Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
DIORA
I like the texture of dirt and plants under my nails as much as I like skin and blood. Watching the four officers from the corner of my eye, I lift the hot kettle from the hot pot on my workstation and pour boiling water into four antique tea cups.
The four officers sit in metal chairs, designed to look like old-fashioned dining chairs, around my round, stained-glass table. They are gagged and bound, with nothing on except their t-shirts and underwear.
They thought they were flirting with a meek girl in a bar full of rowdy, drunken men.
They didn’t know the meek girl in front of them had been working on their capture for six months now.
I’ve been picking each of them up from their favorite after-work bars for four weeks now, one at a time, keeping them drugged in my greenhouse in the forest on Laker Street.
My white gloves are covered in dirt smears as I pick a few foxglove flowers. I crush the pendulous bell-shaped flower into tiny pieces. The pretty pinks and purples make me smile as I sweep the crushed flowers into small tea packets.
Foxglove is a beautiful plant with numerous uses, both as a poison and a medicine. It’s one of the most beautiful poisonous plants, subjectively, and therefore, it is my favorite to use.
My scar from… from sixteen years ago now, shows on the inside of my forearm as I prepare the tea.
I drop a tea bag into each mug of boiling water, allowing the water to soak up the properties of the plant.
I inhale, feeling the chemicals from the plant sting my nose.
This dose of poison is deadly, even to those in optimal health.
These officers are in perfect health, according to their last required physicals. How convenient is that?
How convenient was letting the perpetrators of my sister’s nightmare free?
Doesn’t seem so convenient now, does it?
Hearing a grunt, I turn around with two saucers with teacups on them in my hands.
The officers start to wake up as the chloroform wears off.
It’s not my favorite weapon of choice, but in a pinch, speed and effectiveness come first. I had to get four largely muscled male bodies from the shed behind my greenhouse to the scene of their final show: my first crime.
Their murder.
“Hi, gentlemen,” I say, setting everyone’s teacups in front of them, including one in front of me. They struggle against their restraints, but they’re too weak to break them. I made sure.
“I figure you must be confused, angry, maybe even upset, huh?” I ask, swishing my tea with a tiny spoon. “So was she.”
Their grunts and heaving noises sound gross. I grimace as I glance at the clock above my work station -two a.m. Hmm, starting the show now is fine.
“You must not remember our first meeting at the police station, since most of you approached me first, kind of… Well, that’s not important.
What’s important is that you know why your wives and children are going to miss you,” I say, taking a sip of my own foxglove-filled tea.
I let my tea soak longer, since I prepared it earlier than theirs, though I won’t be drinking as much as they are.
It’s unfair to be bad without punishment.
Being bad cannot go without punishment, even if it is only in reaction.
Murder is wrong. No matter how much I’m itching to do so. No matter what reason I muster up to justify why I’m doing what I’m doing.
Sipping on my tea, my breathing changes as I consume the poison. I know I’m not dying today. I’ve just started my vengeance for my sister, Juliet, and I will not die before I’ve got my greedy hands on the woman who orchestrated the worst night of Juliet’s life.
Getting up, I ungag each man, letting their slobbered white rags pile in the mini black fireplace by my workbench. They cough and gurgle as they regain the power of speech.
I stumbled upon this greenhouse when I was a kid, and have been rooted in these four walls since. It’s big enough to have a few rows of plants I’ve accumulated over time, with floor-to-ceiling arched windows. The intricate designs on the windows and ceilings give the little house an ethereal vibe.
Like an old haunted house, with crown molding and sculptures, this greenhouse has become my safe space. Even with all the windows, I’m not worried about being caught. This is the one space I can unleash my urges, and now I’ve found the perfect victims to satisfy my craving for death.
“You all are gross,” I say, conscious of the contaminated heat mixing with their bodies’ smells and germs that touch my skin.
Cold nights remind me of my sister. Of how she loved cold nights just like this.
She loved bundling up in blankets by the fire, watching TV.
I loved spending time with her, so I let her wrap me in her softest blankets, as well.
Juliet was the only person on this earth who loved me, and they dared to hurt her.
I failed to protect her.
That won’t happen again.
“What the hell are you doing?” the tallest man spits.
