Chapter 2 #2
Her eyes follow my movements with increasing impatience, attempting to mask her disapproval. She rolls her jaw slightly, purses her lips, and taps her knuckles against the wooden surface.
“They will drug you,” she adds.
“Whatever it takes,” I reply with a stolid expression.
“I trained you to use all your senses to find clues, and your husband did too. I know you’re highly skilled, so don’t underestimate me—or yourself.”
“I won’t.”
She adjusts her cat-eye glasses, perched sharply on her Roman nose, and clears her throat. “Do you recall that you asked me to dismiss every bodyguard you’ve ever had?”
“Remember, I married one? So… that wasn’t so bad.
” It never gets easier to breathe without him by my side.
Those overwhelming feelings, primarily sadness, leave me bankrupt of all emotions.
I try to stay afloat instead of drowning in them.
I suppose that’s the price of living with a broken heart.
And it was broken by the best man I’ve ever known.
I know she sympathizes because she lost her husband, my grandpa, long before I was born, and then she built her empire. She rose from the sharp claws of her grief and loss, so why can’t I?
“There is someone inside the prison. I believe he is the one responsible for your husband’s death. I spent almost two decades trying to catch these Halloween Killers, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that they get orders from someone powerful.”
“Like you?”
“Maybe.” She blinks slowly, as if it doesn’t bother her at all, and it truly doesn’t. Even if this person has enough connections, she always has the upper hand.
I pull my brows together. “Why are you telling me this?” The prison job isn’t an actual job; it’s a test. And if I navigate my way through her games, I might find something solid to hold onto for once.
Or maybe a way out of my head.
“If someone should kill him, it should be you. But make sure you get your answers first.”
“So, now it’s a mission based on a hunch?”
“Pfft, don’t patronize me, dear.” She leans back.
Her voice sharpens. “It’s part of your initiation.
First, you spend a year in that tower and learn what it’s like to be away and alone somewhere unknown.
Then you get to feed your little demon when you twirl a knife against a perpetrator who slaughtered women for fun.
To be part of this life, you must learn to adapt.
You need to become a machine. Otherwise, this life will eat you alive, strip everything away until you are nothing but broken bones. ”
That harshness in her tone used to terrify me. I know it’s just for theatrics. It’s not aimed at me, but is present to deliver a message.
She places a deck of cards on the desk, facing downward.
“Let’s play a game I like to call tricks and punishments. Pick one,” she prompts.
My finger hovers over the cards until one feels right, then I pull it out.
A joker.
“If I flip all these cards around, you will see that each one is a joker,” she smiles, facing them up one by one.
“The thing with jokers is that they’re unreliable.
Unpredictable. Some individuals aspire to become one because it makes them look…
entertaining. Crazy. Tricky. Out of reach.
Homicidal sociopaths. But in reality, we all need a brilliant disguise—a recognizable one that will deliver the message. ”
True.
Jokers carry the element of chance and surprise.
“So, what kind of a joker are you?” I ask playfully, my eyes locked on hers. Romina Bishop can be all of them without batting an eyelash.
“Which one are you?”
My eyes widen as I search for mischief in her eyes. “So what is the punishment?”
She sighs. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
In her cruel “Romina Bishop style,” she knows how to build anticipation only to leave me hanging.
I shake my head at that.
“You need years of practice to plan intricate operations, or learn from the best.” She winks.
It’s true. She didn’t make it this far by accident. She is strategic, meticulous, manipulative, ruthless, assertive, and clever. She knows how to make the right connections.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from her, it’s that when you go to war, you should do your homework thoroughly.
The panic grows each year, knocking on everyone’s door as Halloween approaches.
The sacrificed are part of the Chalk Outline games. The Halloween Killers leave a chalk outline of a dead body in front of their house the day before Halloween. A group of people is selected, but no one knows who will die or how many of them.
That’s the sick part: they don’t kill everyone, but they terrorize them regardless.
Last year, only one person survived the tragic event. It’s still a mystery how she survived the bloody game. It always is. No one knows why some are spared while others are killed.
“The Halloween Killers are part of a criminal group called Carnage Trolls. I looked into the name, and it turns out it’s the name of an inoperative circus.“ I state what she already knows, pulling out two pieces of paper from my back pocket and laying them in front of her.
Keep your feet up in the air and your worries at bay, because what I’m about to tell you might scare you away.
