Falling For A Monster

by Delilah Hunt

  “I am done,” Chase said to himself as he entered his house. There was no way he could continue as before. Yesterday had been so perfect––Larke surprising him with that amazing and thoughtful day out. They’d spent that same night talking, laughing and making love until they were both exhausted. The next morning, he’d awoken with her head on his chest. She’d been fast asleep, her body tired and sore from all the ways he’d taken her.

  Chase had barely taken off his shoes before his phone began to ring. The caller was Roy Simmons, one of Trevor’s underlings. The accountant. He ignored it. His stepfather had probably convinced the man to call for some reason or the other because he was too ill to do it himself. Too fucking bad.

  Since the start of the week, Trevor’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. He was laid up in bed, unable to do so much as use the bathroom on his own and was under the constant care of a nurse. Chase curled his lip, half anticipating and half dreading his planned visit to the older man. It was going be ugly watching someone in Trevor’s condition, a man about to die and meet his Maker, try and tell Chase his relationship with Larke was wrong.

  “Wrong is laughing after you watch someone pump a bullet into an innocent person’s brain,” he muttered out loud. “Wrong was me keeping my damn mouth shut for so long, even if I was a kid and had nothing to do with it.” Chase crossed the living room, stopping short as his gaze landed and zeroed in on a spot on the wall. It was an old picture; one that had hung there since before he’d learned to walk. This was the same picture he’d walked by every single day of his life without giving a second thought. Shameful.

  Anger steamed and seethed inside Chase’s blood as he stalked toward the picture. Ripping it from the wall, he stared...glared at it. Disgust for himself and his entire family, burned inside of him. Because in the photo staring back at him was his grandfather. Appearing only a few years older than Chase, Joseph stood proud and tall in his finest white robes, surrounded by some of his closest friends. They were all dressed in white. Without their hoods.

  Chase closed his eyes and recognized the tormented growl ripping across the room as his own. Bile rose and seared like acid from within his gut to the base of his throat. Images of the reporter he’d witnessed his grandfather shooting, assailed him. The sound of the bullet splitting the man’s skull. So much blood splattering all over the wall. Blood he’d had to help clean up.

  Hurling the photo across the room, Chase clutched his head, fighting against the pain as memory after memory bombarded him. His grandfather had laughed alongside Trevor while the Chinese man lay dying on the floor. How many sick things had they done before? Chase had never allowed himself to really go that deep, questioning the violence surrounding his family’s twisted beliefs. But now it was inside his head and wasn’t going anywhere. Just like his love for Larke, which definitely wasn’t going away anytime now or in the future.

  Larke.

  Her gorgeous round face. Smiling at him, looking at him all the time as if he was someone special.

  Lips parted, crying for me to come deep inside her.

  His body shuddered. Images of his grandfather and Larke collided. If the old man was still alive, would he have tried to hurt her? Laugh while watching the woman Chase loved suffer at his hands?

  “No,” he shouted then lowered his voice, whispering to himself. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt her.” He would’ve killed Joseph Butler himself before allowing the old racist to put his filthy hands on Larke.

  Sickened, Chase jumped in his pickup and drove the short distance to Trevor’s house. He knocked despite having a key, simply because he didn’t want the nurse to freak out, assuming someone was breaking in. The young redheaded woman opened the door and greeted him. “Mr. Douglas is inside his room resting, should I let him know you’re here?”

  “I can see myself in.” Chase bypassed the nurse and entered Trevor’s room.

  His stepfather, ill as he was didn’t bother attempting to sit up. His jaundiced gaze connected with Chase as a bout of coughing racked his frail body. “That bitch out there won’t give me my cigarettes,” Trevor croaked. “Can you believe that?”

  Chase pulled up a chair at his bedside. “I believe it. She’s doing her job. I don’t know why you like that shit so much. It’s what got you here.”

  Trevor rolled his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Keep the goddamn lecture to yourself, boy. What do you want anyway?”

  “To talk.”

