trashy. We had a discussion once, and I pointed out how mainstream tattoos have become, but he was adamant.
The old me would’ve cared and let the idea go. But the new me…the new me says, Fuck you. I’ll do what I want.
“You ready for this?”
Vinny eyes me like he thinks maybe I’m going to bolt. “Noah said you were pretty sure, but seeing you…sure you don’t want a temporary tattoo?”
Standing there with my hands on my hips, feet shoulder width apart, I arch a brow. “I’ve never been more certain.”
He looks at me with a bit of respect. “Good for you. It’s always the ones who look sweet that turn out to be the most fascinating.”
I’m glad Jackson is playing golf with his buddies today. One of the guys is a friend from college, flew in for the weekend, so I’m on my own. When he’s with them he reverts to a frat boy. Drives me crazy. When he was trying to figure out a way to fit me into the weekend, I played the perfect girlfriend and told him not to worry, go have fun. That I had a lot of work to catch up on this weekend. Which is true. I just didn’t tell him what kind of work I plan to catch up on. The weekends are mine. Time when I can fling open the doors and let the dark Hope come out to play.
The tattoo I picked is of an alligator. Even before that awful day, I was fascinated with the reptiles. I used to sit on our dock reading a book and staring into the water. Occasionally one of the gators would swim over, looking up at me, as curious about me as I was about it. We all knew never to swim in the waterway. Though I remember a woman moved in across the waterway. She was from someplace cold. Upstate New York, or maybe Wisconsin. Anyway, one day I heard Mama screaming. I ran outside and saw the woman swimming. Apparently she got up early every morning to go for a swim. Mama was waving her arms, yelling and pointing. The woman swam, oblivious to a big gator behind her. Following. Mama swore that gator was going to eat the crazy woman, but I thought he was just curious. Wondering what kind of creature was in his domain. Because if he wanted to eat her, Mama would have never seen him until it was too late. People came and took him away after that, relocated him to the Everglades. It wasn’t long after when the big mean gator moved in. The one with the scars. I don’t know where he came from; one day he was just there. And he was crafty. Kept out of sight. I guess he knew showing himself meant he’d lose his home. And the waterway was long and stocked with fish. The good life.
A small part of me still thinks maybe it was all my fault. If I didn’t sit on the dock and talk to them, occasionally throw scraps from the kitchen, maybe he wouldn’t have taken my mama away. I tried to tell my gram what I had done. She said it wasn’t my fault. Once an animal gets a taste for humans, understands what easy prey we are, they keep coming back. She said that big ole gator probably ate someone before. Got a taste for it. But deep down, I’ll always believe I was partly to blame.
I focus on the guilt and the rage so I no longer feel the needles going in and out of my skin. The tattoo I’ve created is a watercolor. I sent the design to Vinny, and he assured me he could replicate it.
“All done. You okay?”
I’m a little bit shaky when I stand, but otherwise good.
“Leave the bandage on for an hour. Always wash your hands first then wash the tattoo with soap and cool water. Make sure you apply some kind of unscented hand lotion three or four times a day. For the next two weeks, no swimming, pools, hot tubs, or soaking in any water. And no direct sunlight.”
He sits back after applying the bandage. “It may itch, but do not pick or scratch the work. About seven to ten days it will be healed. Any questions?”
“Nope. Got it.”
I wore something loose like he told me, but it still hurts. And I’m going commando because I don’t want my underwear anywhere near the design. The entire drive back, all I think about is what if I’m in a car accident? Then everyone will know I didn’t wear underwear. They’ll think I’m some kind of trashy girl.
We don’t realize. We think we are our own person. But things we hear and learn as children stick with us. My mama always used to say girls who didn’t wear underwear were slutty. And as much as I like not wearing underwear, not having panty lines, I still hear her voice in my head every time I consider going without. Always end up pulling on a pair and going about my day.
Please don’t let me get in an accident. I chant the words the entire way.
At home, I look at the tattoo and smile. Gram’s words whisper on the breeze. Alligators are the harbingers of violent change.
Now let it be me. Let me bring the change. I am vengeance.
