Chapter 8 Reverie #3
“What happens when Lionel's released and he kills again?” I ask quietly, my tone despondent. Especially because the prospect of Lionel killing again is very much a when, not an if. “How will you tell the difference between him and the copycat?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and that causes my stomach to twist.
“I don’t know how to describe it, and I obviously can’t say much.
All I can say is that after Lionel went to prison, the dismemberment slices were cleaner and feel cold and methodical.
Whereas when Lionel was killing, they were messier, passionate.
The cuts were noticeably jagged, like he was excited. Does that make sense?”
I frown. “Why do you think that is?”
Another heavy sigh. “Think of it as an employee who does their job because they have to and an employee who does it because they love it.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “So, like, what does it mean to you, though?”
“It supports my theory of them working together,” he says before exhaling heavily, sounding frustrated.
“To me, it shows the copycat is killing in order to continue the Locksmith murders and further discredit Lionel being culpable. He’s doing it because he has to, not because he wants to.
It's a job. But if this is the case…” He trails off for a moment.
“Lionel and this person would’ve had to know one another prior to him being arrested.
Clean versus jagged cuts aside, the murders are identical.
The lack of DNA, or any form of evidence to lead us to his identity…
it's uncanny. Even the way he targeted them. Many of the women mentioned having a date with a man to a friend or family member before they disappeared but were hush-hush about who. Lionel had to have trained this guy.”
“He never brought any friends around the house from what I can remember, but Lionel was obviously very good about leading a double life, so who knows?”
Barry sighs. “You know, the first words Kellan spoke after Jeff and me broke the news to him and his grandmother was, ‘Did you find the man with the angel wings?’ Eventually, he told us about his mom taking him to a car dealership, and it was pretty easy to find Lionel from there based on the tattoo and description. And from that moment on, I pursued that man for months leading up to his arrest. And he's just so… he’s so incredibly careful. Stakeout meant nothing when it seemed like he always knew someone was watching. It bothers me to say, but it was almost…” He struggles for words.
“Fascinating, for lack of better words.”
My stomach dips with uneasiness, though I can't pin the exact reasoning.
“Brenda always did say you were obsessed with him,” I mutter distractedly, unable to fully concentrate when my stomach feels like it’s filled with heavy stones.
Barry harrumphs, his tone considerably grumpier as he gripes, “It’s hard not to take it personally when someone consistently outsmarts you.
I don’t know if that makes any sense, but…
” He trails off, deliberately stopping himself from descending into a self-deprecating tirade.
“Anyway, I don't know if any of what I said made sense.”
I hear his voice, but I hardly process the words beneath my growing anxiety. Maybe it's because of Roxi. Or because Barry is so sure Lionel and the copycat are partners. Maybe it’s just… all of it. Everything, at once.
“Rev?”
I blink, not realizing I zoned out.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” I rush out. “It makes complete sense. And it’s why you were born to do what you do. I know this wears on you, but you know my dad better than anyone at this point. You could probably even be the copycat yourself if you wanted to be.”
I'm unable to stop the words from spilling out of my mouth, and my eyes widen.
I didn't even mean to say that.
Barry scoffs, though it bleeds into a chuckle. “Geez, I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“I-I just mean you know him,” I amend hastily. “So if your intuition is telling you Lionel and the copycat are working together, then… I believe you.”
“Thanks, kid,” he says quietly, a hint of emotion lightening his tone. “I have to get back to work, though, so I’m home at a decent hour, or Brenda might spend the rest of the night huffing at me.” That brings a genuine smile to my face, and I let out a soft exhale, relieved he’s not upset.
“Sounds daunting,” I tease. That woman embodies gentleness and kindness. She’s almost incapable of raising her voice in anger.
He chuckles, then says, “Send me Roxi's full name. I’ll do what I can to keep an eye on her from my end, but you know I can only do so much.”
“I know,” I say sadly. “I appreciate it, anyway. I love you.”
“Love you, too, honey.”
The call ends, and in the ensuing silence, I get lost in my thoughts again, agonizing over the very real possibility my father’s murdered someone again, and if that’s the case, then Roxi truly might not survive him—especially if I don’t comply with whatever Lionel inevitably demands of me.
I think it’s pretty fucking obvious he’ll have an issue with me leaving the country.
Vaguely, I feel the weight of the couch shift at my hip, then a warm hand on my arm.
“Rev? Talk to me, my love. You’re worrying me.”
I blink, reality coming back into focus. The faint smell of coconut drifts in from the tembleque as I turn to look at Sable. Concern pinches her thin brows, faint frown lines creasing her light brown skin.
“Your ass is far too big to be sitting where you are,” I tell her dryly.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t dispute my claim.
We both know Sable’s ass was crafted by the gods, but it be mighty, too.
“I’m concerned about you, you bitch,” she says with a small chuckle.
As she should be, truthfully.
“Whoever is controlling my Sims character deserves prison. This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
She nods gravely. “They deserve it purely for not making the Grim Reaper your baby daddy.”
“No, they just made him my dad,” I mutter contritely.
She cocks her head and looks to the ceiling with pursed lips as she considers that viewpoint. “Huh. Yeah, I guess they did.”
I groan dramatically. “And my Grim Reaper dad is dating a college student. At my school. Who's the same age as me. They’ve been speaking for two years now, which means he’s known where I’ve been this entire time. Not only that, but he probably targeted Roxi because of me.”
Her lips tighten into a thin line, her expression pained as she gazes at me with empathy and sorrow.
