Epilogue
DIORA
Five Months Later
“How are classes going?” I ask Juliet, as I sit between her legs on the floor.
A movie plays on the TV, and the living room has been turned into a hair station.
Juliet started taking classes at the local university after she got a “scholarship” unknowingly from Elliot and I.
She isn’t going for a degree but taking only the classes she thinks she needs to get her soap business off the ground.
I love the feeling of her hands in my hair. They’re soft and gentle, calming. Her fingers slowly trace lines in my scalp, and while it is causing tangles she’ll have to comb out, this relaxation is worth it.
Just like this house was. The fireplace is on, and the whole room is spotless.
“Good, I mean, I know I have the full ride, but I don’t think I need a degree to run a business,” Juliet rambles, and I nod as she explains how she decided to take certain classes, only the ones she thinks she’ll need.
She goes on about a friend she made. A friend I’ve already vetted. She’s actually a member of the Society, and I wonder if Juliet somehow attracts serial killers, or maybe there is more than what meets the eye when it comes to my sister.
Maybe she’s really as lost as the rest of us. She’s not bad, she never could be, but lost, well, lostness doesn’t discriminate, I suppose.
Her friend is younger than us, she’s nineteen, and a serial killer.
This I had an inkling about when I saw her and Juliet hanging out, from her mannerism, and her aura was off.
So, I followed her a few times to an art studio.
That’s when I saw a courier, the delivery service of the Society, come to her house.
As much as I’d rather Juliet not hang out with serial killers, she’s the one friend Juliet’s made since trying to get back into normal society, plus she’s a sweet girl, deep deep down, and extremely protective.
I can’t pretend I didn’t see the girl kill a man because he insulted Juliet’s soap business idea. She genuinely takes protection to a whole different level.
I like that in people. I like that about her. Juliet needs people who will protect her goodness.
“So, where is your date night tonight?” she asks while she’s parting my hair. As much as I want her to continue the scalp massage, I know that I’m on a time limit tonight.
We have a kill tonight. We, as in Elliot and me. A real kill date this time. There will be absolutely no family members third wheeling us this time. I made him promise.
“We’re going out to dinner, and something else, too. We’ll be out most of the night,” I say, trying to be as vague as possible. Elliot is prepping our prey as we speak.
It’s odd not being with Elliot right now, but the prize waiting for me will be so worth it.
“Dinner? Are you going to a diner? You’re dressed pretty casual,” she asks, finishing one braid and starting on the other. I have on overalls and a long-sleeved shirt on. I don’t need to look cute. I need to be able to move.
“Yeah, he’s taking me ax throwing after, too, I think. I’m not sure. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” This earns me an excited squeal and giggle as she accidentally pulls my hair.
“Juliet!” I laugh, leaning my head back, trying to lessen the pull.
“Sorry! I… You guys are so cute, and I’m…
I’m so happy for you, Dee,” she says. I wish I could see her face, see the goodness pouring from her.
I can practically see her smile radiating from the back of my head.
This is the kind of happiness I wish for her, the kind of happiness I killed for her to have.
“Thank you, Juliet. I’m happy, too,” I say the words I never thought I’d get the chance to say.
I wasn’t supposed to survive this long. Being a killer has its perks, but the risks associated with being a killer aren’t ones I take lightly.
I should’ve died after killing Juliet’s demons.
I should’ve died after killing Mrs. Jay.
But I didn’t. And as my prize, I got them. My family.
Unlocking the metal door, I slide into my first greenhouse. The metal creaks as it moves, and it snaps the attention of the people in the room to me. Smiling, I close the door, locking it.
“Please, please save us. Please, I beg of you.”
“She’s just a girl. She’s not gonna save us.”
Their pleading voices drain any doubt I had about killing the Bensens. Most of our targets are lone wolves, single buyers who’d found Mrs. Jay’s ring, but some are couples. The couples are always married, with a house most could only dream of and staff to fulfill their every command.
Even with all the help in the world, all the money in the world, the hired staff would never be enough for them.
Being hired, meaning being willing, and that is one of the attributes they wanted to change.
“You even started the tea for me, Handsome?” I say. Elliot spent months rebuilding my greenhouse with his own hands, since I have weapons in here, after my breakdown. It’s been a long five months of getting our lives situated, but now, life is… life is perfect for me.