  “Do I look like I’m up for a chat?” He scowled as if Chase had lost his damn mind. He hadn’t. Had finally found it.

  Chase leaned forward, pitying the man lying on the bed. His hair was stringy and in patches. His face sullen, eyes almost sunken in. With every breath Chase inhaled, he could smell the musty odor of illness and other things he didn’t even want to think about. “Humor me, Trevor. For the last time. I just wanna ask you something.”

  “Ask your fucking question,” Trevor wheezed. “Laid up here can hardly catch a damn breath and you wanna have a tea party.”

  Ignoring his stepfather grumblings, Chase said, “You and Joe always taught me that it was Jewish people controlling the media. Manipulating people into thinking race mixing is okay. Is that right or is there another explanation, like two people genuinely wanting to be together because they can’t stand to be apart?”

  Trevor slanted his head toward Chase, giving him the side-eye. “Jewish people,” he mimicked. “Since when you get so goddamn PC?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Of course it’s Jew brainwashing. Why else you think that shit doesn’t affect us? No TV, no bullshit propaganda.”

  “Hmm.” Chase folded his arms, staring straight ahead. “See, Trev, I can’t buy into that kind of reasoning anymore because I’ve finally got a girl.”

  Trevor watched him, his brows drawn and his feature taut, as if he sensed a storm. Chase scratched his chin and smiled despite Trevor’s glare. “She’s not like any other girl I know. For starters, she’s black. Also the kindest person I’ve ever met and the cutest girl I know. See, this is also gonna piss you off, but my girl is smarter than everyone in Lee’s Fortress put together. I’m in love. I’m not alone anymore and I can’t seem to give a fuck what you or anyone else has to say about it.”

  Trevor’s breathing grew harsh, a low wheeze thrumming into the now silent room. His eyes remained wide with a look of pure hatred directed at Chase. His lips were drawn into a tight line with bits of froth foaming around the corner. A long moment passed until Trevor opened his mouth, slowly as if it caused him great physical pain to do so. More than before. “Fucking traitor. Joe should’ve…” He wheezed again. “Shot. Your ass. Long…” Cough. “Time ago.”

  Chase stood, unaffected by what he heard. “Too late for that.” He brought his hands together. “Anyway, since we both hate small talks, I’m heading on out of here. That was all I came for. Oh and to let you know, I’m tired of hating people for reasons that don’t make sense. I’m done.”

  “AR?” Trevor wheezed hard. “Quitting for your negress?”

  The muscles in Chase’s jaws clenched. He glowered, knowing the dying man was trying to incite a reaction from him. “I am. For her. For myself. I ain’t leading a bunch of racists, let somebody else do it.”

  The froth around Trevor’s lips thickened as he struggled to open his mouth. By the time he did, Chase was already to the door, no longer listening. The nurse was seated on the couch in the living room, filling out a sheet of paper.

  “You should probably have a look at him,” Chase told her. “He’s foaming at the mouth. Think he’s really pissed about not getting those cigarettes.” He vaguely took notice of the nurse pushing the paper away then dashing across the living room as he walked out the door.

  Chase looked back at the house while pulling out of the driveway. Despite knowing he’d soon have to deal with arranging his stepfather’s funeral, since he doubted the man would live out the rest of the month,
much less the week, he felt lighter. He felt proud. He’d done it. The truth about him and Larke was out and he couldn’t be happier. From now on, it would be only him and her. Nothing or no one in between.

  Some time later as Chase was seated around his table, going over required documents for the cargo ship, he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Through the window, he recognized the car outside as belonging to Roy Simmons.

  “What do you want?” Chase asked, annoyed as he drew the door open. After just telling Trevor he was done, the last thing he wanted was to talk business. He was pulling himself out. What went on inside AR no longer concerned him. Roy would learn that soon, like everyone else.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Chase gestured the man inside the house. “I saw your call from this morning.”

