Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Callum
I needed to get out of there. I couldn’t bare it. Will she ever be able to forgive me when she finds out that I’m not who she thinks I am?
The yellow light from the old lamppost leads me to my car, even though I don’t really need the help. I’ve walked this path a thousand times before.
I sit in the driver’s seat and grip the steering wheel. I need to feel something, I need to stay grounded. She’s the only thing I want to protect, and instead it feels like I’m shattering her. I can’t look back at her house.
I hit the wheel with the palm of my hand, repeatedly. I can’t be what she wants me to be, but she’s already everything. My hands shake as I grab the cigarette pack on my dash. The violent urge to hurt someone overpowers me.
I pull a cigarette out of the pack and light it with the Zippo.
Finally. The sweet inhale doesn’t feel like it’s usual release.
There’s so much I want to tell her, so much she needs to know.
My head falls back against the headrest—her world is currently crumbling.
I need answers, and there’s only one place I’m going to get them.
I shift my car into drive. The engine roars as the pedal meets the ground. For a split second, I forget about protecting myself. I pause and look up at her window. The curtain moves.
She’s watching me leave.
I can’t care about protecting myself anymore, it’s all about her now— it has been for a while.
Ashes fall from the cigarette and onto my pants.
I don’t understand why everyone around me cares so much about fashion.
Of course, it’s a reflection of who we are, but what is it for those that try to hide parts of themselves?
Mother does it so well. She pretends that she’s royalty, even though she was raised to obey someone else.
She was taught at a young age that even a hair slightly out of place could cost you your future husband, and I was taught to recognize that perfection.
Amid the dark sky, the moon lights the path to a place I’ve grown to hate. It has never felt welcoming to pull into The Society. I have no doubt that once I’m no longer useful, they will dispose of me.
There aren’t many cars in the lot. I scan the area for Deluca’s Lincoln.
I don’t see it. He usually parks near the entrance or in the garage—of course being a Higher comes with its perks.
Next to getting away with murder, you get the best parking spots.
These men and their control. I shake my head.
I can’t stop thinking about her as I make my way inside. She’s in everything I do.
I try not to draw attention to myself as I enter the house. There’s a security room on the main floor, near the back exit. Only Highers are allowed in.
I need to get there.
I already know that the cameras are following me, but I pull a knife out of my pocket and pick the lock anyway. I shake my head at how easy it is—you’d think some of the most powerful men in the town would protect their surveillance a little better.
Inside the dark room, I’m met with the shine of computer screens. Filing cabinets line each wall. I pull my leather gloves out from my jacket pocket and slide them onto my hands.
I’ll do anything to watch this place fucking crumble.
I stare at the wall of screens. I don’t have much time. I open the drawer closest to me and examine its filing, trying to pinpoint what I’m looking for. Files are organized by alphabetical order, each with a pledges’ last name listed. I search for ‘M.’
I think about how a Higher’s mind would work.
Would they put her in my file since I’m the one who interrupted the initiation?
No. I should look for his name instead. I flip back through the files, closer to the beginning rows, and pull out the manila folder with his name on it.
His stupid fucking picture looks back at me as I open it—I can’t stand it.
I sift through the pages, looking for something, anything—I don’t find it.
There must be more. I know there’s record of it. They are proud of these kinds of things—they fucking gloat about them. I know it’s in here. I look toward the other clusters of cabinets and open the first drawer on the left. Instead, I find her: “BLACK, E.”
Emily.
I open the file. There are no pictures, but Jasper’s name appears on a page with the date of the party when she died.
The file also holds all the newspaper clippings about her death, the receipts from her funeral, her dad’s car payment…
wait. I flip back. The Society pays for her dad’s car?
My eyes fall to the date at the top of the reciept—it’s from six months ago, after Emily was killed. There must be more to this.
But this isn’t what I came for. I can’t do anything about Emily. I’m here for her.
I move to the last row of cabinets and open it quickly.
VOSS, S.
There was a brief moment where I thought I’d never find this, but now that I have, it changes everything.
The leather of my glove carefully opens the folder.
It has the same layout as Emily’s. There’s no picture of Scarlett, but there is one of her mom.
I flip through her rent receipts, car payment loans, and cell phone bills. Fuck, Vanessa. She’s in so deep.
A small yellow sticky note falls out onto the floor. I spot what I’ve been dreading to find.
His name is on it, next to the written words, Initiation disrupted by pledge—Callum Mercer.
My name is next to his. There’s a specific curve to the M in my last name. No.
Bile builds in my stomach and rage erupts in my veins.
He won’t get away with this.
I take the entire file and stuff it under my vintage Valentino coat—one that has been passed down for generations. My grandfather saw it as a symbol for our family’s determination and will. Right now, it conceals a monster.
I look around and make sure that nothing is out of place. On the computer, I delete all video evidence of my entering. I also set a timer on the cameras, so they won’t turn back on until I’m out of here discreetly.
I hear a voice coming down the hall as I pull the door shut. Leo.
I scurry toward the basement stairs—my personal haven, but everyone’s hell. It’s not out of character for me to be there. Especially with everything happening, Leo knows I try to spend as little time as possible around the other pledges.
“Callum.”
I roll my neck to the side and attempt to mask my rage.
Get it together.
I turn to face Leo with the second years beside him. He tilts his head at me.
“Just tidying up some loose ends,” I say. He stops before heading up the stairs and looks suspiciously at me. I feel the tension in the air.
“That’s what you do best.” His face doesn’t change as he proceeds upstairs.
There’s no camera’s downstairs, there can’t be. It’s the one place in here that isn’t monitored.
I pull out my phone and pull up his number, one I usually avoid. He picks up on the first ring.
“Well, Callum.” He pauses.
I can’t let him know.
“I swear if you go near her again, I’ll end your life. You think that you’re protected by The Society, but I clean up all the messes. And right now, you’re looking like a big fucking mess.”
His low laugh taunts me.
“You think I’m scared, Callum? If I was a threat to The Society, I would already be gone, but I’m still here.”
“You’re only here because I let you. Test me and find out.”
Losing my patience, I pull at the collar of my shirt.
“I watch her, but one day… I’ll get close enough to feel her warmth against me again, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I grip the phone tight, wishing it was his neck.
“You’re dead.” I hang up and stomp back upstairs. I take the back exit to avoid everyone.
I get to my car, take the file out from my coat, and shove it in the glove box. I pull out my phone, but I can’t call her. Not like this.
I need a release—I need to make my pain someone else’s.
I do the only thing I know and go to the place where titles don’t matter.
A place where no one knows who I am, and they don’t make eye contact when I walk in.
Not because of my legacy, but because I’m nobody to them.
A place where my fists are all I have, and where money and status won’t buy your way.
A place where I become who I truly am, and the monster in me is free.