Chapter 42
Evie
The Boon
“It’s a trap. Don’t move!” my mother, as Lana Westcott, yelled to a young Sebastian dressed in his Ronny costume.
She stood in the middle of a gymnasium, hands on her head.
Bryce, as Simon Says, stared at her from across the room—an axe in his bloodied hands—preparing to sever a rope that would trigger a Rube Goldberg machine designed to slice Sebastian’s character in half.
“But he said Simon Says!” Sebastian, in his tiny eight-year-old voice, cried out in a panic.
I watched the first Simon Says movie from the comfort of my home theater.
I was at the start of a movie marathon. None of these movies were well-written or shot, but that was what made them great.
The budgets were nonexistent, but the passion of everyone involved showed on the screen.
It didn’t matter if the movie was “good.” It didn’t have to be. It just had to be fun.
Even at such a young age, Sebastian was a natural. He stepped onto set and transformed into the character. He held his own with the adult cast. It was no surprise that when my mother died, they didn’t bother replacing her with another female but let Sebastian step into the lead role.
My phone chirped with a text, interrupting the ending. I set my bowl of popcorn down and reached for it.
Psycho Killer: Can I come over?
I looked at the clock. It wasn’t terribly late. My stomach rumbled.
Me: Only if you bring dinner.
Psycho Killer: Deal. See you soon.
I finished Simon Says and immediately started Simon Says 2: Simon Didn’t Say.
My vision blurred, and I began to zone out, remembering the last time we’d had sex. It felt like the dynamic between us had shifted. It wasn’t just bodies colliding with a mutual goal. Instead, it was...
No, it was wrong to start catching feelings now.
It was selfish to love him, only to keep putting myself into situations where I could be killed.
I couldn’t let him watch me die. Or get hurt trying to save me.
That would be cruel. I’d already given him the false hope that I might change my mind.
That was bad enough. Shame filled my chest, realizing how I’d been all too willing to let him have this false hope so I could get what I wanted.
Pulling my knees up to my chin, I contemplated it all.
But was it false hope? Maybe Sebastian was right. Would it be so bad to stop my quest for revenge and live a peaceful life with him and his dogs?
An hour later, Sebastian was at my door—takeout in one hand, blue and yellow Red Bulls in the other, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Up for a marathon?” I asked as he followed me into the house and toward the theater room.
“Sure—oh, really?” He cringed when he saw the screen, his ten-year-old self frozen in terror where I’d paused the movie. “Please, can we not?”
I grabbed the boxes of food and plopped down on the couch. “What? They’re good! This is the one where Simon Says uses an axe as a peg leg for half the movie.”
“I was there. I remember,” he grumbled, sitting down beside me and popping his can open. He set the backpack on the floor, and I pointed to it with my fork as I opened the takeout, revealing Chinese.
“What’s that?” The bag was faded pink and worn to hell.
Sebastian shifted in his seat and looked down, reaching for a different food container and fork.
“Let’s eat first.”
I pushed play, and when we finished Simon Says 2, I went to find Simon Says 3: Old Games, New Rules—but hesitated to push play. This was the last movie my mom ever filmed.
“We can skip this one,” Sebastian offered, rubbing my back. “The fourth is easily the worst one in the franchise. I could use a good laugh.”
With only a slight twinge of guilt on my part, we skipped Simon Says 3 and went into Simon Says 4: Summer Camp.
He was right. It was the worst one. The dialogue was choppy, they’d given Sebastian’s character a dog that was always licking itself, and there was more unnecessary nudity than ever.
I commented on all the topless women, and Sebastian shrugged.
“As a freshly eighteen-year-old sneaking onto set to watch them, I wasn’t entirely mad about it.” He smirked and then grew serious. “But really, those women were lovely.”
An odd sensation of jealousy ran through me, and I asked, “You never joined in?”
He gaped and then burst out in laughter. “Balls don’t sell cheap slashers. Tits do. They weren’t interested in my dick until they saw how much money Step-Devil brought in. This film was completely shot with the male gaze in mind.” He nodded to the screen.
I gasped dramatically. “What?” I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m shocked,” I said.