I drop a kiss to his soft lips on my way to the kettle. Placing my cute new teacups down, I place four on the table, but this time, I only add foxglove to two of them.
I used to dose myself with foxglove, to feel an ounce of what my victims were feeling, but my gaze meets Elliot’s instead. His golden hour colored eyes shine and his lips; he smiles as he stares at me. I can’t hurt Elliot like I’d hurt myself.
That’s not the way I saw it, but he did. He hated that I’d put foxglove in my cup and dumped my tea over the target’s head. I can laugh over the scene now as it plays in my head.
Elliot isn’t a fair man. Not in the traditional sense. He calls it his sick sense of judge, jury, and executioner. He’s much more secure in this belief since I killed Mrs. Jay.
We’re judges, jury, and executioners every time we kill.
I can’t blame myself for being smarter and stronger—his words.
So, I stopped putting poison in my drinks. I don’t need the punishment and I don’t need to even the playing field anymore. Nothing is ever fair, and most of all, I deem these creatures worth the excitement of taking their lives.
I place each cup down in front of my party guests. Listening to their sobs and cries for help, knowing not a soul will ever hear them.
“Hi,” I say as I turn around to grab Elliot. Before I can sit, Elliot grabs my hips and places me on his lap. His arms trace light lines on my arms, comforting me for a moment before taking my teacup and taking a sip.
Elliot trusts me, my words, and more so my actions, but the man likes to be one-hundred percent sure in every move he makes. I don’t fault him for it. It’s cute when he fusses over me. It brings a flush to my cheeks, and I almost shy away.
This is how I know he has my back, no matter what. It’s not about right or wrong with Elliot, it’s about me. Just me.
My eyes move to the couple here before us.
The Bensens are the power couple who followed Mrs. Jay’s trafficking ring everywhere it went, buying Strays for whatever they saw fit.
If she was in Wisconsin, so were they. If she was in Texas or Paris or anywhere else, so were they. Desperate for their next hit.
You would think the buyers of a trafficking ring would be strong, able-bodied, powerful, but we’ve found they are weak-minded people with too much time and money on their hands.
It’s a shame they didn’t do something better with their boredom. Maybe it would’ve saved them from us. From me.
“You’re right, you know. I’m not here to save you.
Not because I can’t, but I don’t want to,” I say, kissing Elliot’s check once more before moving to sit in my chair.
My tea table is out. The white metal frame has seen better days.
The matching chairs are strong but wobbly.
Elliot smiles as I sit; he enjoys watching me kill so much more than doing the killing himself as of late.
I’m afraid he won’t get his required number of kills to go to the ball next year.
I guess he’ll have to be my date this time.
“I can pay you! I’ll pay you whatever you want,” Mrs. Bensen says, tears and snot streaming down her face. She is a beautiful woman, even as she’s aged. Maybe it’s the money, maybe it’s the evil that settles inside her, but her brown hair still shines and her skin is smooth as porcelain.
Good people give. They give and give and give until they can’t anymore, and that’s why they need to be protected. They give their health, physically and mentally, and that’s why evil looks so much better. So much more appealing to people, and yet, they forget about people like me.
I can’t say I hate evil, because I don’t hate myself. But I can say it pisses me off.
“If you can give me one thing, one thing of my choosing, I’ll set you free,” I say, hugging one of my knees to my chest as I lean forward. I even smile like I am telling the truth. A light flickers in the whites of both of their eyes.
“Anything,” Mr. Bensen shouts. This game is my favorite of all. Pretending as if I am giving them a chance for freedom. A wish they think they can fulfill. Each and every buyer we’ve ever killed has fallen for it.
“I want Koby Jackson.” Their faces drop, and that’s when the true giddiness starts to take over. The itch crawls its way up my shoulders and around my neck as the realization sets in their faces.
Koby Jackson was nine years old when they bought him and eleven years old when they killed him. They abused him to death, and now he is resting in my greenhouse under my new angel trumpet tree.
The Bensens kept his remains in a jar, like a trophy, over their fireplace mantel. Such a bold place for the remains of someone they killed. I don’t even know if they knew I stole it from them about three weeks ago.
“What?” Mrs. Bensen mutters as shock drenches her from head to toe. It started with the paling of her already pale skin, to the slight drop of her jaw and the now harsh tremble of her body.