“You haven’t, which is why I’m telling you, you have no clue. Holding a gun is one thing. Using it is another. Unless you’ve experienced that yourself, you won’t know how to protect yourself or use it against others.”
“Whatever … I don’t believe it.”
“Trust me, I know. I’ve killed plenty of people in my life.”
“How many?”
“Too many to keep count, but if I had to guess, I’d say over a thousand, give or take.”
Her eyes widen as she takes a sharp breath, and she blinks rapidly a couple of times.
“I’ve been killing people all my life, little bird. It’s what I do.”
“You can’t be serious. You’ve been killing people all your life? That’s bullshit. Sure, adults kill, but kids don’t. Everyone starts out innocently.”
“Being a kid doesn’t mean you’re innocent. There’s no such thing. Not in this world. Not when you’re born into my family.” Family. Whatever that means. I hate talking about them. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know why I’m talking to her about this. I clear my throat.
She sits up straight, wraps her hands around her legs, and leans her chin on her knees. “So you had family? What were they like? Were they just as monstrous as you are?”
“Worse,” I say as I sit up, too. I try to cut it short, but for some reason, she can’t seem to let this rest.
“Hmm … I can relate to that.”
I chuckle at that comment. She has no fucking idea what she’s talking about. “No, not really.”
She turns her head toward me and waits. Silence speaks where words are missing. After a while her lips part again. “There is more than one kind of evil in this world.” She sighs. “My father being one of them.”
“Now I can relate to that,” I joke.
It is rather funny, however. She thinks she’s safe. She thinks she can talk about him to me. She thinks that just telling a tiny bit, but not the entire story, keeps her secrets hidden. She’s wrong. I already know everything.
“Hmm … I guess.” She sighs again. “At least you had a family.”
Yeah, right. “If you call that a family.”
“Did you have a mother?”
“Yeah, and what a bitch she was.”
Jay shrugs. “But at least she was there.” She turns her head away again. “I never had a mother. She should’ve been here to protect me.”
The words pierce me like a blade.
She never had a mother. That’s what she says. It’s all she remembers.
I remember differently.
***
Tuesday, October 17th, 1995
It’s like she has super speed. She runs so fast, I can barely keep up with her. Racing like a bird through the sky, she jumps up and down and spreads her arms like an airplane as she storms through the house. Even though I’m older, she’s still faster than I am.
Sometimes I hate her for it.
I can never win this game of chase. Somehow she always manages to evade me. That’s why I don’t like playing tag. Not that I have a choice. She forces me to play with her, and who am I to say no? Besides, my father would tell me the same. Whatever they want, happens.
People in the room adjacent to the stairs are talking loudly. I can’t help overhearing words, even though I was specifically told to stay out of it. It’s not for children’s ears, or so they say. Well, whatever. I don’t even want to be part of it.
Her mother’s voice trumpets over all others as she curses through the house. I’ve never heard her curse before. Shrugging, I continue bolting through the rooms. I don’t care. I’m not listening anyway. I’m not allowed.
I have my eyes solely on her, because I promised myself I would catch her today. I am going to win this game, and when I do, she’ll beg for mercy, because then it’s my turn to be the boss.
As I fly out of the room, I forget to look around, and ram straight into some lady’s legs. She screams. I fall down to the floor, trying to grasp her leg. It’s too late; her feet are already slipping down the staircase. And then the tumbling begins.
Each thud is another bone shattered. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Down the stairs she goes.
Time stands still. My eyes widen in shock, tears forming in my eyes as I scramble up from the floor. I peer over the edge of the steps. A body lies on the floor down below, her dark brown hair flowing richly onto the wood. Her eyes are on me, but they are vacant. Blood pools underneath her.
The girl comes to stand beside me, her jaw dropping, her eyes tearing up. And then the shrieking begins.
***
Jay
Friday, August 16th, 2013. 6:00 p.m.
I cough and feel my body heating up again. I know this feeling all too well. My body needs drugs, and I hate the fact that my stash is gone. The urge to find some drug, anything, is strong.
“Don’t,” X says as he looks at me from across the room.
“What?”
“I know what you want.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I say, frowning.
“Drugs.”
Shit. Is it that obvious? The withdrawal must be clearly visible this time. Dammit.
“I’m not going to let you take that anymore.”
I gasp. “What? But you can’t. I need it!” I yell, stampeding toward him.
He stands tall and proud in front of me with that fucking infuriating smirk on his face. “You will get through this withdrawal and then you will no longer need them.”
In my anger, I try to push him aside, but he grabs my wrists. “Look what it does to you.” He leans forward. “You become a raging woman just because you need your sniff. You’re not in control. The drugs are. Time to change that.”
“Fuck you ...” I hiss. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. I need this, and I hate it. But this withdrawal is worse than anything else I can imagine.
“The first few days are the worst, but you will get used to it.”
“I can’t,” I say in desperation.
“Shhh …” X places a finger on my lip. “You will learn to deal with it. I will be going now, and you’ll get some rest. Go to sleep for a while. You’re tired, I can tell, and the withdrawal is taking its toll.”
