Danny shook his head.
“Then how did you get these pictures?” Mia asked.
“Sent to us,” Danny said, folding his arms. “Emailed. Encrypted sender; untraceable.”
“Emailed?” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Sort of cements that ‘sending a message’-theory,” Mia said.
I nodded, realizing how obvious that point seemed now with the new information. “So all of these were just sent to you recently?” I asked, glancing down at the map.
“Nope,” Danny began. “We got the first email almost a week ago. Went to check it out, found nothin.’ Then we got another email, same response, same effect. Then it happened a third time—didn’t bother to send a search party this time; just decided to call you about it.”
“Why wasn’t I told about the first email?” I demanded, looking up.
Danny shrugged. “Didn’t think nothin’ of the first email, to be honest,” he explained. “Hell, we didn’t think much of any of it ‘til the second email. By then we figured we’d better have more to show ya then a few grisly pictures. But, again, nothin’ turned up, an’ what was we supposed to tell ya at that point?”
“And you said this started almost a week ago?” Mia asked. “So when did each email come in?”
“First one was ‘bout six days ago,” Danny said after a moment’s thought. “Then the next came… hmm, I guess two days after that. Then the last one came… oh, son-of-a—”
“Two day increments,” I said, nodding towards Mia.
“So, if the last set of pictures was sent yesterday,” Mia began, “do you think it’s fair to assume that another email will be sent tomorrow?”
“Damn,” Danny grumbled. “How the hell didn’t I see that?”
“Just needed more eyes, that’s all,” I grinned, slapping at Danny’s back.
“So that probably means that, if there’s going to be more pictures of more bodies, they’ll likely be committing the murders today, right?” Mia stipulated.
I glanced over at Danny, eager to see how he’d respond to that.
He nodded slowly, contemplative, and rubbed at his chin. “I suppose I can send some boys out; see if they can catch wind of any funny business over the next twenty-four hours. Y’know, assuming that the pattern continues. If it was just supposed to be the three messages then we could be chasing a dead fish,” he pointed out.
“Even if there is something going on,” I grumbled, “we could be chasing a wild goose.”
“Huh?” Danny raised an eyebrow at me.
I looked up, blinking. “You know,” I defended, “‘wild goose chase!’ C’mon, man, don’t make me feel stupid!”
“Ya feel however ya wanna feel,” Danny said with a chuckle. “I got work to do.”
“Assuming the timestamps on the pictures are accurate,” I said, “it’s fair to say that they’re sent to you shortly after being taken. Would you say that’s accurate?”
Danny shrugged. “More or less, I s’pose. Why?”
I took a moment to study the map, realizing the marked zones were roughly ten-to-fifteen miles apart. “Means if I head out tomorrow and scope out this general area”—I circled my finger around the neighboring quadrant—“then I might catch our amateur photographer in the act.”
Mia frowned at that. “I don’t think I like you going into this on your own,” she said.
“It’s the best bet we’ve got right now,” I said, turning towards Mia and moving my hands to her shoulder. “And, even then, it’s probably a crap-shoot. It’d be pointless to send somebody else out there to drive around when they’d likely be driving around for hours for nothing.”
“Jace is right, Mia,” Danny said, giving her a reassuring nod. “Fer once, he’s thinkin’ in the right direction.”
“For once?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, Merc?”
“Means ya’ve had yer head up yer ass until now,” he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
“Fuck you,” I said, though I couldn’t help but smile all the same.
“What’s there to smile about?” Mia frowned, glancing back down at the photos. “This… whoever did this…”
I frowned at that, hating that I was putting Mia through this. She’d already been thrown into an awful situation because of her brother and now I was doing the same, in my own way. I didn’t want her to have to be involved any more than she had to. I moved to the table and quickly shuffled the papers back into a pile and handed them to Danny.
“I’ll get this figured out,” I said. “In the meantime, let’s continue as we have been.”
“As we have been?” Mia challenged, “With me staying behind worrying about both of our safety?”
I frowned at that.
Danny cleared his throat.
We both turned to face him.
“Not to talk outta turn,” he said, holding his hands up, palms out, “but she’s got a point, Jace. Maybe, while ye’re out patrollin’ on yer wild goose chase, we can start teachin’ Mia how to protect ‘erself?”
“Protect herself?” I repeated.
Danny nodded. “Yeah. Y’know, li’l target practice, couple of trusty self-defense moves… stuff like that. It’ll give ‘er somethin’ to do while ye’re out playin’ biker boy, an’—who knows?—it might even come in handy, right?”
I started a slow nod, but it quickly became more envigored. “Yeah. I think that’s a good idea. Thanks, Merc.”
Danny shrugged. “S’what I’m here for. An,’ who knows, maybe we’ll finally get our shot at Papa Raven, eh?”
Papa Raven…
Tyler-fucking-Kapurton
The man who started the Carrion Crew.
The man who killed my father and brother.
The man who nearly destroyed the Crow Gang.
