Chapter 32 Exquisite Monsters
Exquisite Monsters
PREACHER
Ripley’s immediately on her feet, but I hold out a hand to stop her.
“I said stay.”
“I’m not your fucking dogs,” she growls.
“I know you’re not, rabbit. Just let me handle this, alright? People might be looking for you.”
I’m not taking any chances tonight. Yes, it was a risk to take Ripley in, and yes, I knew someone might be looking for her, but I made her a promise: nobody is ever going to hurt her again.
There was always a high probability someone would come for her, one I was very prepared for when she first arrived, but that alertness ebbed away as the weeks grew on.
Love dulled the sharpest parts of me.
A soft knock at the door causes Hades and Charon to start growling, their ears snapping up, pointing forward and alert. I hold out a hand, signalling to them that it’s okay as I stuff my revolver a little ways into my pants. Don’t want them scaring the mystery guest away quite yet.
I pull my phone out and look at the ring camera on the doorbell. Raphael installed it a few years ago, but I don’t find cause to use it too often, mostly because the only people on the farm are usually my family or my food.
The man at the door looks young, wearing a nondescript hoodie with his slicked back blond hair peeking out. Normally I’d tell him to fuck off and be done with it, but he keeps looking over his shoulder, like he’s waiting for someone.
Or someone’s waiting for him.
I sigh, making sure to keep myself between the dogs and the door. Even though I’d love to see it, the last thing I need is for them to tear a man to shreds, especially if he’s got friends that’ll hold a grudge.
He stumbles backward a little as I open the door, and he gets a look at the size of the dogs behind me. Fuck, he’s practically a kid.
“Shh,” I hiss, reaching down to calm Hades. “Can I help you?”
He’s clearly terrified, so much so that I can smell it on him. When you’ve been killing as long as I have, you develop a sixth sense for this kind of thing. He might as well have the words scared shitless tattooed on his forehead. Walking prey.
“Um— I, uh— I’m—” He clears his throat. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Well, you found someone.”
I rest my hand on the revolver, staring him down. The amount he’s sweating already makes me want to laugh, but it’s even harder to keep a straight face when he pulls out his phone and flashes me a picture of Ripley.
“It’s my sister, I’m looking for my sister. Have you seen her around here?”
She looks so different— I mean, just younger, but her eyes…
They’re practically fucking dead in this photo.
Beautiful, sure, but there’s nothing in there, just emptiness.
She’s about 20 in the picture, at most, and she’s being flanked by two men, one with his arm around her.
He has golden curls, and a tan one of those Jersey Shore fuckheads would envy.
The other has dark hair, pale skin, and black eyes.
I’d bet my last dollar that I’m looking at Gabriel, and maybe the man he owed so much money to.
The picture looks like it was taken during some kind of house party, but it’s hard to tell when exactly.
It’s a little distorted, almost like someone zoomed in and took a photo of a Polaroid or something.
Still, I manage to spot the telltale packs of cigarettes and crushed beer cans on the coffee table in front of them, along with all the rest of the expected paraphernalia.
It helps that they all look drugged out of their minds.
“She missin’ or somethin’?”
“Yeah, for a while now.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “We’re all real worried about her back home.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and sniffles, but it’s a bad act.
No tears.
“Sorry to hear that. What’s her name?”
“Christine.”
My heart starts to race the same way it has so many times before.
I could do it, pull the gun out and put a bullet right between his fucking eyes.
If there’s another guy, I’m sure I could stop him before he made it far.
But something tells me he was sent here, and whoever sent him’s gonna expect a report back.
The question is, how the fuck did he find us?
“You got a number I can call if I see her?”
He blinks.
“What?”
I chuckle, tilting my head. If Gabriel’s friends sent this asshole, they should have picked a better liar because this dude is folding like a cheap suit. Still, I want to see just how far this thread goes.
“A number. Most folks have a phone number, email, social media… you got any of that?”
“Oh, right! Yeah.” He digs in his pocket, pulling out a little black notepad and a pen.
Dead fucking giveaway.
“That’s my cell.” He tears off a piece of paper, handing it to me. “I’ll be nearby, trying to get a room or somethin’.”
“Nearest motel’s about an hour away, south down the highway. Ain’t nothin’ ‘round here anymore.”
