Chapter 6 | Kate
SIX | KATE
Reaching into my locker, I feel instant relief when I see the white envelope with my past two weeks’ pay. I grasp onto it, tucking it into my purse.
I may have never imagined myself working at an amusement park, but I’m grateful for this job.
That Lachlan Park gives me the ability to remain hidden in a world where someone’s information is sickeningly accessible to anyone.
That I can keep myself from creating those thin threads across cyberspace that could lead Xander to me.
When I asked my hiring manager if I could be paid in cash, they didn’t even blink.
Getting the woman who owns my house to accept cash for my monthly rent without leaving any digital trail was a different story.
I got those narrowed eyes that made me feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin and word vomit the shit show that is my life all over her lap when I was signing my contract.
I was desperate.
So, instead, I asked, “Do you have daughters?”
Sindy observed me skeptically and nodded. “I have two.”
My soft, anxious smile was accompanied by an exhale. “If they were in trouble and running from someone dangerous, wouldn’t you want them to find a safe place?”
That got her attention.
Perhaps she recognized the fear in my eyes or the shallow breaths that floated between us, revealing my anxiety over using any digital form of payment that would require a bank account.
Sindy’s hand reached out to grasp mine out of instinct.
My eyes started watering thinking of my mother, who I knew was worried sick about me.
My landlord gave in, and I nearly doubled over, crying in appreciation that I wouldn’t have to keep temporarily living in shitty motels that were as menacing and disturbing as the situation I had found myself in—running from an ex whose tenacity is as potent as his psychotic nature.
Sometimes I wonder if ending our relationship earlier would’ve saved my conscience, protected my body—or if ending it when the first signs of fear that poisoned my gut would’ve tempted the monster to emerge and play even before I recognized the red flags for what they were.
But it’s no use in wondering when this is my reality.
People always say to get out of a toxic relationship before it's too late. But sometimes, at the beginning, it's unrecognizable. Little moments that are a grain of sand, adding to the bag attached to your feet, meant to slowly drag you under until getting out seems impossible.
The scars of my three years with Xander run deeper than colorless, risen skin, and my fractured soul feels like it's been tossed into a wood chipper one too many times. Even if I was able to put the pieces back together, there are some slivers and shards I’m sure I’ll never get back.
Xander and I had started as strangers at a blood drive when I was attending nursing school in Oregon.
Something about catching the attention of an older man as a fresh twenty-year-old was confidence-boosting.
He didn’t just pierce my skin with a needle when I was giving blood; he burrowed deep, hypnotizing me with a blindness that made me as obsessed with him as he was with me.
It wasn’t until the comfort with each other started to settle that his true nature began to seep through ordinary moments.
A month after we started dating, I handed over my virginity. That first time wasn’t gentle. It didn’t make butterflies swoop in my stomach with gentle wings or make the emotion of contentment fog my head and tighten my chest in those beautiful ways like it should.
It was rough.
Hard in a way that, at first, I got no pleasure from.
But the following praises that spilled from his mouth at how well I was doing in response to the mix of pain and pleasure he was giving me somehow made me validate his actions as being normal.
That he was a man with experience, and therefore, since I had none, I needed to be everything he needed.
Now, I can’t get off without the euphoria blending with a mixture of pain.
Believe me when I say I wish I could. Even when I stir my own pleasure, my fingertips twist my nipples to haul me closer to the brink.
And when I shatter, the guilt that follows is like that one grain of sand in the bag tied to my ankles that I can’t fight anymore.
It lugs me to the depths, leaving a lingering self-loathing that never truly vanishes.
He trained my body.
It wasn’t until the blade came out to play and he’d drag his fingers through my blood that I realized how truly unhinged he was.
Often, I wonder if I’ll ever find the shelter that my heart craves. The peace that never feels within reach when I’m constantly looking over my shoulder.
Healing is difficult when your demons aren’t dead.
Maybe that’s why I wanted to run yesterday when that jaw-dropping and panty-wetting god on the dock knocked me off center with his aura alone.