CHAPTER 43
JACKSON’S BEEN TRAVELING THE PAST two weeks for work. He still doesn’t know I’ve been fired. Cowardly, but I don’t want to have the conversation. It may be the final straw. He always calls me on my cell, since I traveled so much for work. And quite honestly, I think he’s been avoiding me too. There are things beneath the surface waiting to bubble up.
But now it’s my coming to Jesus meeting. We’re at the club having brunch with his mother when one of her friends stops by, tells me how sorry she is to hear about my job situation. Jackson and his mother are too polite to say anything, but as soon as brunch is over I know I’ll be facing an inquisition.
The valet brings the car around, and as he opens the door, Jackson’s mother stops me. “Hope. What exactly happened at work? I was told you were fired for throwing a pen at someone. That it wasn’t your first outburst.”
She stands there with a haughty look on her face, looking down her nose at me. The woman may have been injected and filled within an inch of her life, but I can see the happiness on her face. She’s never liked me dating Jackson.
“It was an incident blown completely out of proportion. I’m very sorry if you were embarrassed.” The valet shuts my door. Jackson kisses his mother goodbye.
“Call you tonight, Mother. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.”
When he gets into the car, his lips are pressed so tightly together they are as pale as me in winter.
“You’re unhappy with me.”
“At least you say that as a statement and not a question.”
We pull out of the club, going faster than normal, a clear indicator he’s pissed off at me.
“What were you thinking? How could you throw something at another person? You’ve always been sweet and kind. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard you raise your voice at someone in anger. You want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?”
Not really. But I have to tell him something. I sigh.
“I’m not sure. Work’s been unfulfilling for a while. Maybe it’s time to go in a different direction. Take on new challenges.” I watch the scenery flash by. “I don’t know why I’ve been angry. I guess I’ve just come to decide what I do on a day-to-day basis doesn’t matter. It doesn’t really make a difference. It’s not like I’m making water or making power or making a difference in the world.”
He looks over at me. “Everyone in a functioning society has a job to do. From the janitor at a school to the CEO of the company, everything works together. It’s fine if you were unhappy with what you were doing, but instead of being angry, why didn’t you do something about it? I know you could’ve found another job, but you never even said a word about looking.”
“I wasn’t looking. Haven’t had time.”
He strikes the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “When are you going to come clean with me?”
“Guess I’m just not handling stress well. I haven’t been meditating every day like I used to d
o. Please forgive me.”
He reaches over and places his palm on my bare knee. His skin warm against mine.
“Promise me you’ll make an appointment to see your doctor. Get a full checkup. Make sure there’s nothing wrong.”
I’m wearing sunglasses so he can’t see me roll my eyes. I make my voice as pleasant as possible. I don’t know why…this is the perfect time to make a scene and let him break up with me, and yet there’s something stopping me. By cutting this thread of normalcy, I won’t ever be able to come back. And so I hold on to it, no matter how tenuous.
“I promise. I’m really sorry. And please tell your mother if I embarrassed her in any way, I’m really sorry.”
He strokes my thigh. “She’ll understand. She’ll tell her friends you’re eccentric. You know Mother—she can make anyone see her side of things.”
I only wish she could make people stop doing what they’re doing. Then I wouldn’t have to keep killing. But that’s a fantasy. Like turning a pumpkin into a carriage.
I’m in the kitchen making dinner. I’ve given up frozen meals and fast food. While I usually have a green smoothie for breakfast, I decide I need to be at the top of my game. And we all know by now sugar makes you moody. The gateway to a whole host of problems. So I decide to give it up in hopes of pushing some of my anger back into one of my locked rooms.
I’ve also started meditating again and have been looking into some online yoga classes. I need to be able to find a way to quiet my mind. The voice talks to me all the time. Insisting there’s so much to be done. And since I don’t have a job, I should be doing so much more than I am.
In the middle of chopping vegetables to roast, something in the change of the tone from the newscaster catches my attention. The parking lot of the mall. But now there’s yellow crime scene tape around the bushes. With a whack, the green leafy tops are separated from the carrots.
There Was a Little Girl Page 18
