4
While waiting for Cormac to finish class and take me back to Romano Terrace, I entered ‘Coach Lyons’ into my phone's search engine to see if the information had been updated. And there it was, as clear as day: the headline reads Popular Swim Coach Slain.
“Slain?” I mutter as my skin crawls when someone walks up behind me. It’s a student on their way to class perfectly innocently, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking the worst. “Slain is a little dramatic.”
Next, we’ll see several people who don’t know him come out and say he’s a great man, and it’s a devastating loss, and so much sympathy will go toward the rapist without realizing that justice was served and I saved their daughters from getting hurt. Reading the article, it’s stated that it has been affirmed that he was shot at close range, but they can’t find any evidence that this was a robbery gone wrong, and they can’t rule it out either.
It had crossed my mind to steal his wallet and pull items out of his glovebox to make it look like a robbery, but the thought of touching him to search for a wallet creeped me out. Besides, after I squeezed the trigger and the way his head flopped, that was enough to make me run from the scene.
The first kill is always the hardest.
Cormac appears surrounded by students, always as popular as ever. I take note of Josh, Cormac’s best friend and swim teammate and the boyfriend of Lucy, who’s currently in hospital for an apparent overdose. I waved to him and returned a friendly smile, but he was always pleasant and warm, a great complement to Cormac.
“How’s Lucy?” I ask him precariously.
“Better than yesterday,” he replies, “and I hope she’ll be better tomorrow. We’re taking it day by day.” I’m so close to asking if he’s told her about Coach, but the news is still fresh, and I don’t want to seem too eager.
Cormac takes my hand and leads me away from the crowd toward the parking lot where his car is. Once we’re out of earshot, “Does he know?”
Cormac cocks his eyebrows. “He’s worried that the police evidence might lead to him since it was his girlfriend who had an affair with Lyons.”
“By force,” I correct him. “There’s no way in hell Lucy was doing it willingly.”
“Anyway, he’s got an alibi with witnesses, including me. He was having breakfast with us teammates at the time of the murder at our frat house before driving down to the pool for training,” he explains. “So, even if the police chase him up, he’ll be fine because he’s got us to vouch for him.”
Reality is hitting me like a sharpened dagger. I intend to eliminate evil from the earth, and no matter how much I thought it through, I never wanted to involve anybody else because they might get in trouble for a crime they didn’t commit. “It’s me,” I stress. “It’s me and no one else who did this. I don’t even want you three involved, but you force your way into my private business.”
As I step away from him to create distance between us, his arm curves around my waist, pulling me in close, then pressing me against the wall of the classroom we’re walking past. My chest tightens being in his human cage, and it’s my instinct to fight him off.
“Listen to me,” he presses his lips against my ear. “Rae, we’re here for you, okay?”
“Why? Why are you helping me? I don’t understand why you three would want to be involved in this,” my voice is strained by being imprisoned by his body, and I place my hands on his chest to push him away. But he quickly grabs my wrists and holds them above my head. “C-Cormac, please, let me go. I don’t like this.”
“Listen to me, Rae,” he says calmly as the strength of his stare pins me against the wall, even more so than his physical body. “We are here for you.”
“Why?” I gasp in a croaky voice as the stress of the situation is rising.
He lowers his eyes and says, “We have our reasons.”
I hit back, “You were unable to look me in the eye when you said that. Which means you’re hiding something from me. Or maybe you’re lying, which is a ruse to set me up.”
“Great imagination, Rae,” he answers flatly, unaffected by my desperate rant to find something wrong with these seemingly perfect men. “But we do have our reasons for why we’re covering your back. Let’s say we have a hidden agenda.”
“Which is what?” I ask. “Are you going to tell me?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet, but in good time.”
He licks his bottom lip as those eyes run across my lips, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking, but instead, he surprises me by saying, “Notice how your panicking has subsided?”
