Chapter 14 #2
Jake leans in and drops his voice. I can smell the beer on his breath. “Good. I was hoping he wasn’t some boyfriend I’d have to steal you away from.”
My stomach churns, but I force a lighthearted laugh and flutter my eyelashes at him like I’m some flirty goddamn teenager. “No stealing necessary.”
He winks. “Need another drink?”
I pretend to think about it for a second. “Maybe a shot. But only if you’ll do one with me. I do need a proper welcome to town, after all.”
“In that case, are you down for a double?”
“Someone likes to party,” I tease. “But sure.”
His smile widens, and he pours us each a shot. I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to the side, the way he mutters something to the other bartender who smirks and nods before walking over to Ambrose, who is holding up his empty glass in silent request for another drink.
I reach down and rummage through my purse, pretending to look for something and subtly palming the small bag of powder I’d hidden there earlier.
My distraction gives Jake the opportunity he’s looking for.
In my peripheral vision, I notice the sly slip of his hand as he drops a tablet into the shot glass.
He sets the shots down in front of us, pushing mine directly in front of me, but before I take it, I lift my empty can of cider.
“Could you grab me another cider too? I didn’t realize I finished this one, and I don’t think I can take a shot without a chaser.”
He glances down at the shot glasses, checking to make sure they’re clearly separated and on their respective sides of the bar.
As soon as his back is turned, I channel the energy from the necklace to obscure my actions as I dump the powder—one of my old Xanax pills I had crushed earlier in preparation for this very moment—into my shot glass before quickly swapping it with Jake’s.
But even with the obscurity I’m channeling, Ambrose’s eyes burn a hole in the side of my head.
That’s fine. Let the asshole watch. It’s not like he has any room to judge.
Jake returns with my cider, and I flash him a sweet smile as I lift my shot glass. The predatory gleam in his eyes makes my stomach churn, but my nausea is subdued by the fact that he’ll soon be getting a taste of his own medicine, so to speak.
And I’ll probably need the whiskey to deal with whatever comes next.
I clink glasses with Jake, and as I throw back the shot, I can’t help but think, this is it. This is where it begins. My descent into evil.
How do I do this without losing myself? Without becoming a monster like Ambrose?
You’re doing this for a good reason, I remind myself. He’s not only been drugging and sexually assaulting unsuspecting women, but getting away with it. And while I know that any one person being judge, jury, and executioner isn’t ideal when it comes to enacting justice, my options are limited.
As I watch him and note the satisfied, predatory gleam in his eyes, I know that this is the right target. This is a man with malevolence in his heart.
Who’s to say he won’t change? The voice in the back of my head asks. What if he becomes a good person in the future and expresses guilt and remorse for what he’s done?
I shake the thought away. I can ask myself “what if” questions all night, but the truth of the matter is, men like him have already caused more harm than they could possibly atone for in the future.
Becoming a better person in the future doesn’t erase one’s past transgressions no matter how much regret they might have.
“I’ll be right back,” Jake says when a woman at the end of the bar calls him over. “Don’t go anywhere,” he adds with a wink. “I still want to get to know you better.”
Yeah, I bet you do.
I don’t know how long it’ll take the combination of drugs to kick in alongside the alcohol, but I don’t figure it’ll be too long.
Maybe half an hour. My Xanax prescription was a high dose, meant to be taken as needed for the occasional panic attacks.
That, combined with whatever he spiked the drink with alongside the alcohol will make for a pretty potent cocktail.
As I let my gaze wander around the bar, I accidentally lock eyes with Ambrose. He’s staring at me.
I narrow my eyes at him, but his expression doesn’t change. He simply raises a glass toward me in mock salute then takes a sip.
Jake returns to me a couple minutes after closing some tabs. He props his elbows on the bar and leans in too close.
“So, how are you getting home?” he asks. “I don’t think you should be driving after drinking this much.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t plan on drinking this much.
” In reality, I’ve had two ciders and a shot over the course of a couple hours, but that’s not really what he cares about anyway.
He’s anticipating that, at any minute, I’ll be feeling a lot less sober than I expected to.
That’s when he’ll swoop in and save the day.
“Don’t worry, I can give you a ride home,” he offers, but there’s a slight slur to his words.
Perfect.
“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” I say with feigned concern. “Plus, I’m not feeling too great… I think I need to get some air first.”
“Let me help you,” he says a little too eagerly. “There's a door out back where you can get some air, away from all the smokers out front.”
I nod weakly, following him as he guides me towards the back door. He doesn’t notice me grabbing the broken pool cue that’s leaning against the wall, and I subtly hold it behind my back until we’re outside.
The alleyway behind the bar is dark and smells like rotting garbage, the only light coming from a distant streetlamp on the main road.
Jake stumbles slightly as we step into the alley and furrows his eyebrows at me when he notices me leaning the pool cue against the wall. It’s almost comical how clueless he is. The shouts and laughter from inside the bar are instantly cut off when the door slams shut.
