Chapter 16 #2
We're all survivors here, in different ways—Thalia of trafficking, Juliette and Cain of abuse, me of a father's betrayal.
"I should go," Thalia says, breaking the moment. "The less I know about your specific plans, the better. But on Christmas Eve, have the girls ready to move by 2 AM. We'll have three vans waiting at the pullout on the interstate."
She pauses at the door. "Make him suffer. For all of us."
After she leaves, Juliette seems to shake herself back to the present.
"Well," she says, her voice deliberately lighter, "speaking of transforming horrible things into something better..." She unzips the garment bag. "I brought Patricia's wedding dress."
The dress is exactly what I expected—expensive, elegant, pristine white silk that probably cost more than most people's cars.
It's been preserved perfectly, looking exactly as it must have twenty-five years ago when Patricia wore it to marry Richard.
The beadwork alone must have taken months, each crystal hand-sewn, each pearl perfectly placed.
"You want me to wear the dress of the woman who abused you?"
"I want you to transform it. She wore it to marry a monster. You'll wear it to marry the man who freed us from monsters. She stood for corruption. You'll stand for justice. Take her dress and make it yours."
I touch the silk.
It's cold, almost alive under my fingers.
The fabric whispers against itself, like it's telling secrets.
"It's beautiful," I admit.
"Beautiful things can come from horrible people," Cain says. "The ring, the dress—we're reclaiming them."
"Plus," Juliette adds, "I brought accessories."
She pulls out a second bag.
Inside are two guns—a Glock 19 and a smaller .38 Special.
Boxes of ammunition.
Three knives in decorative sheaths that could pass for jewelry.
"Something borrowed, something blue, something to kill your father with," she says with a dark smile.
"The .38 was Patricia's," she explains. "She kept it in her bedside table.”
"I need to show you something," I tell them, going to get the Lockwood documents.
I spread the photos on the table, focusing on the ones from various town events.
Christmas parties, summer gatherings, charity functions.
And in seven of them, there I am.
Age five through eleven, always in my best dress, always standing near my father.
But now I notice the other men in the photos.
Their eyes. The way they look at me.
"Jesus," Juliette breathes. "You were there. At the hunting parties."
That's what they called them.
Hunting parties where no one actually hunted animals.
"Look at this one." I point to a photo from a Christmas party when I was eight.
Richard Lockwood's hand is on my shoulder.
My father is smiling.
In the background, three other men are watching me. "I remember this party. Richard gave me a special present—a necklace with a silver unicorn. Said I was pure and perfect and should stay that way."
"Grooming," Cain says flatly. "He was marking you as future inventory."
"But then Mom left when I was ten. Dad stopped bringing me to events. Kept me locked away instead."
"Your mother knew," Cain says suddenly. "That's why she left. She found out what your father was planning."
The realization hits like cold water. "She didn't abandon me. She tried to take me with her."
"But Sterling wouldn't let her. A custody battle would have exposed everything."
"So she left to save herself, hoping to come back for me later."
"And Sterling made sure she couldn't. What did he tell you about her?"
"That she was unstable. Mentally ill. That she abandoned us for another man."
"All lies."
My hands shake as I trace my childhood face in the photos.
Innocent, trusting, unaware of the danger surrounding me. "I need a moment."
I lock myself in the bathroom and vomit until there's nothing left.
Then I sit on the cold tile floor and let the truth sink in: my entire childhood was a lie.
Every happy memory is contaminated.
Every moment of feeling safe was actually a moment of being in terrible danger.
When I return, pale but determined, Cain and Juliette have laid out all the weapons on the table.
"We're going to kill them all," Cain says simply. "Every buyer, every facilitator, everyone who touched those girls."
"That's a lot of bodies."
"Eight confirmed buyers, plus Sterling. Nine bodies."
"In one night?"
"We'll have help," Juliette says. "Thalia's network will handle the girls. We handle the monsters."
We spend the next four hours planning.
The wedding will be simple—candles, vows, rings.
Juliette will officiate using an online ordination she got years ago as a joke.
Then we'll change clothes, arm ourselves, and head to the cabin.
When the shipment arrives, we'll be waiting.
I try on Patricia's dress while Juliette makes alterations. It fits almost perfectly, like it was waiting for me.
The woman who wore it to marry a monster is dead.
The woman wearing it now is about to marry the monster's killer.
"You look beautiful," Juliette says through a mouthful of pins.
"I look like a sacrifice."
"Same thing, in the old stories. The beautiful virgin sacrificed to appease the gods."
"Except I'm not a virgin and we're killing the gods."
"Even better story."
I return to my manuscript, adding scenes with fresh inspiration.
The heroine preparing for her wedding while planning multiple murders. Her lover teaching her to load weapons while she practices her vows. The dress hanging like a promise of violence to come.
"Do you take this man to be your husband?" the officiant asked.
"I do," she replied, thinking of all the men they would kill together, starting with the one who gave her away.
"Do you take this woman to be your wife?"
"Forever," he answered, knowing their version of forever included bodies and blood.
"Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss."
They kissed with lips that would soon taste blood, sealing a union that would begin with salvation and end with slaughter.
The reception was held in hell, and every demon was invited to die.