by S. E. Green
With a sob, he nods. “Please,” he whimpers. “Please, I promise to be good. I promise to stop.”
“Stop what?”
But his only answer is another whimper, or more like a whine. A whine that gets on my nerves. I yank hard on the noose before slamming his face into the nasty floor. A bit of blood splatters.
I come down hard, my knee in his back, and I grab the thinning hair on the back of his head and slam his face down again. More blood splatters.
I get down right in his blubbering face. “You know what I think I’m going to do? I’m going to cut your eyeballs right out so you can’t ever look at another child again.” I slam his head down even harder. “What do you think about that?”
“No,” he cries with his limping tone of voice. “Please. I promise to stop.”
“Oh, shut up.” I jerk hard on the noose, and he bows off the floor, choking.
“Oh, God,” he rasps. “Please.”
“That’s right, asshole, beg. Beg for mercy.”
“Please,” he chokes out on a sob. “I only touched them a few times.”
What?
He tries to scream, but his throat won’t let him. He snivels and cries, snot smearing with the blood and the dirty floor. His bladder lets go, and I climb off of him. I’ve had enough. I pull him up to his feet.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he snivels. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right I don’t,” I reply, not even recognizing my own voice. It’s deeper, darker, almost as if it isn’t even me speaking.
He must recognize it, too, because he freezes in place.
I hold the pole steady, staring at his dirty and tear streaked terrified face. “No, I changed my mind. I do understand. Because I can’t help myself either.” Simultaneously, I yank the noose and kick his feet, and Oily Nose lands in another sprawl on the nasty floor. “The difference is, you can’t help yourself with children and I can’t help myself with you.”
Leaning down, I grab a red brick, and I hold it hovered above him. Does he see me in my mask and dark clothes about to deliver justice, or does he see all those children he’s watched, he’s touched, he’s talked to? I hope he sees the monster in himself and imagines what is about to happen.
I slam the brick into his jaw, sideswiping so his head snaps in the opposite direction. It does the trick and he blacks out.
I’m not taking this guy to BDAP, I’m doing him all on my own. “Let’s see how easy it is to touch another kid with ten broken fingers.”
Something soft slides through me then, bringing me to a pause and warming me with the realization that I want to make this special.
Carefully I lay his right phalanges out, spreading them all pretty. Then I take the brick, and I slam those fingers over and over and over again, savoring the release pounding through my body until they lay at twisted angles with jutting bones and torn muscles.
His left hand comes next, and when I’m done, all of his fingers look exceptionally dead.
“And those eyes,” I whisper. “You’ll never see another child again.”
From my cargo pocket, I take a small knife, and I slide it down into and around the socket. The knife comes into a slight resistance of membrane, and I pop out first his right eye and then his left. Other than a slight squelching, the removal of the eyeball makes no sound.
Consciousness comes back to him in a sudden and quick flash. His mouth opens, trying to form a scream, then just as quickly he loses consciousness again. Too bad. I was hoping to see his reaction.
Taking the brick, I smash each eyeball, making sure reattachment is not possible. Then I remove the animal pole and noose, leaving him sprawled on the dirty floor, broken and bloody. I’m not tying him up. I want him running out of this place—blind, broken fingers, bloody, and screaming.
If someone were to walk in right now, they would think I am the sociopath, the demon, the monster. They would think I am the sick and twisted one. But it’s not me, it’s him. It’s him.
Back outside, I rotate my neck and roll my shoulders, feeling better than I have in a very long time. Relaxed even. Tired. Like my hydraulics have been released. Not a single soul exists out here, only that same body passed out on the bench in the desolate park.
I take everything out of the Nissan that I had planned to give the BDAP. I’d rather leave it here for the cops to find, but this is a bad neighborhood and I don’t want to risk things getting stolen. I’ll mail it to the cops instead in a neat little package so they know exactly what Mr. Oily Nose has been up to.