“I don’t …” I say, suppressing a yawn. Fuck that.
He chuckles. “Being stubborn won’t get you anything, Jay. You will not get drugs from me, and you will not leave this hotel room. Now, you can choose … behave and you can roam freely through the room, or suffer the consequences of your mischief. It’s your choice, but as you might have seen, my discipline is not to be taken lightly.” He tips his head downwards. “Sleep. Eat. Clean yourself and dress nicely. I might reward you if you do.” He releases my wrist and I immediately take a step back. I hate that he wants to control me, but at the same time eating and sleeping seem so very tempting. He’s right when it comes to my body … it’d be better if I took it easy to get this all out of my system. Still, my brain is telling me to go find the drugs. So conflicting.
I turn around and walk to the window, chewing my cheek. I wonder if what he says is true. If he’ll be easier on me if I do as he says. I’ll be treading into dangerous territory if I obey. It means the possibility of losing my own voice. Losing my strength and will to fight him. Am I strong enough to survive such a thing? If my survival is dependent on him and his desires, I should find a way to use it to my advantage.
I peer out the window, looking for Hannah’s body, but there’s nothing there. No body. No blood. There’s not a trace of her left. It scares me, because it means X could discard me just as easily.
I close the curtain. I won’t let that happen. I’ll make him love me, so that even if I don’t obey, he won’t be able to kill me. And then I’ve won.
X is tying his shoes and buttoning his shirt. On the floor right below him is a suitcase filled with God knows what. I don’t think I even want to know. All I want to know is how long he’ll be gone so I know how much time I have to prepare myself for
when he returns.
“How long until you come back?” I ask.
“As long as it takes.”
“As what takes?”
He laughs. “You sound like a wife.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”
“I know. I was just curious.” I clear my throat and step toward him. If I’m ever going to start this game, it’ll be now. “I wonder what you do with that gun of yours every time you are gone.”
Silent, he turns around toward me and looks down upon me as I lift a finger. He keeps a keen eye on me as I straighten his tie. He watches me meticulously, like he still doesn’t trust me. Of course, that wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do, but it is in my benefit to gain his trust.
“A gun only has one purpose, Jay.”
“It has two. One is to kill people. The second is to have power over them. Which one are you exerting tonight?”
He places his hand on mine and nudges it away from his tie. “Whichever is necessary to get the point across.”
“And what point is that?”
He smiles. “Nice try. Now, you’ll wait right here like a good girl until I come back.”
“And why would I, exactly?” I taunt, raising an eyebrow. “Convince me why it’s in my best interest to stay with you.”
His eyes narrow. “Do you think you have a choice?”
“I do when it comes to fighting you.”
He shoots me an annoyed glance. “Very funny, little bird.”
“No, I mean it. I want to know why they’re after me. Why you went after me but didn’t kill me.”
“Yet.”
I roll my eyes. “Yet.”
“Keep going, you might make me do it anyway.”
I ignore him. “Why are they different? Why wouldn’t they let me live if you have?”
He walks toward me, making me back up. Each time I take a step back, he comes closer again. “Someone wants you dead, Jay. Not just me, but the person who sent us.”
“Is that what you’re doing every time you leave the door? You didn’t kill me, so now they’re after you? That’s it, right?”
A grumble comes from deep within his chest. “You have no fucking clue. I’m going after the ones who put this mark on your head.”
I blink a couple of times. I did not expect him to say that. Is it really true? “Why?”
“Because you are mine, and they are trying to take what’s mine. I won’t allow it.”
I swallow when he walks closer.
“And who is it then? I must know them, right? I mean, what have I done that could make someone want to kill me?” I ask, still stepping back.
When I reach the wall, I’m trapped. X plants his fist on the wall and towers above me, his nostrils flaring. I’ve clearly pissed him off with all my questions, but I won’t stop. I need to know. I will find out why this is happening and I will make it stop.
“You do not want this, little bird. Trust me on this.”
“I want to know,” I say with a soft voice.
A snort escapes his mouth. He shakes his head and looks down at the floor.
“What? Who is it then? Is it one of the drug dealers? Someone at the club? What am I not seeing here?”
“Everything,” he mutters.
“Everything?”
The look in his eye when he lifts his head again, so volatile, pierces my soul. “Tell me, what exactly do you remember, Jay?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I say. What do you remember?”
I raise an eyebrow, still confused. “You mean about the club?”
“Before that,” he growls, impatient.
“Before the club? Well … I think I was on the streets … I was constantly high, so I don’t remember a lot about it.”
“Do you remember anything from before that time?”
His question has me confused. Not because I don’t understand, but because I truly don’t remember. I feel lost for a second. My brain is working overtime, trying to figure out what is going on, but nothing comes through. All I know is that I was in the streets, hustling, selling my body, and then I was taken into the club thanks to Hannah. Focusing on his scar, I drift into my memories and find little to nothing. Except a bed … beeping … blinding lights … someone in a doctor’s outfit.
“I was in a hospital.”
“And?”
