Chapter 5 Tati
Tati
Texas in late October is one of my favorite places to be. At least it used to be.
The cooler air as we giggled and played outside…
The smell of campfires, roasted corn on the cob, and s’mores in the backyard.
The thrill in the air of the fall season as Halloween approached.
But now—now it’s the screams and unanswered pleas of my siblings…
Now it’s the rancid smell of burning flesh and pungent blood…
Now it’s the terror of the nightmares, reminding me I’m alone. So fucking alone, mixing with the guilt of being the last—the only survivor.
Eighteen years ago, I witnessed the slaughter of my entire family at the hands of my older adopted brother, Mikah, and his friends, Griff, Fredrick, and Jackson, on Halloween night.
I turned eight that night. We just finished our tradition of celebrating birthdays as a family on the day, and then having a party with friends at night.
My funfetti cake was still on the table in the crime scene photos. When Evander tried to escape through the front door, his blood sprayed across the buttercream, streaking it red, and my white cake had become red velvet.
Now on Devil’s Night, I stand on the porch of my childhood home for the first time in eighteen years.
My hand shakes—unsteady, but determined— as I reach for the doorknob, wanting desperately to never step across this threshold again in my life.
But there are answers here, ones that I’ll need for tomorrow night’s festivities at the farm.
The once quiet door creaks, announcing my return.
I freeze before I can fully step inside. Everything is the same. From the decorations to the placement of furniture—it’s all the fucking same.
Determined to find something that’s unfamiliar, I double my stride, almost to a slow jog.
The kitchen—the same steel appliances shine to perfection. Only now, it feels more clinical. The family warmth that made this house a home has vanished—turning it into a mausoleum.
Stopping before the refrigerator, I check the brand—same custom-made designer. The blood may be long gone, but the phantom smell of it drips invisibly down the ways, pooling at my feet.
“Why did you leave us to die, Tati?”
The question that haunts me is wielded as a weapon.
Why did you get to survive, and we had to die?”
Another whirring of the sword before it stabs me in the gut.
But like a coward, I try to outrun my demons—far and fast, I travel, and it must be muscle memory because when I stop, I’m outside my bedroom door. It creaks open and falls, thrusted by an invisible energy into that horrid night.
“Help, some people broke into the house with weapons, and they’re wearing Halloween masks,” Evander whispered, urging us closer to our freedom.
But freedom never came for five of my siblings and our parents.
The cries—the hallowed wails of lost innocence rattle inside my head.
With our path for escape cut off, Evander does what any big brother would do—he shoos us back to our rooms, instructing us to lock our doors and hide.
“Please hurry,” he pleads into the phone as we scamper. His last words before I hear pleading squeals blend into pained silence. Without checking, I know he’s dead.
Tiptoeing, I open the trundle drawer of my bed with just enough room for me to hide behind it.
I stiffen at the next scream, so tiny and scared—Leigh.
Move now, my mind fires off like a warning shot. And with blinding tears pouring like violent storms, I crawl behind the drawer, pulling in as much as I can to avoid giving my location away.
Shocked scream after shocked scream turns my blood to ice and my crying to uncontrollable sobbing.
I hiccup as I gasp for enough air to fill my lungs.
I know I’m quiet when I hear footsteps coming down the hall towards my room.
I miss whatever is being said when they open the door.
My heart’s pounding in my ears essentially makes their mumbles inaudible.
The room goes still, like a slow-motion scene in an action movie. The floorboard by the foot of my bed creaks, and I forget to breathe. My hands shoot up, covering my mouth, forcing it shut.
“She’s not fucking in here, Mikah.” I hear one of them call out. But I don’t have enough time to be shocked when a Ghostface mask appears.
“Gotcha,” someone else says as I’m yanked from under my bed.
“Thought you could get away, didn’t you, you fucking slut.”
Doubling in size, my eyes look on in shock at his vulgarity.
“We’re not allowed to swear in this house,” I hiss and internally high-five myself for saying it with such conviction.
The smack comes before I can even finish saying the damn word. It whips my body right, and I crumple to my plush rose pink carpet.
Shocking me still, I don’t even blink, but rage boils to a fever pitch. A feeling I haven’t had since I was told that my biological parents were missing.
“You can’t do that to me,” I screech, looking up at the Freddy Krueger masked idiot who slapped me.
My hands fly over my mouth, knowing I messed up and I was about to pay for it. All I can see is the shock in his eyes before they turn—wild with the thirst for death—my death. And suddenly, I know no one in this house is supposed to make it out alive.