“I know, right?” He snickered, and just like that, we were back to our silly, goofy, relaxed selves.
My belly now full and my heart happy after how much fun the evening had been watching movies with Sebastian, I sank deeper into the couch and slid my legs over his lap. I nodded to the backpack again. “Okay, what’s up with that?”
His smile soured. “Right... Well, right.” He sighed and leaned forward, reaching for the bag. “This was on my doorstep when I got home.”
I pushed myself up, pulling my legs from his lap. “And you just brought it here? Did you check inside it?” Slight unease slid into my belly as I stared at the bag.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I did go through it,” he said, unzipping it.
“Well, if it’s not something scary, then what’s in it? Some crazy fan’s underwear or something?”
“I almost wish.”
He set it on top of my legs, and I grunted—it was heavier and harder than I’d expected.
I sat up, pulling my legs back. Sebastian unzipped the bag and pulled out a large photo album.
I was surprised it had fit at all. He offered it to me, and I took it gingerly, running my hands over the cracked pink leather.
There was a gold trim around it, and tiny little heart stickers had been placed in the bottom left corner. Something about all of this felt like…
My mom.
“I feel like whatever is inside this is going to change things,” I whispered.
“Yeah, probably. Maybe,” Sebastian said, being entirely unhelpful. He nodded for me to open it.
Slowly, I cracked the first page—and my breath caught in my throat.
Photos of my mother as a young woman with a handsome man her age were in each slot. I stared at each one carefully, flipping to the next page, finding more of the two.
“I’ve never seen these before,” I said in disbelief. “She looks…in love.”
Photos of them at the beach, skiing in the snow, camping, smiling, and laughing.
“Who is this guy?” I asked, pulling out a photo of just him.
He was a handsome, tan man with thick auburn hair and a full beard to match.
He had hazel eyes and a chiseled jawline.
It was easy to understand why she was in love with him.
I put the photo back in its slot and kept looking through the book.
My mom had to have been in her twenties when these were taken. It was hard to judge her age because she took great care of herself until the very end, but the fashion choices made it easier to put a time stamp on things.
Sebastian finished his energy drink and sat up, his shoulders bouncing excitedly. “I had the same question, so I pulled one out to see if there was anything written on the back.”
I stopped on a page of them at a picnic and pulled a photo out. It stuck to the plastic, and I worried I’d tear it, but I finally managed to ease it out, flipping it over and reading aloud.
“Lita and Charles, summer 2000. This was before I was born. She was...” I shook my head. “Who is this?”
“Keep going,” he urged.
I continued flipping through the book, viewing a timeline of their love.
Lita and Charles—Paris
Lita and Charles—Hawaii
Lita and Charles—on location
Charles’s first sale
The last set of photos was of Charles standing in front of various houses and buildings, beaming.
We reached the last page, and Sebastian leaned in, putting his finger on one of the photos. I squinted at the sign he was pointing to, and when it registered, my heart stopped.
It was a real estate sign.
“My mom was in love with Charles Hodder,” I gasped.
“Seems that way.”
Charles was on my list. He was the next one, in fact.
The real estate tycoon. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognized him.
I shoved the book away. It fell to the floor, and Sebastian leaned down to pick it up.
“How could he—he led her to the fucking slaughter,” I snarled. “I can’t believe this!” I was at a loss for words. It was clear that at one time they’d been in love, and yet, he was one of the men who’d killed her. What had happened in the time between these photos and that night she died?
“I know. I had no idea she was ever romantically involved with any of those men. Whoever dropped it at my house knew it wasn’t well known but wanted us to see it. Why?”
“I don’t give a shit why,” I snarled, standing up. I paced in front of the screen. “Maybe it was Charles himself, trying to get some sympathy before we come for him. It doesn’t matter. He loved her and still murdered her. He’s going down.”
“Evie.” Sebastian stood and came to me, wrapping his arms around me and fighting to keep me in place. “I know you’re angry, but we can’t go into this guns blazing. We need to think.”
“Why? I want to go to his house right now, wherever that is, and stab him straight in the throat.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…what if he’s your dad?”