Chapter Thirteen
Rule Number Five
Silas
" W hat happened to your father? Did he get away with it?
" Charlotte's been sitting cross-legged on the couch beside me, completely absorbed in my story since we came back inside.
This is the first time she's broken her silence since I started telling her about my past and my parents.
Her blue eyes are wide, hanging onto every word.
I can't tell if she's horrified or fascinated, maybe a little of both.
"Yes and no." Fuck, I'm slurring my words.
I've lost count of how many beers I've emptied while reliving these memories, the empty bottles scattered around my feet like fallen soldiers.
I shouldn't be getting drunk with Charlotte here, it's reckless.
One slip up from me is all she needs to find an opportunity to slip away.
I can't let that happen. Not now. Not ever.
"He staged it perfectly," I continue, trying to focus through the alcohol-induced haze.
"Made it look like Mom had been taking a bath and drowned.
The police report..." I pause, a bitter laughter escaping my throat.
"The report claimed she'd been drinking heavily all day.
That she was completely wasted when dear old Dad got home from work.
They took his word as gospel, the respected county sheriff.
They rubber-stamped it as an accidental death and never even bothered with an autopsy.
Just another tragic accident in a small town. "
"You said yes and no." Her eyes are cast down like she's nervous to ask the question I know she wants the answer to. Her fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt she is wearing, her beer bottle sitting in the middle of her crossed legs. "What happened after?"
"He was living his life on borrowed time for the next seven years," I say, tilting my beer bottle toward the ceiling light, watching the liquid catch the glow as I move the bottle around.
A smile tugs at my lips recalling the day, the memory as clear as if it happened yesterday.
"Poetic justice you could say, I killed him on my eighteenth birthday.
I kept the promise I made to my mom, wrapped it up in a neat little bow and gave myself the ultimate birthday present.
" I let out a dark chuckle, the alcohol making my tongue loose.
"Best fucking birthday I've ever had. Still hasn't been topped, and I doubt it ever will. "
"And the officers that helped your dad cover it up? What happened to them?"
"I have sent every one of them to hell right along with him.
Except for one, Sheriff Campbell. Campbell was a rookie in the department under my dad when he started doing dirty work for him.
He became the County Sheriff, taking over my Dad's position leading the department when I killed him.
Campbell is the last name on my list I need to erase to completely fulfill my promise to my Mom. "
"It's been thirteen years since you killed your father. Why haven't you killed Campbell yet?" Charlotte's voice is soft but probing, her blue eyes fixed intently on my face.
"Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison.
" I take another pull from my beer, letting the liquid roll across my tongue before continuing.
"You can't just go around killing whoever you want whenever you want.
That's how idiots get caught. I live by a set of rules for a reason.
" I pause, studying the condensation dripping down the bottle's neck.
"Even though they sure as fuck have flown out the window since you've come along," I mumble the last part more to myself than to her, realizing just how many of my rules I've broken since bringing her into my life.
She tilts her head slightly, confused. Her raven hair falls across one eye.
She tucks the glossy strands behind her ear then asks, "What rules are you talking about?
" The genuine curiosity in her voice makes something twist in my chest. This girl should be running from me instead of trying to understand me.
I hesitate for a moment, rolling the beer bottle between my palms as I contemplate how much deeper into this I should lead her. She's already witnessed me kill Corey. She knows about my father now too. What does it really matter now at this point?
"My dad was my first kill," I finally say.
"I spent six years planning it, mapping out every detail, considering every variable.
Even as a kid, I knew there could be no room for error.
But what all that planning couldn't prepare me for was the feeling.
" I lean forward, caught up in the memory.
"That moment when you're standing there, watching someone's last breath leave their body, knowing you're the only thing standing between life and death for them, it's intoxicating.
A high you don't ever want to come down from.
When I watched my father's eyes go dull and empty, when I saw the life fade away, it was like I just reclaimed every ounce of power he'd stolen from me and my mother over the years. "
My fingers tighten around the bottle as I meet Charlotte's eyes.
"I knew I'd do it again. I'd never felt anything like it.
That kind of power, the control, it becomes an addiction.
So, I created rules, a code to live by. Because getting caught would mean the end of everything. I have too much work left to do."
"Silas, I don't understand what your job has to do with any of this."
I laugh. "Not my job at the sheriff's department. MY work." I emphasize the word, needing her to grasp the weight of what I’m saying. "After I killed my father, I knew it was what I was meant to do, my purpose. The universe has a way of showing you your path, even if it’s paved in blood."
"Your purpose?" She’s still not quite certain of what I’m telling her.
"I right the wrongs.” My eyes never leave hers as I explain to her who and what I really am.
I’ve never told anyone. “What happened to my mother, that kind of evil should never go unpunished, but it happens every day.
Whether it's some asshole in a position to use his power and influence to get away with his crimes, evidence goes missing, law enforcement and courts dropping the ball and letting them walk free on technicalities…
The how doesn't matter to me.” I pause, giving her a minute to let my words sink in.
“What matters to me is protecting those who can't protect themselves. The ones society and the justice system has failed over and over again. Just like I protected you from Corey. The way I wish someone had protected my mother.”
I take another sip from my bottle, the words flowing a little easier now.
It's strangely liberating, finally voicing these dark truths I’ve carried inside for so long.
"I hunt monsters," I say, watching Charlotte's face carefully for a reaction. "The rapists who stalk dark alleys, the murderers walking free who think they’ve covered their tracks. The abusers who reign over their homes like tyrants and terrorize behind closed doors, and every single sick fucking pedophile I can find.”
When Charlotte doesn’t say anything, I keep going.
“They strut around, thinking that they have won.
Acting like they are untouchable, immune to the consequences of their actions.
And they are, until they meet me. I deliver the justice they've dodged for far too long right to their doorstep. I’m the one who balances the scales between good and evil.
An eye for an eye, one monster at a time until the ledger is clean.
If my mother had someone like me in her corner, someone willing to fight the darkness with darkness, she might still be alive.
Maybe I wouldn’t have become what I am today.
That didn’t happen, so instead, I transformed myself into the monster I wish had been there for her—the kind that makes other monsters pray for mercy.
I've done terrible things, Charlotte. Unspeakable acts that would horrify most people.
But they don't seem quite so terrible when a mother lives another day to keep holding her children.
When kids can walk into a church without fearing the predator standing behind the pulpit, lurking beneath false smiles and good deeds all while using scripture as a shield to hide his depravity. "
I tip the bottle in Charlotte's direction, studying her face in the dim living room light. "Or when I see you enjoying an actual meal and sleeping peacefully in my bed, knowing you're safe. Not having to worry about some piece of shit dealer trying to take from you what was never offered to him."
The image of her on her knees on that filthy floor in front of Corey flashes through my mind.
Her terrified eyes, the way her body trembled, that bastard’s grimy fucking hands prying her mouth open.
My fingers tighten around the bottle until the glass threatens to shatter beneath my grip.
The memory and the rage it brings with it makes me regret that I didn’t have time to draw out his suffering longer.
"No, it doesn't seem terrible at all. Sounds like a pretty damn good day to me. "
The room falls silent except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan overhead.
Charlotte shifts closer to me on the leather couch, her shoulder softly brushing against mine as she turns sideways on the cushion to face me.
She’s so close I can feel the warmth of her body and smell the scent of my body wash.
Her voice when she speaks is barely a whisper.
"You're the monster in everyone else's corner, but who is standing in yours? "