His name is Josh Panko. He’s been on Litchfort’s police force for over twenty years.
Has a wife and two kids, aged seven and eleven.
His hobbies include watching football and going to the bar– anything but spending time at home with his wife and kids.
“Don’t you hurt my fucking wife, you fucking bitch.” Now, Kyle is different. Kyle loves his wife, and they have no kids. His hobbies include sitting on his back porch with a beer and a book in his hands that he never reads.
Growls and yells never bothered me. They don’t process in my brain the way they did for my sister.
She gets scared when people get mad. It’s why I never get mad.
These men’s anger would scare her into submission.
She’d end up letting them go and turning herself in. That’s why I’m here and she isn’t.
“I’m not going to hurt your wife or your children—not physically.”
“Of course you’re fucking not. Untie us, and maybe we’ll let you off easy. Kidnapping officers is a high offense,” Josh Panko says, trying to bargain with me. I turn around to face the four men. They look a mix of pissed off and amused- as if something is funny.
Maybe this is funny to them. A girl like me kidnapped four men like them. I’m not necessarily strong, and they weigh about two hundred pounds each, and yet, what they have yet to realize is that, even with all the odds against me, I still got them here, bound and gagged.
“I’m not going to hurt your wives or children because they are good. I’m going to kill you because you’re evil.”
“Won’t killing us make you evil, too?” Josh asks, though, I’ve already thought this through.
“No, it won’t,” I say, taking my seat again and sipping my tea.
“How in the fuck would it not make you evil, too?” Kyle Montery asks, spitting as he’s talking.
Fear clouds his thoughts. He’s unable to keep a cool head in any situation, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to see him slip first. His anger is causing his chest to heave, his pulse decreasing with his increasing breaths.
The foxglove in the air is already working on him. It slows the pulse, and I see by the effort he exudes, he’s working overtime to control his breathing.
“I can’t become evil. I already am,” I say. My single strand of pearls around my neck becomes hot and heavy as the room’s temperature rises, aware of the next stage of my plan taking place. My windows begin to fog. I can’t contain my smile.
“Be good, then. Let us go,” Josh tries. He must think he’s playing me.
He’s an annoying kind of blond—not golden enough to appear soft, but bright enough to make my eyes twitch.
His blue eyes irk me, too; they’re too blue.
The kind of blue that appears right as lightning strikes, on the verge of being white.
I hate it.
I hate him.
“You want to leave before you know why you are here?” I ask, not making a single move to untie my guest. My own chair is made of the same metal, painted white to help create the tea party ambiance.
“We don’t give a fuck,” Kyle barks. His eyes move back and forth rapidly as the sweat drips down his forehead.
I prefer Kyles over Joshes in this world.
Kyle remains true to human nature. No one remains calm when their lives are being threatened.
He’s showing me all his cards and exactly how he feels, while Josh is hiding. He hides behind the facade of control.
“Okay,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I rise from my chair, my white t-shirt stained with plant stems and my shirt clings to my chest as I move to stand behind Kyle.
His brown hair stinks, and he shakes violently, yelling incoherent curses.
Still, I lace my fingers in his hair and lay my head over his greasy hair.
My cheek itches with the nastiness that is Kyle’s greasy hair, but I persist.
“Hmm, well, the least you could do is let me give you a name,” I say. I grin as my eyes meet my silent captive. Lewis Karplie. He hasn’t uttered a word, and I think he may be the only person to recognize me.
He hadn’t recognized me when they approached me in the bar, but I think he does now.
Lewis Karplie is the only Black officer here. As much as I wanted to give Lewis a pass, an excuse for a fellow Black person trying in this world, I can’t.
He has three kids and a wife, who all strive to do their best in their own pursuits of life.
He spends most of his free time with his family, enjoying game nights, movie nights, and dinners.
He’s a seemingly good dad, like the rest of these officers, doing the bare minimum to have a family.
But then, the lights go off, and we see the truth.
The shadows that reveal the darkest truths of every single person in this room, including me. We are not good. We are evil. We’ve done bad things, and now we must pay the price.
Lewis jumps back in his chair when his eyes meet mine. Lewis had hesitation that night. When my sister and I came to the police station to report her rape, he had the nerve to give us hope.