“And what?” I don’t know what else there is to add.
He chuckles. “See, this is what I don’t understand. You seem to be under the impression your life started about seven years ago.”
“No, I’m not! I know I had a childhood … somewhere.” I clear my throat, pushing back the impending tears. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to know that I don’t remember. It means that I’ve been a fool.
“What do you remember?” he asks. I flinch when his hand reaches for my face, but when he suddenly starts caressing me I’m even more confused. I don’t understand why. None of it makes sense.
“I remember a big house … cars, lots of cars … people asking questions … and my father, yeah, he was grumpy all the time.”
“You remember bits and pieces. Not the whole story.”
I look up into his eyes, horror settling in my chest, running deep into every pore in my body. I stand frozen, my fingertips suddenly cold to the bone.
“I don’t remember,” I mutter. It’s silent for a few seconds. Then I ask, “But how do you know that?”
He shrugs. “Some things are better left forgotten.”
***
X
Friday, August 16th, 2013. 8:10 p.m.
Jay is in the hotel room, alone. She didn’t want me to leave, but I had to. I couldn’t keep telling her things she should’ve known herself. Besides, her not knowing anything makes it easier for me. I told her she needed to eat and catch some sleep before I come back. She’ll need the energy to take what I’m going to give her.
Besides, it’s not like she’ll try to escape again. I know she’s seen what I can do, and it terrifies her. She knows I’ll find her, wherever she goes. Death lurks at every corner. For her to be safe, she must remain in my room, where she’ll be waiting for my return. My key is safely tucked in my pocket as I drive toward the house I’m meant to be at tonight. Yes, tonight will be the night I put a bullet through the head of the one who gave me the assignment to kill her.
Long, long ago I knew this asshole who worked for the same people I used to be in the service of. The same fucker who gave us the assignment to kill Jay. Unfortunately for him, I’m not in their service anymore. He probably still is. That motherfucker will pay for his insolence with every last drop of his blood.
I race toward the address that was in the text message Antonio showed me. My tires screech as they slip through the streets and make a turn. Biting my lip, I contemplate what toy I’m going to use this time. I brought my entire box of goodies with me, just for the sake of it. This bastard deserves every fucking thing inside it.
The guy lives in some trashy house in downtown San Antonio. If you can call it a house. To me, it resembles a dumpster more than a house. It’s shoddy, badly maintained, has a crooked iron fence that’s easily bendable, and a botched-up pick-up. Totally not the sort of guy I’d expect to be in service of them.
I guess priorities have changed over the years. Luxury has made place for simple-minded folks who can be discarded easily. Quite a smart move, actually. It’s untraceable. Well, most of the time. Sometimes there are people who get their hands on secret documents that can’t survive the light of day. People like me who go after these secrets and burn them to the ground.
I park my car a few blocks away and jump out with my suitcase in hand. With a rigid face I walk through the neighborhood, checking each house for possible witnesses. If anyone is here watching now, they will be dead by morning. For their sake, I hope they aren’t.
As I reach the house, I adjust m
y tie and knock on the door. It takes a while for him to open the door. It creaks as a scruffy bearded man slowly opens it a bit, peeking through the slit with squinty eyes.
When he looks up at my one working eye, his own eyes widen.
He tries to slam the door, but I place my foot inside, causing it to jam. I pull out my gun and hold it to his abdomen.
“Unlock it now or I’ll blow you to bits.”
“The fu—”
I push the gun further into his potbelly. “Now.”
His lips tremble as he takes off the chain door guard and I burst inside. Silently closing the door behind me, I keep my gun on him at all times. He’s walking backwards, tripping over a stack of porn magazines lying next to his chair. He struggles to get up so I haul him to his feet, the gun pushed into his meat.
“Al John … It’s been a long time,” I muse. “Listen up, fatty, I’ll give you one chance to answer my questions. Fail or lie and I’ll blow off a few fingers. If you don’t listen, I might resort to cutting you up. Are we clear?”
He nods frantically, shrieking like a little girl when I push him toward the table in the middle of his crooked house.
“Sit,” I say as I point at one of the plastic chairs. With a swallow he scoots it backwards and drops down onto it, almost breaking the legs.
“W-what d-do you w-want from m-me?” he stutters.
I smile and rub my hand with my gun while he sits there, staring at it.
“I haven’t d-done anything.”
Wrong. Words.
I shoot his finger off.
He screams, holding out his hands in total panic as his finger is blown to bits.
“Don’t lie to me.”
He tries to get up from the chair to run, but I flick my gun, making him stop. “Tut-tut. If you get up, you lose your foot,” I say calmly.
He slams his ass right back down in his chair, his eyes frantically searching for a way out of this house. His hand is shaking and his face is so red it looks like a radish; red forehead, pale mouth. Like he’s about to throw up. Pathetic.
The man leans back in his chair, clamping his hand close to his chest as he breathes heavy breaths. Tiny, pained moans escape his mouth. With one hand I grab the chair in front of me and scoot it back. He swallows again, his chubby throat shaking along. Abhorrent.
Mr. X Page 13