The vibes radiating off him weren’t good ones, but I couldn’t ignore the way his presence branded my memory.
A man who dresses like that isn’t meant to be forgotten.
I shut my locker and turn around, taking in the minimal break room: nothing more than a small round wooden table with four matching chairs in the center, and a small kitchenette against the wall with a fridge. On the other wall is a door that leads to a little cleaning closet.
This room is small and confined with no windows, so whenever I’m on my lunch break, I usually settle onto one of the outdoor picnic tables near the food court section of the park.
Today, my brain craved silence. The ride may have a repeating song every day, but so does every other area on the property.
It may be a soundtrack, but I still know every instrumental and gleeful song on that list.
I press my back against the lockers, closing my eyes for a brief second to reset.
When they pop open, I gasp. Before, the closet was closed.
Now, the door is propped open with a body lurking in the shadows on the other side.
Vincent’s face is void of any expression as it usually is, the hardness in his wrinkled features and narrow eyes making a lump form in my throat.
Faded tattoos have bled across his muscular, age-marked skin, making the ink on his neck difficult to distinguish.
I can recognize it as a script; however, I’m unsure what language it is.
He's standing in the doorway, in dark gray pants and a button-down that looks like a solid-color flannel, the closet completely dark behind him. An ominous void that infuses an extra dose of unease into my veins. I am just about to finish my lunch break and have been enjoying my sandwich alone for thirty minutes, which means he’s been enclosed in that small space the entire time I’ve been in the break room.
I can’t help myself. “How long have you been in there?”
His eyes hold mine. “Doesn’t matter.”
It’s supposed to be a dismissal, but I ignore it.
Noisily, I push harder. “I’ve been in here for thirty minutes.
Which means you’ve been hanging out in there—alone.
” I eye the light switch on the outside of the closet.
“In the dark.” I fold my arms over my chest to cover the unexpected gooseflesh that peppers my skin in response to his callous presence.
He moves out of the small closet, shutting the door behind him. “If I were you, I’d return to work and mind your own business, girl.”
His advancing steps have me backing toward the exit. I almost don’t want to move and hold my ground since he has no authority to tell me what to do, but I think better of it and escape the room, hastily walking back to finish the last part of my shift.
A slow, antagonizing four hours later, I rest my chin on my hand, my arm propped up on the control panel table as I watch the four video blocks on each of the three screens roll by and switch to other views.
A family unloads off the cart, the father pushing his two young kids through the exit gate in front of me as Jeremy ushers two teenage girls onto the cart next, who were at the back of the evening rush line.
Through the large, open, garage-like doors, with rope weaving through to navigate the line, rosy pink and dusty orange pastels paint the seascape over the carousel across from the haunted mine building.
Its vibrant, rainbow-flickering lights pierce the oncoming darkness, looking like something out of a fairy tale.
When the cart disappears through the cave entrance with the two teenage girls, Jeremy hops onto the top of the rotating turnstile, which lets guests pass after they scan their tickets. He folds his arms over his chest, looking like he’s ready to be done with this day as much as I am.
“Hey.” Jeremy looks up at me, curiously waiting for me to continue. “Have you ever seen Vincent hanging out in the cleaning closet by himself…in the dark?”
His bushy brows knit together at my question. “I mean, I saw him come out of there once with a duffel bag. It was strange, but then I thought that maybe he was changing or something.”
“Changing in the closet?” I say it out loud, more so to process it myself, since we have access to staff bathrooms and showers in several parts of the park.
He shrugs. “I guess. Why?”
I purse my lips, shaking my head. “Never mind.”
“Yeah, he’s fucking strange. Doesn’t really talk to anyone, and I’ve worked here for the last several summers.”
“If he’s so unapproachable, then why did you tell me to ask him about those massacres that happened in the park?”
“Because Nicole and I are curious but have never wanted to ask.” His lips tilt upward. “We thought maybe you would.”
My eyes roll. Not happening when he clearly told me to mind my own business when I asked him what he was doing in the closet. “Forget it—”
“Hey!” a feminine voice screeches.