26. What Should’ve Been Mine
I hated driving at night. The scenery all looked the same, and the pit of darkness gave me too much time to think.
The highway stretched endlessly in front of me while rain tapped softly against the windshield.
Headlights blurred into streaks of white and yellow as cars passed in the opposite direction, but I barely noticed them because my mind was looped on the same damn thing it’s been stuck on for years, that fuckin’ family.
The Davis family had taken everything from me.
The thought replayed over and over inside my head like a curse.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter and glanced at the duffel bag sitting in the passenger seat.
Everything I needed for the next few months was inside it.
I had half a million dollars in cash, fake identification, a burner phone, and a handgun.
I had enough resources to disappear until the heat died down.
I didn’t bother to wait for the bureau to fire me.
My colleague, Santana, with whom I had come through the academy twenty years ago, warned me that an internal investigation would be happening after Carmen’s suicide note was found.
The bureau was also closing the alleyway case due to insubstantial evidence.
I was running. People always confused running with fear, but sometimes running is the only way to survive. I had to regroup.
My dad, Alan, was dead.
My sister, Carmen, was dead too.
My brother, Charles, underestimated Chanel and Xavier, so he was dead.
While I had no way of confirming it, I figured my husband, Miles, was dead as well.
One by one, the people who belonged to me had been taken away.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. For years, the Davis family walked around talking about loss as if they were the only people who ever experienced it.
As if grief belonged exclusively to them and as if they were the only people who knew what it felt like to have pieces of themselves ripped away.
Nobody ever asked what it felt like to be me.
Nobody ever cared. I laughed bitterly and adjusted my grip on the wheel.
People only cared about pretty victims, and nobody was prettier than Chanel Davis.
Even when we were young, she had it easier than I did.
Everybody loved Chanel. My Aunt Lorraine showed me her report card comments where teachers called her ‘a pleasure to have in class.’ In college, everyone wanted to be that bitch’s friend, although she was emotionally a fuckin’ mess.
She cried every damn day and was the easiest to turn out with drugs and alcohol.
Although she was coked out, men still wanted to play captain to save a hoe.
She walked through life collecting affection without ever having to work for it.
The funny thing was, she never even realized it. That used to piss me off more than anything. She never understood how lucky she was. Sure, Sharon eventually abandoned her, too, and sure, Sharon made mistakes. But Chanel had something I never had.
She had memories and pictures of birthday parties, family vacations, church services, and family dinners.
She had proof that once upon a time, Sharon loved her.
As much as I fuckin’ hated Chanel the most, so did Kenya and Jared.
What did I have? A fuckin’ kingpin for a father who never took us to church, never took us on vacation, and who forced us into his underground operation.
All I truly had was an aunt trying to fill a hole she didn’t create and a mother who spent years pretending I didn’t exist.
The windshield wipers moved rhythmically across the glass.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
The motion reminded me of college, of living life as Janessa. God, that alias had been useful. I smiled despite myself. Nobody ever suspected the friendly roommate and the girl offering coffee before class.
Especially not Chanel. Sweet, trusting dumb ass Chanel.
I remembered vividly the first cup of coffee I gave her.
The way she’d smiled when I handed it to her, and the way she’d thanked me and started chugging it immediately.
The memory made me laugh, because she never knew.
From the very first day we lived together, I’d been studying her.
I learned her habits and figured out what made her happy and what made her cry. Every conversation taught me something, and every late-night secret she shared became another weapon I could use later.
The poison had been subtle, tiny amounts I added to her coffee whenever I gave it to her.
Tiny parcels wouldn’t be dramatic, and they wouldn’t draw attention.
I wasn’t trying to kill her. I just wanted to weaken her and slowly fuck up her immune system and gastrointestinal system.
But I hit the jackpot when little Miss Perfect ended up being pregnant, and the poison forced her to miscarry.
I had to admit, shit freaked me out. I never saw that much blood before in my life.
When she began to give birth on our dorm floor, I almost fucked up our plan by telling the EMT I was her sister so they would let me ride with her in the ambulance, but I had to stay with her.
I had to make sure that I stayed ahead of her health prognosis.
Lucky for me, no poison was found in her system.
That was the first time I thought maybe I was going a bit too far.
Chanel cried for months after losing that child.
I realized then maybe I didn’t hate her.
People always assumed obsession came from hatred, but I realized then mine came from love.
I loved that family long before I hated them.
I wanted to belong to Sharon.
I wanted to sit at those dinner tables.
I wanted holiday pictures.
I wanted siblings.
I wanted a mother.