  Roy, with his balding head, stared at him as if he expected Chase to say more. When Chase didn’t, he snorted and shook his head. “Right. Anyway. I didn’t come over here to see how you’re holding up. This is important.” Roy showed himself over to the table and plopped his folder on beside Chase’s work.”

  ‘What’s all that for?”

  The accountant pinched his forehead then raised his head, looking almost fearful. “You know I’ve been managing the books for a couple of years.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “As much as I like Trevor, we both know he’s not the easiest person to talk to. That’s why I’m coming to you. I couldn’t say anything before.”

  “Say it, man. Whatever it is, just say it. Don’t waste my time. You see I was working over here, don’t you?” he said, gesturing to his own stack of paperwork.

  “We’re in trouble.”

  Chase raised his brows. “We?”

  Roy gazed up from the papers he was opening. “Antebellum Resistance. Lee’s Fortress. It’s all of us. Here take a look for yourself.”

  Frowning, Chase reluctantly took the papers, reading through them carefully; including the letter from the IRS citing the thousands of dollars in back taxes owed.

  Shit. Was that what Trevor had been hinting at when he mentioned money was running low? But where did it all go?

  Chase raised his head. Roy must have read the questions on his face because he quickly said. “The money raised from selling AR paraphernalia, from donors, and dues––most of it went toward the monthly stipend we’ve been handing out.”

  The one most of the people had come to depend on because they either genuinely couldn’t find work—which was the case for a few—or they used the excuse that only minorities were getting work due to government favoritism. Chase shook his head and stared at Roy, wondering if the man didn’t realize how their own views were leading to their downfall.

  But of course, the handouts had been their great experiment, meant to lure more nationalists or would-be nationalists into joining the movement. And Chase was guilty because he too, had agreed to and thought it was a good idea at the time. He swallowed hard, fighting back shame and regret.

  Chase handed back the paperwork . “What do you expect me to do?”

  Roy gaped. “Trevor’s a breath away from death. You’re the one in charge now. Everyone knows that. He even sent outa memo stating you’d be taking over when he dies. You’re Joe’s grandson, of course you’re in charge.”

  “I don’t care.” Chase ground his teeth. “Let the IRS take what they want. Being Joe Butler’s grandson hasn’t made my life any better. Same goes for my relationship with Trevor. As a matter of fact, I don’t even wanna hear his fucking name inside my house.”

  Roy’s eyes bulged behind his glasses. “I don’t know what happened between you and Tr–him, but you of all people should know it’s more than handing property over to the IRS. I’m going to leave all this here and you take some time, not too long. And then tell me, you’re out.”

  Long after the accountant left, Chase sat at the table, staring at the paperwork. He didn’t need to read through the rest. He already knew what Roy meant. He closed his eyes and shook his head, torn between laughing and crying like a goddamn kid.

  Chase wasn’t even sure how he got there, but some time later, he found himself standing in front of Larke’s apartment, knocking. The door slowly opened. She stood there with one arm against the wall holding the door ajar. “Back so soon?” Her lips curved into a playful sexy grin. He tried to force a smile but couldn’t. “Open the door, Larke.”

  The smile on her lips froze. She held the door wide, stepping back as he strode inside.

  “What happened?”

  He drew in a shaky breath then let it out. “What didn’t happen you mean. For starters, I think my stepdad might die anytime now.”

  “Oh. I––”

  “You don’t have to pretend to feel sorry. I’m not.”

  “Then what’s wrong? You seem so…so. I don’t even know. Kind of angry.”

  “Angry, frustrated. A lot of things to be honest. I went to see him today. Told him about you. About us.”

  Her face softened. “Oh, Chase. How did he react?”

  “Pissed. Think I might have speeded up his death.”

  “Now that your stepfather knows, I guess soon everyone else will also know that you no longer have those beliefs. That you’re not a part of the group anymore.”

  I’m gonna break her heart. Break my girl’s heart so bad.

  Chase felt sickened, wanted to vomit. But more so, he wanted to drop to his knees and beg Larke to understand everything he had to say. Maybe she would…

  “They won’t know that.”

