Chapter 5
I’m sitting on the carpet in the playroom with four of the older kids doing a thousand-piece puzzle. It’s of a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
“Oh, Lord have mercy,” says Sister Helen, holding her rosary beads tightly.
I peer up at the mounted TV and see an anchor breaking the news of the unknown body the police found this morning. The footage is of the shitty roadside motel I was in last night. The room is secured with police tape.
It then cuts to footage of the coroner’s van, with two men wheeling a silver gurney with a black bag into the back.
It’s all for ratings.
There’s no need to show that as most would assume a dead body means a visit to the morgue. This is why I don’t feel a shred of guilt. These people don’t care about The Punisher. He’s just a story to bump up their ratings.
Besides, if they knew who he really was, they wouldn’t look so solemn.
Kids are funny.
They’re so innocent. They don’t have any ulterior motives. They’re too young to understand any of that, which is why it’s so important to give them the best start in life. If they are exposed to misfortune early on, it will most likely follow them into adulthood—like it did with me.
I was never told how to deal with the death of my parents, especially since everyone seemed to blame me. So I just pushed it aside and disconnected. It got worse when I moved in with my aunt and uncle. I understand why they never had kids.
Even now, I still feel so detached from life. I’m living it, but I don’t really feel a part of it, that is, until I’m with Jupiter. I feel like I belong then.
“I hope they find whoever is doing this and punish them accordingly. God is forever watching,” Sister Helen says, switching the channel to something a little more kid-friendly.
My cell dings, alerting me to a text.
Hardly anyone has my number, so I assume it’s Jupiter.
We cleaned the crime scene like any forensics team in the crime documentaries we studied for months before the “first time.”
We’ve come a long way since.
The thing about blood is that you can never really clean it all.
What can’t be seen with the naked eye will be made visible with luminol—a chemical used to detect hidden bloodstains.
We’re careful not to leave any DNA behind.
The wigs come in handy to cover our hair.
And the gloves ensure we don’t leave any fingerprints.
We check in and pay cash only, not that the uninterested clerks pay any attention. We’re all there wishing we weren’t. The motels are run-down shitholes with no surveillance. They barely have running water, so surveillance isn’t high on the list of essentials.
So far, the police have no leads.
It’s a little sexist that they haven’t thrown a female serial killer hat in the ring. They’ve speculated gang-related robberies gone wrong. We remove any evidence of sexual indications, and we steal whatever money they have, which usually isn’t much at all.
All in all, the police are clueless.
I discreetly pull my phone from my pocket.
I was right.
Blow. 10pm
The text from Jupiter hints that we’re out hunting tonight.
I place my phone away and reach forward, passing the missing piece of the puzzle to Ronnie. He happily places it where it belongs.
It’s hard not to see the irony in that. We’re all missing pieces to a puzzle, hoping to one day belong.
Jupiter and I need to blend in, so I’m in a black strapless dress with boots, my hair in a messy bun, minimal makeup, and no designer labels or accessories.
I am no one.
The long line wraps around the block. I’ve never been to this club before, but judging by the clientele, it edges toward a darker vibe.
Men wearing cat collars, being handled by their “owners,” is a common sight, as are lots of fishnets, black eyeliner, and enough hairspray to put any ’80s hair band to shame. I faintly hear The Cure playing inside.
I keep my eyes ahead and avoid any conversation. I pay the cover charge, and the girl at the door, in a Sailor Moon outfit, stamps my wrist with a skull.
The moment I enter, I squint to see through the smoke. It’s a combination of cigarettes and the smoke machine. The lights are dimmed, but splashes of pink and blue occasionally illuminate the club.
There is the main dance floor, but off to the right are stairs. The painted pink arrow, which points downstairs, says “Down the Rabbit Hole.” The little white rabbits painted on the stairs give off an Alice in Wonderland vibe.
I decide to hang out in the main area and wait for Jupiter to arrive.
Leaning over the bar, I shout my order to be heard over Depeche Mode blaring through the speakers. “White sangria mocktail, please.”
The bartender nods. He has a face full of piercings. I like it.
As I wait for my drink, I scan my surroundings. Men and women dance in cages. Some gyrate against the stripper poles. People make out in corners, while others chat in the red vinyl booths. The dance floor is packed full of sweaty bodies, losing themselves to the music.
It looks peaceful.
I wonder who Jupiter has found. It surprises me that they’d be here because in my experience, it’s the “normal” ones you need to be wary of. They are the worst predators of all, as no one suspects someone’s upstanding father, brother, or uncle.
The people here, it appears, want to stand out, which is the opposite of someone with sinister intent.
My curiosity is piqued.
“Scotch and Coke.”
Instantly, my entire body is covered in goose bumps.
I’m transported back to that night in the woods. “First time fingering a pussy?”
I’d remember that voice, even in death. The reason is because that voice haunts me in my dreams, as well as every waking moment since he brutally robbed me of my innocence.
My vision was impaired, so I relied on my other senses because I knew that this time would come. I knew that eventually my rapist would stand in front of me so I could have my revenge.
Turning over my shoulder, I see the twentysomething man.
I finally see the face of the monster haunting my dreams.
Smokes.
So he wasn’t the one I ran over.
Shame, that.
There’s nothing remarkable about him. Brown hair. Matching eye color. Some may think he’s handsome if you like the preppy look.
I smell tobacco, just as I did that night.
I also smell vomit. My vomit from when he tore my insides up.
I’m conflicted.
I’m scared.
But a surge of adrenaline animates every cell in my body, and for the first time since I became Liv, I feel alive.
This isn’t a coincidence.
This is fate.
“That’ll be five dollars,” the bartender’s voice snaps me from the past.
I must be more careful.
With unsteady fingers, I retrieve a ten from my purse and tell him to keep the change.