He puts his hands on his hips and nods, glancing around with a disgruntled sigh.
“An hour? Seriously?”
My eyes bounce to his car. Black. Maybe an undercover cruiser.
“Yep, this place is a ghost town. Has been for a while now.”
“Shit, I had no idea.”
That might just be the first honest thing he’s said since he arrived.
“Well, good luck finding her. I’ll give you a shout if I see anything.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me… oh hey, I just realized I never asked your name, Mr…”
“Ellis.”
“Ellis,” he murmurs with a gentle nod. “I’m Justin.”
I stretch out my arm, just for shits and giggles.
“Nice to meet you Justin, and good luck finding her.”
He takes my hand, giving it a firm shake.
“Thanks. So if you do see her—”
“I’ll give you a call, like I said.”
Justin nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as he heads back down the drive.
Was he hoping I’d put up a fight? Clearly this didn’t go down the way he thought it would, but I can’t quite tell why.
I wait until he’s in his car and shut the door, being sure to lock it before heading back into the kitchen.
Ripley’s peering out the window, just barely holding the blinds apart with her fingers.
She looks scared.
“So I’m guessing you don’t have a brother, right rabbit?”
The headlights flash on again, hitting the side of the house as she just barely manages to sidestep away from the window, her eyes fixed on me.
“Is that who he said he was?”
“Yep. Called you Christine. Not the most convincing guy I’ve ever met.”
The car peels out of the driveway, the light slowly swallowed up by darkness as it trails away into the night.
“What did he look like? Was it Adonis?”
“Never met the man, but I don’t think so. Guy seemed young, too young to be that deep into illicit shit.”
I pull out my phone and show her the footage from the ring camera.
She’s shaking.
“Before I ended up here, I got pulled over. During the storm. I think this is the cop—”
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter. “You could have told me that.”
“The car was fucking stolen, and everyone should think I’m dead! I didn’t think it was important!”
My whole body starts to tingle, and I can feel the goosebumps rushing up and down my arms. My anger has always been quick, and all-consuming.
A gift from my father.
I can feel it gnashing at the back of my neck, screaming at me to lash out… to do something to show her how much she fucked up, how much danger she put us in by not telling me. I would have destroyed that fucking car if I knew, took it apart piece by piece and melted ‘em down or some shit.
“Did you talk to him? Tell me exactly what you said that night.”
“He pulled me over when I had Gabriel’s body in the trunk, it’s not like I could just try to outrun him.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Did he take your ID? Get your name? I need to know everything, Ripley.”
“No, he— He asked for my license and registration, and then before anything else could happen some fucking maniac flew past in his truck and nearly hit the guy. He dropped his flashlight and ran straight for his car to go after them.” She tilts her head, her eyes suddenly going wide.
“Oh fuck, I grabbed his flashlight. Do you think there’s a tracking device in there or some shit? ”
“Doubtful. What’s more likely is that someone connected to Gabriel or his pals found another way to track you. Did you search the car before you fired it up and took off?”
My chest tightens with fear as she shakes her head.
If you want to get away with murder, you have to be careful.
It’s why I repaint and detail my truck every few months to make it look like it’s brand new.
I never hunt in the same place twice in a six month period.
I try to make sure that I’m as forgettable as possible.
I don’t make an impression when I’m out.
I swoop in, capture my prey, and leave just as quickly as I arrived.
“Ripley—”
“Don’t even start!” She spits. “My head wasn’t exactly fucking clear at the time! But sure, next time I’ll consult the serial killer manual!”
I need to be calm, to clear my goddamn head. We’re no good to each other like this.
“Besides, why would the car matter? It probably got sucked up into that tornado!”
I sigh, slumping down into a chair. This is where my own fuck up comes into play.
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean, not quite?”
“Because I dragged it out to the fuckin’ woods and left it there.”
“Are you kidding me?!”
“What did you want me to do with it?! You came roaring in here on the heels of that tornado, and—”
“And you’re making that sound like a bad thing!” She growls.
Shit, I don’t want to fight, but it’s hard to keep myself in check.
“It’s not a bad thing,” I murmur. “Ripley, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You’re the most exquisite monster I’ve ever met and I would burn everything down to keep you safe.”
“You mean that?” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Please tell me you mean that.”