The silence is terrifying, if only because it makes me fully aware of what’s about to happen. It’s only the two of us now, alone in the dark alley.
Am I really about to kill this man? If I ran now, I could get in the car and be back at the cabin before anyone realizes what’s happened. It would make tonight’s attempt futile, but then I wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of what I’m about to do.
Jake backs me against the cold brick wall, placing both hands on the wall on either side of me in an attempt to steady himself as he leans down to kiss me.
I turn my head at the last second. “Stop,” I snap, as if that will do anything to deter him. His breath is hot on my cheek as he sways in place.
I look around, scanning the alley quickly for any cameras that might be placed out here, but I don’t notice any.
Still, I can't be too careful. I focus on channeling the power of the necklace again, willing it to obscure me from any people as well as any cameras.
Whether it will work, I can't be sure, but it's a risk I have to take.
I make a mental note to ask Ambrose more about the magic this week.
Jake presses closer, lifting one hand off the wall so he can caress my cheek. “C’mon, don't be like that," he slurs, trying to force another kiss.
I sidestep him easily, and he stumbles forward, hitting his head against the brick wall with a sickening crack.
“Fuck,” he mutters, overcorrecting by stumbling backward and falling on his ass.
Now what? Do I wait?
The drug combination might do the trick of killing him, but every second I spend out here with him runs the risk of me getting caught. I need to end this as quickly as possible.
He’s still on the ground rubbing his forehead when I snatch the pool cue from where I had leaned it against the wall and approach him from behind.
As I stare at his hunched form on the ground, a pang of guilt hits me at what I’m about to do, but I don’t allow myself to let it linger.
In fact, anger wells up in my chest as I come to terms with the situation I’m in.
It’s been easy to look at this guy as nothing more than a nuisance tonight, but only because I knew what I was getting myself into.
If I really had been an unsuspecting woman looking for a nice night out, he’d probably be raping my unconscious ass in this alley right now.
Why should I give mercy to a man who’d never show me the same kindness? Men like him take without care to feed their own selfish desires. Why should I be any different?
My heart hammers in my chest as I grip it in my hands like a baseball bat, my hands about halfway up the length with the thicker end at the top.
He looks up just as I start to swing.
“What are you—”
I don’t give him time to finish his sentence.
As I bring the stick down with all my strength, that voice in the back of my mind whispers, This is it. The point of no return.
The wood connects with his temple with a heavy thud.
Falling back slightly, he raises his arm, attempting to shield his head from the next blow, but he’s not fast enough with the drugs in his system.
He slurs out angry, panicked curses, as I hit him again and again, each blow more brutal than the last. Blood runs from his nose and the gashes on his head.
The more I hit him, the more rage courses through me.
All the injustices of the world seem to be condensed into the microcosm of this moment, and he’s a representation of all the shitty men who harm others for their own selfish gains. And I want to destroy him.
I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
I strike him over and over again, aiming for his temples and the base of his skull, and each crunch of bone reverberates through the stick in my hand like the crack of a bat against a baseball.
Eventually, he’s still, collapsed on the ground in a pile of limbs with blood gushing from his nose.
His jaw juts out at an odd angle, and his face is already bruising and swelling beyond recognition.
I stand there, breathing in ragged gasps and wondering if he’s still alive but afraid to get close enough to him to check.
And then, suddenly, I feel it—the moment his life leaves him. It's a gentle sort of shudder that passes through me and into the necklace. His years add to the tally, and the weight of the stone pendant settles around my neck like a noose.
I drop the pool stick then pick it back up again a second later, realizing I can’t leave a murder weapon at the scene. When I lift it from the ground, I notice I’m shaking. Not just my hands, but my whole body is trembling with the shock of what I've just done.
But it's done. He's dead.
And I wish I could say I felt worse about it.
I walk to the back of the alley and circle the block to get to my car, doing my best to focus on being as invisible as possible. Walking down a main road with a bloody pool cue is sure to gain me unwanted attention.
My heels click against the pavement, and the sound bounces off the surrounding buildings in the quiet night. Finally, I reach the spot where I parked the Camaro.
Ambrose’s car sits a few spaces down from mine, and I realize he’s probably still waiting for me to come back inside.
Let him wait. He can stay there all night for all I care.
Opening the door, I slide into the driver's seat, my hands specked with blood as they grip the steering wheel. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and then I start the engine and pull away from the curb, leaving behind the alley and the body and the girl I used to be.
I just killed a man, and that’s something I can never take back.
I wait for the guilt to overwhelm me, to consume me the way it did after that last trip to the hospital.
But it doesn’t.
In fact, my chest feels lighter, like I’ve lifted a weight off it that I hadn’t even realized was there. Maybe that’s the curse of my mind—numb to violence, so used to dissociating from brutality in order to survive.
That should scare me, the fact that I don’t feel any remorse for murdering a man, but it doesn’t. The only feeling coursing through me is the sick, sweet satisfaction of vengeance.