Taking my mask off, I tuck it down inside the cargo pocket on my left thigh and carrying the laptop, I make my way down the dark and empty street and several blocks over where I know a Metro stop sits.
I’ve been through a lot of changes lately, and it’s important to take time for oneself. It’s healthy to do so, to savor those moments when all feels right in the world. When the universe balances once again. I like knowing I’m part of that balance. I’m part of something bigger than myself.
I ride the Metro from D.C. back to Annandale. It’s a long route, but I use the time to drift, to replay and relive every moment with Mr. Oily Nose.
Finally, I’m back at my Jeep and slipping behind the wheel. The phone in my back pocket snags on the seat, and I remember it’s there and that I turned it off.
Taking it out, I power up, and seconds later my peaceful and tranquil mood transitions into full-on alarm. Daisy, Justin, and Adam have texted and called me non-stop.
Of the three, I decide on Daisy, and she picks up before the phone has finished its first ring. “Where the fuck are you?”
My jaw clenches. Ever since Mom used that word in the kill room, I hate it. It’s the worst word in the world. “I’m in my Jeep.”
“Dad had a heart attack. Get here now!”
27
MOM WAS INCAPABLE of compromise. She loved her victims more than her family and in the end, it cost her. I don’t ever want to be like Mom, and this right here proves that I can’t just do as I please.
I rush into the ER. Adam and the D.A. are the first two people I see. Simultaneously, they stand when they catch sight of me. What are they doing here?
But I don’t ask that and instead rush over to the admittance desk. “My dad is here. Victor Cameron.”
With a nod, the lady presses a button under her desk. The door behind her and to the right buzzes open, and she says, “Room three.”
I hurry through, slipping around a nurse, see room one on the left, room two on the right, around the corner and almost bump into a food cart, and then I catch sight of room three. The door stands open and I stride right in.
Victor lays in a single bed, wires attached to his chest and coming out of his gown and over to a monitor. An IV protrudes from his left hand, pumping in fluids. Daisy and Justin crowd into the small room, one on each side. Someone must have just asked him something because he shakes his head, or more like wobbles it.
Victor glances over with pain-bleared eyes. He manages a small smile, and that smile hits me solidly in the chest. Pressure nudges at the backs of my eyes, and I’m reminded of the time Mom was in the hospital and I cried. At the time none of us knew she had faked her own stabbing, and I had cried for no reason.
But there is nothing fake about this, and I don’t hide the wetness that gathers in my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I mumble. “I had my phone off.”
Victor lifts an unsteady hand and with a ragged voice says, “Hey, come here.”
I scoot beside Justin and gingerly lay my head on Victor’s chest. I listen to his heart beat-beat-beat, and I don’t think anything has ever sounded so comforting. He kisses the top of my head, murmuring that it’s okay, and I gently press my hand into his side, giving him the best hug I can with all the wires attached.
Behind me Justin scoots in, wrapping his arm around my back and to the left Daisy leans in, too, and my whole family takes a few long seconds to hold each other.
Daisy l
ifts up first and I meet her eyes, mouthing, I’m so sorry. With a tiny smile, she nods, and I know she and I are okay.
I tuck Justin into my side and grasp Victor’s fingers, careful of his IV. “What happened?”
“I was over at the Butlers’,” he speaks, his voice hazy with medicine. “I collapsed. An ambulance ride later, and here I am.”
Well, that explains why the Butlers are here. I look at all the wires running into the top of his gown. “Daisy said heart attack?”
Victor waves that away with a feeble hand. “A very slight one and nothing anyone needs to stress about.”
“Dad,” I sigh.
He gives me a tired smile. “I’m on strict orders of a better diet, exercise, aspirin regimen, and general stress reduction.”
Victor already eats well and exercises. It’s the stress. Between Mom dying, more hours at work, us three kids… I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.