I’ve captured the attention of Smokes. I can feel his vile eyes rake over me. I wonder if I look familiar. Not that he ever saw me. The pillowcase rammed over my head ensured that.
My fingers wrap around the tall glass, and I squeeze it tightly, wishing it was Smokes’s neck.
Suddenly, everything Jupiter taught me becomes obsolete because I would happily do time if it meant I could end this asshole’s life.
I turn to meet his abhorrent stare.
Funny, now that my monster has a face, it feels as if I’m the one now in control.
He doesn’t hide his appraisal of me, lingering on my breasts.
“White sangria?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to my drink.
I timidly sweep a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Virgin.”
He draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Just how I like it.”
I don’t even care anymore. I raise the glass, about to smash it over his head, but am stopped when the face of an angel appears between me and Smokes.
She presses her lips to mine and kisses me softly.
Instantly, the rage simmers. I taste her strawberry lip balm.
Jupiter gently pulls away and cups my face in her palms. She doesn’t need to say a word.
Nodding, I measure my breaths and remember everything we’ve learned.
We get caught, who’s going to kill the bad guys? They’ll walk around and pollute the world, while the innocent suffer. This is how I rationalize what we do.
Deep down, I know it’s wrong. But what did being nice ever get anyone?
“Damn, baby.”
“Get lost,” Jupiter says to Smokes, her eyes still locked on mine. She doesn’t give him the time of day.
He eventually gets the hint and leaves.
“Okay?” she asks with care.
I nod.
She takes my hand and leads me through the throngs of people enjoying the music and being with peers. Must be nice to be able to switch off this way.
Jupiter slides into a booth. I sit beside her. We both focus on Smokes and the group he’s with.
I wonder if they know he’s a rapist asshole.
“Hallie—” She’s the only person who knows my real name. She’s the only person who knows the real me. “I found him.”
“Found who?” I ask, feeling like I’m underwater.
When there is silence, I turn to look at her and realize she’s focused on Smokes.
“Smokes is the guy?” I ask, unable to mask my surprise.
She nods.
“What did he do?”
Apart from being a rapist asshole…
“You don’t get it,” Jupiter whispers, holding my hand. “This is for you. I found him for you.”
“How?” I ask.
“It took some time, but I traced his family back to the make of the car and license plate. I remembered what you told me. They filed a police report for the stolen car, the car their son, Arthur Singleton, was driving that night.”
“Was there a report on the…body?”
“No. Arthur would never incriminate himself that way. He said the car was stolen outside the theater. No mention of any friends he was with. As for the body, I assume Arthur called in a favor, and they made it disappear.”
The initials on the lighter I found don’t match his or even their family name. I wonder whose lighter it was.
I don’t know who he is. And his family name rings no bells.
But alas, my monster finally has a face and a name.
This is a little too much.
“He deserves to die, Hallie,” Jupiter says when I remain quiet.
She’s misinterpreted my silence as having second thoughts.
“I know. This is just…a lot.”
“Of course it is. We treat it like any other guy. We watch and strike when the time is right. But he deserves a special kind of treatment.”
She’s right.
“You’ll never be able to get back what he stole, but this is a good place to start. Who needs therapy anyway?” she adds with a laugh.
I can’t help but smile.
“What’s he doing here?”
“There’s a car show here over the weekend. Road trip, maybe? Who cares. He’s here now. That’s all that matters, right?”
So we only have a couple of days.
Suddenly, the urge to be sick tackles me.
I have to use the bathroom.
I shoot up, not giving Jupiter a chance to follow. I quickly find the ladies’ room and dive into the free cubicle just in time. I heave up nothing but bile. It feels as if I’m purging the sickness within.
Once I’m done, I rinse my mouth out and splash water on my face, not concerned about washing off the minimal makeup I wear. Peering into the mirror, it’s confirmed I look as shit as I feel.
My adrenaline has worn off, and all I want to do is sleep.
“Here, honey.” The kind Goth girl beside me offers a tissue. It has cherries on it. I accept and pat down my face and mouth.
“Thank you.”
I need to get out of here.
Blindly pushing open the door, I don’t look where I’m going and slam straight into a tall, muscled wall.
“Oh God, I’m sorry!” I blurt out before realizing that the wall is a man, a man who smells like home.
Peering up and…up, I feel as if I’ve seen a ghost because standing before me is Kit Rivers.
Time stands still…and not in a bad way.
I’d recognize those piercing hazel-and-amber eyes anywhere. Although older and grown into the man he was destined to become, he still has that boyish grin and air of arrogance about him. But now, it’s amplified tenfold.
I stand speechless. And no matter how desperate I am to move my feet, they remain planted to the floor.
Kit tilts his head, and a look of recognition passes over him. “Do I know you?”
Fuck…
This is the slap to the face I need, and before he can ask anything further, I turn on my heel and race toward the booth where Jupiter still sits. She reads my panic and soon stands. “We need to leave. Now.”
She doesn’t question why.
We’re pushing through the crowd, and when Jupiter turns over her shoulder, and asks, “Who’s that?” I know Kit is following.
“No one,” I frantically reply.
I don’t know why, but I don’t want her to know who Kit is.
We soon make it outside and quickly run across the road, merely missing a car that honks at us. When we’re safe on the other side of the road, I stop and turn to see Kit burst through the door, looking from left to right.
I take one last look at him as we slink into the darkness, becoming a shadow once more.
Each step gets harder, however, and the blackouts return whenever I’m stressed. Although they were improving before, seeing Kit has clearly increased my anxiety.
I lean against a pole, closing my eyes to regain my composure.
“It’s okay, Hallie, I’ve got you,” Jupiter says, my forever savior as she wraps her arm around me. “Let’s get you home.”