I move out of my head and into my body to examine my current tensions, and he’s right: my chest has lightened, my hands are unclenched, my jaw is loose, and I’m not trying to punch him in the face to escape this enclosure.
His handsome dial shows a slight smirk, and his warm breath graces my ear, “Like magic.”
“How?” I ask, noticing that my body is still relaxed.
“I forced you to focus on me and my face while I was talking, which removed you from your emotional distress. You had no choice but to chill,” he explains.
“Wrong, I did have a choice. I could’ve kicked your balls, but I didn’t want to hurt a man who’s helping me,” I argue as that smirk appears again. His smiles don’t last long because he’s a man who carries a heavy burden of training and everything else life throws his way, like his father. I suspect I add to his stress, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“But you weren’t thinking about kicking my balls because you were too fixated on listening to what I was saying. See,” he releases my hand and starts moving his finger in front of my eyes like a pendulum. “You are getting very sleepy…and will concentrate on everything I say…”
I crack up laughing, and my body relaxes even more, sinking into his warm embrace. His thumb finds my bottom lips again as I gaze into those curious eyes. “You do realize that you’re about to kiss a violent serial killer.”
“As in a murderer of Frosted Flakes?” he jokes, and I roll my eyes.
“Serial, not cereal,” I laugh, grabbing his butt cheek and not caring if students are walking, noticing us in our little world of killer naughtiness.
“You can’t be a serial until you’ve killed more than once,” he educates me as if I didn’t already know.
“Give it time,” I whisper.
“You’re not going to stop until all four of your animation characters are gone,” he states.
“That’s right. I can’t stop now. I’m only getting started, and Porky Pig is next,” I warn, in case he convinces himself that I’m not taking this seriously. “So, don’t try to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” his breath tickles my skin, yet it does surprise me that these men are not trying harder to stop me. Or maybe they think I’m not brave enough to keep going. Anyway, this is my private journey with a list that is personal to me; they’re welcome to bow out at any time.
His mouth claims mine; warm tongue dances with my tongue as those incredible hands run down to the base of my spine, then pinch my butt cheek. I wrap my arms around his neck as my feet lift from the ground, and he presses his solid muscular body against mine. There is a twinge of panic in my chest, but he seems to sense it and softens his touch. When we hear the words, “Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s dead,” from students walking past, Cormac pulls away, and the kiss ends.
He whispers, lacing his hand in mine, “I’m supposed to be acting depressed about Coach. This is hardly helping my cause. Let’s go home.”
“Which home?” I ask as the curious eyes of students watch us openly affectionate and declaring that we’re dating. “Your father’s house?”
“Yeah, why?” The bright light of the sun strikes our faces as we turn around the bend, and he shields the sun from his eyes with his free hand while I squint, blinded by the light and allowing him to lead me.
“It’s your dad, and…we’re about to do stuff under his roof. Maybe we should go to your frat house instead,” I suggest.
“Nah, I don’t want to be around all that fakery talking about Coach and pretending that he wasn’t a fuckwit,” he answers, surprising me.
“You have no reason to hate him, Cormac,” I say, slightly confused by his fury.
“Yeah, I do. He hurt you badly, and according to my father, you almost ended it all when those men hurt you. That’s why he stayed by your side day and night to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself,” he says quietly, squeezing my hand as memories of that time in my life storm in my mind, turning my stomach.
“I don’t regret shooting your coach,” I whisper with conviction.
“I know,” he says, pressing his lips against my temple, making me shiver. “You’ve done us a favor, Mantis Girl. Because he also hurt my best friend’s girlfriend, who is also my friend. Their lives are not the same because of that man. I’ve had a seething hatred toward him for some time.”
My analytical mind stews on his words for several moments as we climb inside his car. He’s claimed to have a seething hatred toward Coach Lyons for some time, yet he has only known me briefly and recently discovered what Coach did to Lucy in the past few days. His seething hatred seems to run deeper and longer than I realize, but at this moment, I keep my thoughts to myself.