The man responsible for T-Built, who’d killed my wife—destroying my family—and all-but enslaved Mia, and the man who’d gotten Mack out of prison in an effort to get Mia back on the streets.
Papa Raven…
The man behind just about every problem I’d ever had.
It couldn’t get more personal.
“Where are you right now, Jace?” Mia asked as she placed her hands on my shoulders.
“Just… lost in thought is all,” I said, offering her a smile that I hoped wouldn’t look too forced.
She offered a smile back, but I could tell I hadn’t fooled her. Her smile was just as forced, just as phony, as mine.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “He—Papa Raven,” I clarified, “he just… it’s not easy to think about him without getting upset.”
“I understand,” Mia smiled understandingly and leaned forward, kissing my forehead. “Just don’t get lost in those thoughts. I know all-too-well how easy it can be to get lost in your own head.”
I sighed and nodded.
“Get outta that head of yers, Jace,” Danny said, his face growing stern. “Ya won’t be able to stop anybody if ya get lost up there.”
“I know,” I said, hating how defensive my tone had grown. “I get it, okay? I won’t let my feelings get in the way. I can’t. Not with him.”
“Good,” Danny waved at me. “Now why don’t you and your pretty lady get on outta here? Go for a dinner or something.’”
“What? Kicking me out of my own office?” I stared, blinking.
“I got it handled fer today,” Danny said, plopping down in my office chair. “Ya got some work tomorrow, so why don’t you two take it easy today?”
“Alright, thanks, Danny,” I said, turning away and leading Mia to the door.
“Jace?” Danny said, his voice growing low.
“Yeah?” I said, turning to face him.
The look I got gave my chills and I frowned, wondering just what Danny planned to say to me. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“Ya need to promise me ya won’t do this all on yer own, Jace,” Danny said, his face cold and calculated. “I got skin in
this game, too, don’t forget.”
I stared back, knowing how true that was. Danny had been there for my father and brother as well. I knew how close he was with him and knew that Danny would feel the same about getting to Papa Raven as well.
“Alright,” I said, sighing. “I won’t do this alone. I promise.”
“Good,” Danny said, grinning widely. “Now ya kids get the hell outta here.”
TWO
~MIA~
My hands…
Covered…
A crimson stain forever etched on my skin…
I glance down the dark corridor, immediately recognizing where I am. I’d only been here once before, yet it feels like I’ve been here all my life; like I’ve never left.
I don’t want to relive this.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to…
But “want” has never been a dictating factor of my life.
Since when did what Mia Chobavich wanted make any difference?
I can feel my brain screaming at me to turn around even as my body moves forward.
Always moving forward.
I take a deep breath as I continue down the dark hallway, seeming more to follow the motions—my instincts knowing the way the same way my lungs know how to breathe—than actually following any sense of direction. My breaths have grown heavy with fear and my entire body seems to boil under a sheen of sweat. Dread swims around my stomach like a hungry piranha, biting at whatever it can get a hold of.
I hate this so much.
Where is Jace?
I want—Damn! There’s that word again!—him here with me so badly.
But… want.
I’d laugh if I could summon breath enough to do so.
I can hear the sound of breathing up ahead and I continue forward, once again seeming to be called to this place.
To the night where my nightmares, my new nightmare, began.
Just me, my brother, and a gun…
A cramped room that replaces an old basement.
One dead body, this one much, much fresher, replaces another, old and abandoned.
Two deaths, sure, but the newest one a death by my own hands.
And—damn me!—I couldn’t bring myself to mourn or to even feel regret or guilt.
Was it really my fault though?
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t planned to kill him, right? Even so, the death still has an effect on me. I continue down the hall, wondering just how long this hall goes. A part of me wonders if I was actually thinking that now or then. But aren’t the two one in the same right now? Right? Confusion intertwines with my fear and creates an all new breed of chaos in my mind as I continue down the last few steps before I face a whole new sense of fear.
Laughter.
My brother’s laughter.
Mack.
His face, twisted in fear and hatred as he stares at me. No, not just me. I watch as Jace and Mack move in what seems to be a never-ending struggle for control. They move in slow-motion in front of me, playing a part that will have the same outcome no matter what happens. I watch, waiting for my part in this twisted play.
The gun appears in my hands and once again my body is moving.
I try to stop it. I don’t want this.
I don’t want to have this on my hands.
My first kill.
I can’t stand this.
My mind screams to stop, screams that this won’t end well for us.
But… this has already happened, hasn’t it?
There’s no changing the past.
Or present.
Or whatever this is.
I watch in horror as my finger pulls the trigger and my brother’s head suddenly becomes a Picasso painting—all grays and reds and nonsense. I stare in horror, wanting this all to end.
I won’t freak out.
I can’t freak out, right?
That’s now how it’s supposed to happen; not how you’re supposed to kill someone.
It’s supposed to be certain, confident—solid.
But then why does everything feel so shaky?
Something grows cold inside me and I glance down, seeing my hands covered in blood, the gun no longer occupying my grip.
But how?
I shot him, right?
How did I get his blood on my hands like this?