That thought barrels into me followed by the distinct realization that it would be all me. If anything happens to Victor, I’m in charge of Daisy and Justin. The only other plausible relative is Gramps, but he’s a pain in the ass, and I’m sure as hell not letting Gramps raise Daisy and Justin.
“I was worried when nobody could find you,” Victor softly admits.
My hold on his fingers tighten. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this family needs, I’ll be here.” I’ll never ignore them again.
“Where were you anyway?” Daisy asks, and I hear the accusation in her tone.
But I don’t answer and instead say, “You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.” This was a huge wake-up call for me. My life is changing in numerous ways. I’m not going to be like Mom. I’ll always put family first.
Victor nods. “Lane’s right. Let’s move on.” His eyes close, and he’s clearly floating away into some much-needed sleep.
I nod to the door, whispering, “I’m going to go update the Butlers.”
“Come right back,” Justin says, and I nod.
Outside in the waiting room, I spy the D.A. standing just inside the door, talking on her phone. Something must upset her, because she pushes the exit door open and sails through it, her voice carrying back.
Adam sees me and crosses the waiting room to where I stand.
“I should have been here,” I tell him.
“It’s okay, we all were.” He pushes his glasses up. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Yeah, well, I owe you one.” I nod to his mom standing outside. “You should feel free to go. I’m here now, and we’ll be okay.”
Adam shuffles his feet, glancing down at them and then back up. “Didn’t you say you were with Tommy?”
I pause a second, then cautiously say, “Yes.”
“That’s what I thought, but when we called him, he said he hadn’t seen you.”
Shit. Who the hell has Tommy’s number? “That’s right. I got our days mixed up.”
“Or maybe you didn’t.”
My eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say?”
Adam glances at my cargo pants, boots, and black tee. “Interesting outfit.”
Yeah, well, I was a little preoccupied when I got the messages Victor was here.
Adam rotates away, his gaze lifting to the television mounted in the corner. The words BREAKING NEWS scroll the bottom. Though the T.V. is muted I watch the scene going on. The yellow police tape. The Nissan Sentra being loaded onto a flatbed. A picture of Mr. Oily Nose flashing onto the screen. In the closed caption box, I catch words like broken fingers and missing eyeballs. Despite the fact Victor is laying in a nearby hospital bed, a thrill still pulses through me at what I did.
“You did that,” Adam whispers. “Didn’t you? That’s where you were.”
I roll my eyes off the television and over to Adam. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“You were making sure he could never hurt another child.”
I glance around the waiting room, making sure it’s empty, before looking back at Adam. “Wasn’t me.” I turn away. “Listen, my family’s waiting.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did it. We’re more alike than you think, Lane.”
I turn back around. “No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are. I would have done the exact same thing, given the opportunity.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Adam moves in, lowering his voice. “You can be honest with me. I see you. Do you understand? I see you, and I like what I see. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to explain, and nothing to apologize for. I’m with you and your way of thinking. I’m not repulsed by it. I respect it. I support it. One hundred percent.”
Then without giving me a chance to respond, he simply glances back up at the television before walking from the waiting room, leaving me standing in a dumbfounded haze.
28
VICTOR STAYS IN the hospital overnight and the next morning he’s home and settled in the recliner reading a book. I make him some herbal tea, Daisy serves him steel cut oats with pecans, and Justin has been running up and down the stairs getting Victor what he needs from his room. If we have our way, he’s not moving from that recliner all day.
As I’m wiping down the counters, the doorbell rings, Justin answers, and in walks District Attorney Butler. A few hellos are exchanged and the D.A. comes into the kitchen carrying a casserole dish. We take her a dish when Scott dies, and she brings us a dish for Victor.
It’s what people do, exchange food.
With a smile, I take it from her and slip it inside the fridge. Dressed in a skirt and blouse, she wanders into the living room, gives Victor a quick hello hug, and settles daintily on the edge of the couch to talk.
Carefully, I eye them. If she starts talking “shop” with Victor, I’m shutting things down. He needs to rest.