Instead, I got scraps, and every year Sharon refused to acknowledge me, the love curdled into something uglier and meaner, and eventually my rage became impossible to control.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel; the tears surprised me. I wiped them away angrily.
“No,” I screamed. There would be no more fuckin’ tears.
I wasn’t mourning anymore. Mourning was for people who accepted defeat.
And I wasn’t defeated. The Davis family thought they’d won.
They thought killing Alan, Carmen, and Charles ended the story.
They thought Miles was the final chapter.
They were wrong. This story wasn’t over.
I just needed some time. A little distance away from here would give me a chance to think and to recalculate a new plan.
But before I disappeared, there was one person I needed to see, one person who had never turned me away.
Aunt Lorraine was the only family member I had left.
She was the only person who ever looked at me and saw more than a mistake.
Her house sat less than twenty minutes away now.
I could almost picture it. The white porch, the flower beds, and the porch swing she spent every summer sitting in.
For years, she’d been the closest thing I had to a mother.
And before I left town, I intended to say goodbye.
This wasn’t goodbye forever, just for now.
Because when I came back, things would be different, I would have a better plan, and this time, the Davis family wouldn’t see me coming. The closer I got to my aunt’s house, the quieter I became. The anger was still there, but underneath it sat exhaustion.
For the first time in years, there was nobody left to call.
The realization settled heavily in my chest as I turned onto the familiar road.
Tall trees lined both sides of the street, their branches creating a tunnel overhead that blocked most of the moonlight.
I had driven this route hundreds of times over the years.
Sometimes, after a fight with my dad. Sometimes, after another rejection from Sharon.
Sometimes, simply because I needed to sit in the presence of the only person who ever made me feel wanted.
Aunt Lorraine never treated me like a secret.
When I was little, she bought me birthday cakes and wrapped Christmas presents.
She attended school plays and graduation ceremonies.
When I cried about Sharon, she would smooth my hair back and tell me that some people weren’t capable of loving correctly.
Back then, I thought she was making excuses; now I know she was telling the truth.
Sharon wasn’t capable of real love, not the kind that put somebody else’s needs before your own, not the kind the Davis children gave each other. The kind I spent my entire life chasing.
I pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. The house sat exactly the way I remembered it. The porch light glowed warmly against the darkness. Wind chimes swayed gently near the front door. Everything about the place felt peaceful.
Normal.
It was the kind of normal I’d spent my life envying.
For several moments, I remained in the driver’s seat, staring at the house, remembering all of the images Aunt Lorraine shared.
She was hoping to help me feel like I knew my siblings.
She even offered to make an intro, but each time I declined, pretending it didn’t matter to me, but I lived through those images.
I remembered all of the photos at that moment.
Kenya in ballet costumes, which is why that bitch had to be taken in front of her studio, Jared on newspaper covers from when he was younger and won the spelling bee.
Seeing him as the mayor-elect triggered something in me.
I couldn’t have him back in the newspaper for positivity, so I hired hit men.
I remembered the endless stream of photographs Lorraine had mailed me over the years.
I used to study them for hours.
Every smile.
Every outfit.
Every detail.
I knew things about the Davis family that they didn’t even know about themselves.
I knew Jared chewed the inside of his cheek when he was nervous.
I knew Kenya crossed her arms when she felt protective.
I knew Chanel tilted her head slightly when she laughed.
Years of watching and longing had taught me that.
The photographs had become my window into a life that should have belonged to me.
That was the part nobody understood. I wasn’t jealous because they had more money. I wasn’t jealous because they were successful. I was jealous because they had each other.
Even when they fought.
Even when they struggled.
Even when life knocked them down.
They always had each other.
And I had spent my entire life standing outside the window looking in.
The irony made me laugh, because despite all my planning, all my patience, all my careful manipulation, I never managed to become one of them.
I became their enemy instead. The thought should have hurt, but instead it comforted me.
Enemies were remembered. Forgotten daughters weren’t.
I grabbed the duffel bag and climbed out of the car. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I made my way toward the porch. The night air felt cool against my skin.
For a brief moment, standing there beneath the porch light, I allowed myself to imagine a different life.
A life where Sharon claimed me.
A life where Aunt Lorraine never needed to step in.
A life where I sat beside Chanel instead of across from her.
A life where Jared was my brother.
A life where Kenya taught me how to defend myself rather than become somebody I wanted to destroy.
The fantasy lasted less than a second, then reality returned because those people weren’t my family. I climbed the porch steps and raised my hand toward the door, completely unaware that while I was saying goodbye to the only family I had left, the walls were already beginning to close around me.