24. Imry
24
IMRY
Painting a murder scene can be very unwise. Especially when you know details the public doesn’t. I know the likelihood that this painting will ever be seen by someone’s eyes other than my own and know what they’re looking at is slim. Not impossible, but extraordinarily unlikely.
I typically refrain from painting them. It’s risky. Everyone will tell you, as a murderer, that you don’t keep trophies or pictures or anything incriminating. Besides DNA evidence, that’s the best way to assure you’re tied to the crime.
As a rule, we don’t keep anything but memories. We’re not those kinds of murderers, anyway. This isn’t a hobby or a psychological breakdown. We do this for money. It’s not personal. It’s not for infamy or glory or even for revenge. Just money.
And also, so Loren has a safe outlet to be violent. But who’s keeping tabs on the reasons why?
The scene I’m painting is my first kill. My first kill. Not the first one I’ve been involved in. I’d accompanied Loren for years prior to this one. I don’t know why I was chosen as his conscience and guide, but here we are.
His name was Dorian Black, though he legally changed his name to Black Dragon. As if that wasn’t going to make people look at you twice. He was a convicted child rapist, but continued to get out of jail free by pleading mental instability.
He was mentally unstable. There’s no argument there. However, sometimes, that shouldn’t excuse you from the law. Especially when you’re a repeat offender of heinous crimes.
I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t know his victims. I’m not even sure why I was so emotionally affected by the incident. However, the scene is burned into my memory as if the man is still crucified in front of me.
One of the brief times Black spent in jail, he proclaimed he was a saved man. He’d found god and Christ and whatever and they’d forgiven him. Mind you, he was released on a mentally unsound ruling and, no kidding, three days later, he had not one victim but two. Two young kids—one male, one female.
I nailed him to a cross, just like his precious savior who forgave him, and castrated him while he still lived. His screams were music to my ears. I stuffed his dick into his mouth, then nailed his balls, one each, to his palms so he could hold his crown jewels for eternity where they fit best.
Lastly, I carved ‘ child rapist ’ into his chest and watched him bleed out. This was the one and only kill we left in the open for the world to find. Around his neck, I left a flash drive of all his victims. The evidence of this man being a fucking psychopath and the inadequacy of the justice system to do anything about it. It included a body count of the children he abused—ones the court knew about and the slew they didn’t.
The laws haven’t changed. You can still get out of a lot by pleading and proving ‘ insanity .’ It’s bullshit.
But that’s why I’m not just an accomplice to a killer. I’m a killer too.
I take a step back and stare at the scene with a frown. I dreamt about it last night. Which is probably why I was compelled to paint it. Maybe if I immortalize it on canvas, the dreams will leave me alone. I don’t regret killing him. I wouldn’t even say I’m haunted by it. Sometimes, there’s something in my life that triggers that memory, and I dream about it.
Stepping away from the painting, I move to one of Haze that’s less finished than the others. He’s on my dick, riding me like I’m a bucking bronco. Which, honestly, wasn’t too far off in the moment.
Yep, my muse is still stuck on Haze and since the first painting of him standing in my door with lust in his eyes, erection prominent in his pants, and swallowed by the night shadows, my muse has turned to sexy shit between us.
All memories. All cast into oil paints.
I love the look on his face. The intense pleasure as I fuck up into him. His lips are parted as he moans the most erotic sounds I’ve ever heard. He has his dick in one hand, jerking himself as he comes all over me.
It’s hot. I love everything about this moment. This scene. It’s everything.
It’s also barely more than the beginnings of a sketch on the canvas.
Moving from a bloody murder to my sexy boyfriend isn’t a smooth transition mentally. With a sigh, I turn and find my two/thirds brothers sitting on their couch. Usually, I find them with amused smiles. This time I find them watching me with concern. No doubt because I drew Dorian Black’s murder.
I take the earbuds from my ears and drop them in the pocket of my smock. “Nice to see you’re home.”
“We have a meeting in the morning,” Avory says, his eyes flickering back to the painting. “You okay?”
“Yes. I dreamed of it again last night and decided I’d see if putting it on canvas would stop the dreams. Before you ask, I haven’t dreamed of it in a year or more. Just random. Maybe because Haze has been playing his murdery orc game and I’ve been watching him.”