  She raised her brows. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t walk away.”

  “What?” The raw pain and confusion on her face stabbed into his heart. “Why, Chase? I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to leave it all behind you.”

  He headed toward her, backing up as Larke flinched away from him. “I do,” he said, praying she’d understand he had no other choice. “But I can’t walk away yet. I planned to. I swear to God, I did. Today, before I came here, I found out that a lot of people might suffer if I turn my back so quickly.” Embarrassed and ashamed, he told her all about the ‘stipend’ program and its aim.

  “You once told you me that it was the adult’s responsibility when I mentioned not having any food as a kid and having to hunt. Well, now it’s my responsibility because I allowed Trevor to make those people dependent on the handouts.

  Larke stubbornly folded her arms and shook her head. “No. I don’t accept that reasoning. No one forces anyone to do anything. I understand you not wanting the people to suffer; the children who live there, but why does it have to be you who takes on full responsibility? If they’re that impoverished, they can ask the government for help. There are programs out there, they just have to get out of their racist mindset and bubble. And if they’re so desperate for someone to lead them, what about that psycho we saw in the hunting store? He seemed fanatical enough.”

  “There’s no one else,” Chase shouted, growing frustrated by the second. Why wasn’t she getting it? Normally Larke was so sweet and accepting. He had people depending on him. Didn’t she understand the guilt he’d feel knowing other children would suffer the way he did as a child?

  She stared at him, her eyes shiny. With tears? Fuck. He hadn’t wanted this. Chase closed the distance between them, reaching out to hold her. Comfort her from the hurt he was raining down. “Larke, please. You have to trust me. It won’t always be like this.”

  She sidestepped him, pulling away. “I trusted you before. How do you expect me to be with someone who heads a group of people who’d rather see me dead than sit down and have a coffee or friendly talk with me?” Larke shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “I can’t do it, Chase. I wish I could, but this is too much.”

  His mind screamed at her. It’s not too much. You can handle anything. You’ve handled everything from me so far.

  “I mean, honestly, will I still be able to come over to your house? Will this be th
e time I get to meet all your friends? Family maybe?” She let out a hurt laugh. “The answer’s no, isn’t it? I definitely can’t tag along to any of your ‘gatherings’ or meet all these important people, who I suppose you’re going to have to meet if you want to get more funds for your precious people. People who need, and deserve you much more than I do.

  “It ain’t like that,” he snapped. “For fuck’s sake. Just be normal. Accept this.”

  “No!” Larke yelled. “I won’t be normal and I can’t accept this because you order me to. Do you think I liked knowing my boyfriend was a racist, a member of a despicable hate group? I hated it. And I will always hate it.”

  She sniffled and wiped at a tear that fell from her lash. “You know what, maybe I’ll even start hating you for telling me this. For telling me, I don’t matter enough. That my feelings don’t mean as much as people who are filled with hate. People who could never care about you the way I do. People who could never lo—”

  “All right,” he bit out, cutting her off. Chase refused to give her the chance to finish ripping his soul apart. “Hate me all you want. It’s not like you loved me, anyway. Am I right?”

  Maybe his approach wasn’t the best but damn it, his chest felt like it was being sawed open and someone had taken a knife, carving his heart into bits and pieces. “Guess that promise of yours didn’t mean shit. Staying by my side no matter what happens.”

  Larke shook her head hard. “I’m not the one leaving. You are. You had to have known what would happen the moment you decided to choose a bunch of racists over me. Because that is what you did. And don’t for a single minute think you’re doing those precious little white kids a favor. Trust me, you’re now doing to them what your grandfather, mother, and stepfather did to you, helping them on the path to more hatred.”

  He snorted, despite the ache in his chest. “Yeah. Well, don’t worry about me. Least now I know where we stand. It’s cool.”

  Larke bit the inside of her cheek then gave him a thin smile. “You know what’s funny. When I heard the knock on my door, I’d been sitting here distracted from writing because I was thinking of you.”