On the counter, my cell buzzes, and I check the display. It’s a text from Adam with a picture of him holding a puppy and a message: I’M OUTSIDE. COME MEET MY NEW FRIEND!
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I wave Daisy over. “I’m going outside for a few minutes. Do not let them talk business. Dad needs peace.”
Daisy nods. “Agreed.” She waves me on. “I’ve got this.”
I open the door and trot down the few steps, finding Adam off to the right in our side yard. He’s sitting in the grass, laughing, rubbing a fuzzy black and brown puppy that looks like a cross between a lab and a shepherd.
Dogs do it to me every time, and smiling I approach. “You could’ve brought him inside.”
Smiling, Adam glances up. “He’s a she and she pees everywhere, so no to the inside.”
The dog spies me and scrambles over, and I squat down to give her a tickle. She rolls over, squirming and peeing herself, and I chuckle. “What’s her name?”
Adam shrugs. “I just got her this morning. The neighbor’s dog had a litter a bit ago and had promised one to Scott. It’s the only reason why Mom is letting me have her. Though I’m supposed to keep her outside.”
I hate the thought of dogs being kept outside, and the next sentences come out of me before I even realize it. “I’ll help you put together a good place for her. A nice dog house with comfy quarters. She won’t even know she’s outside. You’ve got a great yard, and we can do an invisible fence for her.”
Adam brightens. “That sounds great.”
Yes, actually it does. I think I could get used to this friend bonding thing.
Moving the pet carrier that he brought out of the way, I lower myself to the grass and I sit cross-legged beside Adam. I wait for him to bring up yesterday and the words we exchanged in the E.R., but he doesn’t.
Instead, we spend a few minutes loving on the puppy like the whole world is okay and right. With the size of her paws and her parentage, she’s going to be a big dog. If I had a ball I’d give it a toss to see how the puppy reacts. Some pick up the whole chase-and-retrieve thing automatically and
some have no clue. I have a good feeling about this one. I think she’d pick it up quick.
“So, um, Lane. I was wondering if you could tell me how it felt. Ya know when you did what you did to that pedophile.”
So much for friend bonding. I don’t bother confirming or denying anything and instead say, “Well, you must know. Look what you did to Ted Lowman.”
Adam falls quiet, almost like he forgot that whole scene. “But that was more accidental, or rather in the moment. Yours was involved. Planned. Plotted out. You made this world a better place doing what you did. Did it feel right? Did it feel like justice?”
“Yes,” I say, now not hiding the fact I stalked and maimed Mr. Oily Nose. “It felt like both of those things.”
“Was your sleep afterward restless or good?”
An interesting question. “I slept like a baby.”
“Surprisingly I did, too, after Ted Lowman. I heard somewhere that you sleep well when your conscience is clear. Do you believe that?”
“I’ve heard that, too.” Seeing as how I sleep well most of the time, I nod. “Yes, I believe that.” But I also remember seeing Adam the day after and his bloodshot eyes. I don’t think he slept as well as he says he did. Maybe he’s just trying to find common ground to bond.
“I think we could make a good team. We could make a difference. We could do a lot of things that others can’t, like my mom and my uncle. The law doesn’t dictate us.”
We? Adam thinks he knows me. I suppose on some level that might be true. I helped him dispose of Ted Lowman. He now knows I did the pedophile. Neither thing has made him blink. Except he has no clue what, or rather who, I come from.
Adam wants to understand me. He’s trying. But if he really saw the depths and layers, if he really saw what I’m capable of, I’m not sure he would accept it. Some people don’t play well with others. I don’t connect well with others. But Adam is not going away, as evident by the way he keeps inserting himself into my life. He thinks we’re pals. He thinks we’re like-minded. Maybe I should put that notion to a test.
Yes, maybe he needs to see firsthand the risks involved. Then he’ll rethink this like-minded thing. Just because he killed Ted Lowman in a moment of passion doesn’t mean he’s cut out for doing it again and again.