While I fuck him. That’s happened a few times now. It might just be my favorite way to spend the afternoon.
“Hmm,” Avory says.
“Want to sharpen axes with us?” Ellory asks.
My adorably sweet little brother loves his blades sharp enough to slice through a strand of hair like butter. There’s a chance he’s a touch psychotic, too. The glee he gets when he kills someone is only slightly less disturbing than the haunting, murderous nursery rhymes he sings while killing.
“Yeah. Let me clean up.”
I bring my paintbrushes to the sink and methodically clean the bristles before setting them in the strainer to dry. My pallet is next. Then my hands and arms, concentrating under my nails until they’re clean.
As always, I hang up my smock and drop my earbuds into their charger. My brothers are right where I left them, still watching me with concern.
“I promise, nothing to worry about,” I assure them and head for the door, pointedly not giving the gory painting another look. They follow me out of my studio with Avory shutting the door behind us.
“What did you do yesterday?” Avory asks, no doubt trying to find the connection as to why I dreamt about murdering Black.
I shrug as I slip into my sneakers and head out the front door. “Nothing noteworthy. I spent the evening with Haze and came home.”
“Before that,” Avory prompts.
What did I do yesterday? I mentally run through the events. “Lounged around in bed.” With my dick in my hand. “Talked to Haze while he drove to work.” Also with my dick in my hand, since he was teaching me how to come up with a ‘ proper ’ hockey innuendo. Not that I remember them now. Only the sound of his voice.
“Showered.” Do I even need to say with my dick in my hand? “Uh… Oh. I actually went into the office yesterday for a while to see where you left off with contracts since you weren’t here. Rejected a bunch. Added a few more—ahhh… I came across another child rapist in the pile.”
“There it is,” Avory says.
They follow me out back to my shed, where I grab the three tactical axes that have been getting dull. They’ve been sitting there for a while because I usually wait until I have a handful, but I haven’t been out much since Oakley came into Loren’s life and appointed me his guardian when Loren can be convinced to go to work, so it’s only been these three.
“Think Loren’s going to be persuaded to take this project on?” I ask as I drop my axes into the bed of the pickup truck and climb into the front cab with my brothers.
Ellory links his arm through mine and then twines our fingers together. I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I repeat. Now that his hand is resting on my arm, I tap the ring on his finger. His smile gets wide. Giddy. There’s even this cute little blush that covers my brother’s cheeks as he glances at Avory. I don’t need to ask where this ring came from or what it signifies. I rest my head against his for just a minute, so he knows how incredibly happy I am for them.
He doesn’t respond, but Avory answers my question. “I don’t know. On the one hand, it’s fucking fascinating. On the other, we’re in the business of getting involved to win. We don’t put ourselves in unnecessary danger. Loren’s not wrong. There’s probably no way in without being seen. Even under the cover of night, you’re going to hear a boat engine.”
“There was a map of the island so we can confirm that,” Ellory says. “I’m curious if it was left behind intentionally or… they truly didn’t care if someone saw it.”
“We take jobs that don’t extend unnecessary risk to us,” Avory says. “Obviously there’s risk. We don’t kill innocent people. They’re violent or cruel in their own way, right? So nothing is black and white. But we’ve turned down jobs in the past where it looks like the odds are far too stacked against us. That’s just wise. This job has a very low success rate on the face of it.”
“If we managed to get there undetected? What do you give the odds then?” I ask.
“I think if we had time to let Voss get into whatever computer programs they had going, if he could study the satellite images of the island, if we had some internal intelligence and a safe space on the island to prep and regroup… I’m talking like fifty-fifty,” Avory says. “I already gave the map to Dad, but if all the little red dots on the island perimeter are what we think they are, they’ve got the shores covered like this is a war fort.”
I frown. “Okay. What else did you find?”
“You want to hear now and not wait until tomorrow?”
I nod. “Yep. I’ll be happy to hear it again.”