“It’s an old phrase from their circus show. Look at the handwriting,” I prompt. Some letters are cursive, some are not, but what stands out are the first letters of each word—they’re wider and curved, slanting to the left. “It matches the notes I found on my front porch.”
Don’t waste your tears on blood.
Whoever leaves them for me has a clear approach.
“I see. It even has the same whimsical style. You suspect it was written by a left-hander,” Grandma confirms, narrowing her eyes at me—the net of wrinkles around them deepening. “Where did you find the first one?”
“In your secret drawer, I know you like to collect old articles, photographs, and letters.”
She lets out an impressed chuckle.
The tense energy instantly shifts as we smile at each other, knowing we’re cut from the same cloth.
“I will be back,” I promise.
“You better.”
“Take care of Titan for me.”
“You’ve got my word.”
We straighten up together, and I round the desk to hug her.
“I love you,” she whispers into my ear. “Write a goodbye letter and say everything you want to say. I will keep it hidden.” She can switch from a warm grandmother to a cold businesswoman in the blink of an eye.
I pull away, but she immediately senses my hesitation. “I haven’t written one since he…”
“Died.” She finishes for me and brushes my fiery orange hair. “I left a paper on the desk for you.” She kisses my forehead and turns to leave. “Remember, when you’re lost—”
“Find your north star,” I complete her favorite sentence.
As soon as she’s out the door, I glare at the paper, wanting to set it on fire. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and reach for a pen based on memory alone. A long inhale filters in, and I recognize the sound of madness when his voice is in my head.
How quickly can one lose touch with reality as it intertwines with their memories? Falling asleep is a nightmare, but being awake feels like the most agonizing nightmare of all.
I just want the pain to stop.
I settle into the leather chair and skim my finger over Grandma’s old, golden lighter with an embossed moth on the front. I hold onto it as the pen in my other hand touches the paper.
“After you.” That’s what you said to me when we met. I was a caged bird that couldn’t fly anywhere without permission. But if we’re being honest, I couldn’t fly, period.
My cage wasn’t made of steel. It was a palace-like dream that most people could only fantasize about, yet it was still a cage.
I didn’t realize I wasn’t living until you showed up, took my hand, and taught me how to fly with you through a fractured existence.
I know it wasn’t a walk in the park because we didn’t make it easy, but once you placed your heart in my hands and injected yourself into my veins, I was yours. My chaos was yours.
I can still feel your arms wrapped around me, and maybe that’s the only comfort I’ll find in this world.
I know people hardly say what they mean. Sometimes, we hide behind jokes or metaphors to understand things better or give them greater meaning. But it’s more than that. It’s giving us a chance to explore possibilities and expand our way of thinking.
But you never needed fancy words or grand gestures, just acceptance and affection. You wanted to be chosen.
You were.
I choose you every single day, and I’ll keep choosing you.
My guardian angel.
You’ve always been an angel with a rough exterior, invisible wings, and a soul that dips in colorful shades never to go unnoticed.
You fueled the fire we created to watch the flames grow wilder. But you know, fire is our weakness. When fires grow, they burn brighter. They create chaos. They feed off oxygen and fuel. They leave nothing in their wake.
Death is inevitable; we are not immune to it because it catches up with everyone.
It has caught up with you. And love… love is painful because it consumes you when it’s present.
It traps you under warm wings, creating a kaleidoscope of emotions that constantly roll and spin you around.
But when it leaves, you are left naked, trapped inside an endless void that tears you apart from the inside out.
I wish you could rise from the ashes and return to me because no matter where I go, you’re the ghost haunting me, bleeding me dry, and opening the hollowness I was forced to become.
It hurts to know that I won’t get to share my life with you. Am I crazy for thinking about everything we’ve been through together and falling in love with you even more?
Tears flow down my face, and drops of black mascara stain the paper. There is no world in which I can forget him, no matter how hard I try or where my soul drifts. He is a beautiful dream. A painful reminder. A raw and undefinable story. An invincible memory.
You’ve always lived somewhere between this life and the other. Ready to leave but unable to let go. Maybe now I understand that more than anything.
Even though every waking moment is a battle, I want you to know that I fought to stay.
Do you know what the best part of our story is?
Safety was at arm’s reach. Unconditional love has taken on a new meaning.
I was there to absorb the pain with you, even when you refused to share it with me.
I know it wasn’t because you didn’t want to, but because you sheltered me from everything.
I never knew love like ours existed or how fast it can leave you scarred.
We were just… us.
Until we weren’t.