Sable knows as well as I do that Roxi’s life is in an incredible amount of danger, and Roxi doesn’t even know it. In fact, she believes she’s in love with a man who could never be capable of the crimes Dread accused him of committing.
“She said they talked about moving to wherever I go after college so they can be by me, as long as it has a good school system for when they have kids, Sable. Fucking kidsss. Plural. With a whole fucking ‘S’ at the end.”
Her lips tighten further, appearing even more pained. I’d think she’s constipated if it wasn’t for the words coming out of my mouth.
“What do you want to do?” she asks. When I give her a confused look, she clarifies, “You were applying to transfer schools to London. You can still do that. You can still leave, and whatever… whatever happens to Roxi, happens to Roxi.”
My mouth opens, but she quickly cuts in. “Or you stay, and we try to get Roxi out of that relationship alive. Those are your options, and that’s what you need to figure out.”
I love her for saying ‘we.’
It only cements how devastating it would be to leave her for London.
It’s exactly why I’ve felt guilty for befriending Sable since the beginning. I always knew I’d have to leave one day, I just thought it would be a little while after graduation. Something I could take my time with.
Because that’s what I thought I had—time.
Sable knew this, and since the moment I found out Lionel was granted a parole hearing, we knew me leaving was a possibility.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, my face twisting with indecision.
She scoops up my hand and squeezes it in hers. “I know it’s hard, but you don’t owe a single soul on this planet anything, Rev. That man has made you suffer enough, and you have every right to leave and live your life.”
My chin trembles, and a sharp ache spears through my chest.
Why should I get to live my life when so many haven’t? Lionel has killed dozens of women, and, to this day, we still don’t know exactly how many victims there are.
But I feel their blood soaking my hands, and I can’t go through life pretending it’s not when everything I touch leaves behind a scarlet stain.
“Those women died because of me—”
“That’s not fucking true, and you know it,” she snaps, ire flashing in her gaze.
“It is true, Sable,” I insist vehemently.
The onslaught of guilt is a punch to the stomach while devastation cleaves my heart in two. I'm so exhausted carrying the weight of so many deaths on my shoulders, but they've become such a permanent fixture, they've hardened into bones.
“What kind of person would I be if I just—” I choke on the rest of my words as a sob rushes up my throat.
The heels of my palms fly over my eyes, and I shake my head, frustrated and desperately trying to claw back the tears from the surface.
They’re insistent, and my entire face strains from the effort.
But it’s a losing battle.
I inhale deeply, though it feels like trying to pull oxygen into lungs filled with knots.
I press my hands deeper into my eyes, but the tears squeeze past the barrier and burn fiery paths down my cheeks, anyway.
“Ay, ma, come here,” Sable whispers softly.
I feel the weight of her body draping over my stomach, her orange blossom scent enveloping me. Then, she circles her arms around me as best she can, her warmth seeping into my skin.
I shake my head again, my frustration mounting, but despite how hard I try to swallow it down, a sob bursts out of me, anyway.
I bite back the next one and lose that battle, too. But I keep trying, putting all my effort into shoving the sadness back down, compacting it into a tight ball until it’s merely another organ in my body.
My body trembles as deep, shuddering breaths saw in and out of me. I don’t know how long we lie there for before the sobs retreat and my lungs loosen. But the blood remains.
It will always remain.
Sniffling, I roughly wipe away the tears with trembling hands before dropping them to see Sable lying over my ribs, her head resting on my bicep against the couch while staring up at me with a glassy sheen over her eyes.
I give her a deadpan stare, though I’m not sure how effective it is with bloodshot eyes and tear tracks. “I’m telling your entire family you cried.”
She quickly sits up straight and flattens her trembling fingers across her eyelids to rub them away. Not a single drop falls.
Damn. So close.
“I’ll fucking deny it, bitch. Don’t think I won’t gaslight the fuck out of you, too.” Her voice is tight, and I can tell she’s struggling to compose herself.
The ache in my chest hasn’t eased completely, but it’s enough to force a grin.
In the four years I’ve known her, she’s never cried. She claims it’s because her sins have clogged her tear ducts, which I don’t doubt in the slightest.
Her hands drop to her lap, and we stare at one another silently until we both can’t help but let out a soft laugh.
She sniffs, then points a finger in my face, forcing a serious expression on her own. “It’s not your fault. I refuse to let you win that argument. But I understand why you feel that way, and I understand why you would feel responsible should anything bad happen to Roxi.”
I drop my gaze, my smile fading as I fiddle with my fingers and bite back the urge to argue further.
We both know I don’t believe her, so it’s useless fighting about it, anyway.
“If I stay, he might come after me,” I say softly before lifting my gaze back to Sable’s.
Several emotions flit across her stare, and I know she’s struggling to maintain her composure again, though this time, she might be fighting back her own murderous tendencies rather than tears.
She looks down at her hands for a moment, a crease forming between her pinched brows. When she returns her attention to me, sorrow deepens the lines around her mouth.
“Which is why you should leave,” she whispers, her voice cracking at the end.
I know that’s what she wants, even if it’ll break our hearts. At least it means I’m alive, with a heart that can break.
I tighten my lips and nod. “I’ll think about it, yeah?”
She nods, too, but worry seeps into the fine lines around her eyes.
She looks like she’s aged ten years in the span of a single conversation.
Sighing, she picks up the bowl of tembleque and hands it to me.
“Eat, bitch. I made it extra sweet, just for you.”
I grin. “You love me.”
She smiles back, but it’s grim.
“More than life.”
She knows I’m running out of time to make a decision, but regardless of what I choose, she also knows her time with me may be limited, even if I stay.