“I’ll give you the highlights. The megachurch they left behind is in a warehouse. One that I’m not sure is sound enough for habitation. Exposed bricks, broken windows, exposed, hanging wires.” Avory waves his hand. “The pews are in the main area of the warehouse under hanging duct work and shit, lined up facing the pulpit. There’s still an enormous wooden cross on the wall, and the podium remains.”
“One of the most curious things about this place is that it was definitely in this kind of disrepair when they were using it. Reports say that this church has gained a lot of money from their congregation. They convince older people to sign over their social security. Members are supposed to ‘ unload ’ all their worldly possessions and assets to the church, so everyone is equal. That means they have money. If it wasn’t used to create a safe building, where is it?” Ellory says. “I’m seriously surprised that it’s as run down as it is. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Also weird that not a single contract mentioned the church building itself,” Avory noted.
“Where did Johnston live?”
Both brothers nod.
“Right there on the site,” Avory says. “There were three rooms in particular that I found very disturbing. One was the sanctuary itself. Blacklight shows lots of bodily fluid residue left behind all over the pulpit. One room looked little better than a dungeon. There were cuffs fastened to the wall and yes, this room was covered in residue as well. The third was what we’re guessing was a bunk room for parishioners. There were three-bed-tall bunks—the mattresses are gone now, save for a handful that were propped against the walls. What bothers me most about this room isn’t the communal living, but all the messages carved into the actual bunks themselves. I’m not sure if those praising what was going on there were more disturbing than those clearly asking for help.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Understatement,” Ellory mutters, sighing.
We pull up to the barns in the back where I’d taken Haze the other day. There are more than a dozen scattered around this area, but he was distracted by the tube in the ground so he didn’t pay much attention beyond the biggest one.
One of the barns has some forging equipment. We don’t have an active forge on site anymore. We did a couple of generations back, but it’s since stopped being used. However, we appreciate the tools because we like to sharpen our own blades. There are whetstones, grinders, sanders, and a whole bunch of tools that I don’t know what they’re used for.
As we settle in, I ask, “If you had to get to that island, how would you do it?”
“We’ve been thinking about that,” Ellory says. “I think the easiest way onto the island would be to arrive on one of their boats. We’re not going to be able to sneak on, exactly. They’re not prisoners. This is their choice, right? So we’re going to have to pretend we want to join this cult.”
“Which shouldn’t be too difficult if you think about it. They’re all about high-profile figures joining their movement. What could be more appealing than two or three Van Doren sons?” Avory says.
“Then what? You think they’re going to let you on the island with your weapons?” I ask.
“This is where it’s going to get a little tricky, I think. I imagine we’re going to be watched for a while, right? Then we also need to get the lay of the island. Find our own weapons to take out the guards.”
“We also need a plan once there,” Ellory says. “Are we just killing Ryan? Obviously, at least some of the guards are going to have to die. What if there’s a revolt once we kill Ryan? What if these people the contracts want extracted don’t want to go?”
“Loren might be looking at this from a very removed perspective, but he’s right on every account. These people made the decision to join this new world cult island. Arguably, they’re adults, right? Yes, there are some minors.”
“A lot,” Ellory says. “Children of members. Teenagers who ran away or were kicked out.” He shakes his head.
“But regardless, besides the children far too young to understand, this was their choice. They voluntarily got on the boat,” Avory says. “I’m not sure how successful this is going to be unless we have any indication they’re being held there against their will.”
“It’d be different if they hadn’t gone to the island. We could kill Johnston and be done with it, right? The cult would probably fall apart since he’s the cornerstone holding it all together. But we got these contracts a little too late for that.”
“As if the families here hung onto some hope that their loved ones would get out, but now that they’re on a secluded island…” Avory shakes his head.
I frown. “Okay, we can save the rest of the discussion for tomorrow.”
“Disturbing, right?” Ellory asks.
“I think Loren’s right. You’re right. Completing this successfully without sustaining serious injury is really slim. Far too slim to truly consider it unless we have inside help,” I agree.
I can’t help but wonder why Dad’s so set on this one. Maybe he knows someone there… Before I can give this much thought, my gaze snags on Avory. There’s something different.
“When the hell did you start growing your hair? You look like you’re a skinny bear.”
Ellory cackles madly.