His hand stretches out, grabbing me by my throat and shaking me in the air as he speaks. “I don’t know what he sees in you, you’re nothing special.”
He slams me on my mattress, face up, and tightens his grip around my neck. “You should feel lucky he marked you all as safe deaths because the things I’d do to this untouched virgin pussy until you’re dead, so I can really have some fun, are unimaginable.”
My skin crawls as the sharp tip of his finger nails trails down my chest.
“Cut it the fuck out, Fredrick, or I’ll gut you, then feed you your balls and intestines like spaghetti and meatballs before fucking you with a jackhammer.”
I’m so focused on the name called that whatever he said after that was eaten by the atmosphere.
Fredrick? As in Rick, my brother Mikah’s Rick?
Disbelief—utter shock and disbelief punches through my chest, ripping me open.
My brother and his friends? I try to hold out hope that this isn’t something my kind, attentive, and caring older brother would do to any of us.
“Fine,” Fredrick whines, and I know there’s a teenage boy pouting under that mask.
“Big baby.”
I must have said it aloud because he releases my throat and yanks me up by the collar of my PJ top. “Listen, you little shit. I may not be able to have you the way I want to, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get to play with you.”
Gasping for air, I suck in deep breaths, running fast and free from the memories of what Fredrick and Jackson did to me that night. A phantom pain shoots up the back of my left leg. A wound that physically healed after over one hundred stitches pieced me back together.
I played dead for what felt like years before I snuck out my bedroom window, leg spilt open and all. The doctors told me they still don’t know how I have no residual nerve damage.
A miracle, they called it—I call it a thirst for blood. It was and still is the perfect motivator for getting my body to one hundred percent. And that was before I was invited to join Keres. An acceptance I made only if they allowed me to get my revenge.
I smirk at the memory, the look on her face when I showed up at the gate to headquarters. I had the invitation and a mission all in hand before I sat down for negotiations.
We don’t invite anyone who doesn’t have a wrong that needs to be righted.
” She said that day. “Vengeance is what fuels this place. The quest for justice is what pumps through the heart of every member of my team,” she exclaims. “And Talia, your wrath can lead you down two paths. Don’t let one blind you from your true purpose. ”
The tightness in my chest loosens at the reminder, and I head to the room with all the answers. My adoptive parents.
Warding off the memory of the description and photos of their deaths, I walk down the long hallway that leads to their room. Without pausing, I enter their bedroom, which is also exactly as I remember it to be, not a hair out of place. All the pictures on the wall remain.
My gaze lands on one of Mikah’s. It’s his pinning ceremony.
He painted the picture of the perfect rich boy—sharp suit with platinum cufflinks and some expensive ass shoes.
It wasn’t until now that I see what I missed when I was young.
He hid his pain and anger masterfully. Something happened to him that morphed him into someone I never truly knew.
I found out firsthand on my first surveillance of them. This was long before I joined Keres. I was only eighteen. Finally old enough to begin my plan for vengeance.
Sighing, I crack my neck and then adjust my telescope.
I watch as Mikah and his friends sit around a bonfire, laughing and drinking.
Griff stands, strolling his six-foot-three ass to the trailer hooked to his pickup truck.
He yanks on the metal leash, and I see a naked girl attached to what appears to be a leather collar.
Her makeup is a mess—mascara runs down her face as she visibly cries.
Frustration that I can only watch as she’s repeatedly brutally raped until her body stops moving.
That’s when Fredrick comes to life, shoving his poor excuse for a dick down her throat before sliding inside her dead body.
I’ve called the police on them many times, but nothing ever happened.
That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Two more girls are dragged out, also without any clothes on. Jackson throws one of them on the table and orders the other to kneel between her legs. “Suck her pussy and put that ass in the air if you want to live,” he commands. Visibly shaken, she does exactly what’s demanded of her.
I can’t stomach watching, so I scope out the area under construction at our Vermont estate.
A scream returns my focus to the telescope. Mikah is violently pumping into her, and I've had about all I can stomach of tonight's stakeout.
Pulling out my notebook, I jot down every new detail. Then I toss it back into my rucksack before running the two miles to where I’ve stashed my bike.
The shattering of glass rips me from the memory, and I pivot to the origin of the sound. Before I can pinpoint the source, more glass breaks consecutively.
Fuck! Something was missed in our intel.