I glance back to his body, seeing it disappear and suddenly a heavy weight is in my hands. I glance back down at my hands, seeing that I was suddenly holding my brother’s head—bloodied and missing a large portion of skull, but still him; he’s there, alive, looking back at me with what’s left of his face—his lecherous stare made all the worse by all the blood and missing parts.
I stare in horror, begging my mind to let me drop his head. To not force me to stare at him any longer. I can’t stand this! I need to be free. I try and close my eyes, but as I’ve seen, my mind and body are no longer one in the same. And so I stare. I stare into my brother’s dead eyes. And, as dead as he is, I still feel the accusation, the hatred, burning from those cold depths.
Suddenly everything feels so cold…
So cold.
I’m cold.
I watch as my brother’s head disappears, and I wait for the relief to come.
It doesn’t.
The room disappears around me and I’m left inside a dark abyss, a nothingness that seems to want to swallow me whole. A black dread fills me and I scream for help. I scream until my lungs ache, begging for help. Begging for…
“JACE!”
“Mia? Mia!”
I opened my eyes, seeing Jace’s concerned face looking down at me. The way he was looking at me, the worry and panic in his eyes, made me wonder just how bad I had reacted to the dream.
If it was even half as bad as I felt in the dream…
Embarrassed, I wanted to shrink back, to hide my shame from him, but I was too flustered to do much more than just lie there, pant, and shake. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to wake up feeling so exhausted, but the proof was in the moment—I’d obviously been thrashing and screaming enough in my sleep to make me physically tired only moments upon awakening.
Too tired, even, to try to hide my shame from Jace.
And so I just began to cry.
Still uncertain of just what he was comforting me from, Jace pulled me close to him. The contact and his warmth helped to calm my thundering heart, and as I worked to get control of my labored breaths I wrapped my own arms around him. I didn’t want to remember the dream—didn’t even want to think about it—but the scenes cycled back around, again and again, inside my mind. The recurring dream had struck again and this time it found a way to snake its way out of my head.
“What is it?” Jace finally whispered as he gently worked to face me, asking the question I both knew he’d ask and dreaded having to answer.
I could see how worried Jace was and bit my lip, not sure what to say. I didn’t want to let him know how killing Mack had affected me, I couldn’t add one more thing for him to worry about.
Not when we were so close to ending all this.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” I said, averting my gaze as I indirectly dodged the question. “Just a bad dream, I guess.”
“Must’ve been a really bad dream. You were screaming, Mia,” he said as his hands captured my face and he lifted my head, looking me in the eye. He seemed to be searching me for answers; seemed to know there was something I wasn’t telling him.
Much as I wanted to look away, I forced myself to look back, refusing to let myself believe he could see the truth behind my eyes; refusing to let on how bad things were in my head. Things were bad enough out here to be dumping all the bad that was in there into the mix. I had to keep it contained. I had to stay strong for Jace. For the time being, at least, I had to do what I could so that he could do what he needed to do. He’d worked so hard to be strong for me, and I wouldn’t let him shoulder this on his own. I could do this, could be just as strong for him.
I had to!
“What’s going on, baby?” he asked, his voice pleading me to tell him.
And—God damn him!—it made me want to!
How could I though? How could I tell him that killing my brother hadn’t been as easy as I pretended it was?
How could I let him know that I was terrified about having to fight again?
Having to kill again?
And I wasn’t so naïve as to believe that there wouldn’t be more killing to be done. I’d come to accept the violence in this world, I hadn’t had much of a choice in that regard. But it had never been my violence. As a whore for the Carrion Crew, I’d been the victim of violence—I’d been beaten and raped enough by T-Built alone, and Lord knew he hadn’t been the only one—and, bad as that had been, there was a degree of freedom in knowing that I wasn’t a part of that world. I could stomach being a victim so long as I could keep myself from being on the other end of that line of violence. At least I knew that I wasn’t a rapist, that I wasn’t an abuser, that I wasn’t a killer.
But now I was.
In a single act of desperation, I’d stepped over that line—with an almost casual ease, no less—and it had felt like something black and unholy had been left within me ever since.
And now it was like the entire world expected me to let that black, unholy thing consume me entirely! It was like, now that I’d pulled the trigger once, I was expected to go on being a killer…
Or, at the very least, like I’d be forced to be a killer yet again.
“Yeah. Y’know, li’l target practice, couple of trusty self-defense moves… stuff like that. It’ll give ‘er somethin’ to do while ye’re out playin’ biker boy, an’—who knows?—it might even come in handy, right?”
Danny had sounded so casual, so blasé, about the subject of teaching me to hurt other people.
And, bad as that was, it wasn’t the worst part…
No. That was far from being the worst part.
Because, much as I wanted to resent the world and others for how casually they treated the subject of me learning to hurt others more effectively, I couldn’t.
Because I liked the idea.
I liked the idea of turning the tides, of being the one to hurt others instead of being the one getting hurt. I liked the idea of being the one with the gun instead of being the one staring down the barrel of one. I liked the idea of killing…
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