Chapter Thirteen
Evangeline
R ETURNING HOME WAS bittersweet. Sweet because I loved my historical home in Salem. It was less than twenty minutes from Papillon House, and it was on the river. But bitter because my heart was starting to feel something for Shep Waller, and I needed to figure out how to shut that down.
The problem was, I didn’t really want to shut it down and this thought nearly induced panic. I needed a man like I needed another hole in my head.
“You have reached your destination,” the driver’s GPS said, pulling me from my thoughts.
The driver pulled the car to the curb, and I slid out while he grabbed my bag. After thanking him, I wheeled my bag up to my front porch and unlocked my door. Disarming my alarm, I set my bag at the foot of my stairs before locking up again and heading back to my kitchen.
I noticed my cleaner had been there, and there was nothing better than coming home to a clean house, but, admittedly, the absolute best part about returning home was that I got to start a new project file.
After getting water onto boil for tea, I opened my French doors, and stared out at the water for a few blissful minutes, then I fired up my laptop and logged in to my encrypted files database. I didn’t keep trophies or incriminating evidence of any kind from my kills. And, if anyone should ever access my computer and snoop around, they’d find absolutely nothing incriminating. However, hidden behind two fire walls, both of which require separate sets of triple identification, is an encoded database of all my projects, past and present. An extensive library on all of my subjects, including their financial history, medical records, travel itineraries, school records. The works. The more I knew about a subject, the more ways I could use that information to trap them and make them suffer.
You can find out what’s truly important to a person by looking at their bank statements and calendar. Whatever a person spends their time and money on is what they love the most. You’d be surprised at how many so-called ‘family men’ would cry harder when I’d threaten to kill their dog than their wife and kids.
The searches for my subjects would often take months. I didn’t always know the real names of my victimizers, but my memories of them would often lead me to clues, and clues eventually led me to them. Most of these animals were posing as upstanding citizens, complete with social media pages to help complete their facades. But I’d find them all eventually and when I did, I’d make them pay for their sins.
Of course, there was enough evidence on my laptop and private server to earn me nine life sentences, followed by a ride in the electric chair, but if anyone besides me ever tried (and failed) to access firewall number one, the whole system was set to wipe itself out. I’d even rigged the server with small explosive charges which would detonate inside the case, frying its physical components beyond repair. I could thank Mouse for teaching me the basics of hacking and understanding computers in general. I was fifteen before I even touched a computer keyboard. I didn’t even have access to a smartphone as a kid. It was only after I escaped and met Mouse that my tech education started. Mouse was a genius with computers. It’s how she survived in the streets. She’d hack ATMs, public utilities, the cable company. We squatted in a vacant apartment for eight months, with full power, heat, and TV service. She’d set us up with the works, and we didn’t have to pay a single dime. From the start, Mouse began teaching me everything she knew. In turn, I used my influence over people in person, to get us just about everything else we needed.
My next project was a man named Reginald White and I’d been looking forward to spending some time with him for quite a while. Reggie proved difficult to track down, despite being from, and currently living in, Detroit. For the longest time all I knew about him was his first name. Not even his proper first name at that. I knew he was white, youngish, and a little under six feet tall, but that was about it.
Until three months ago.
The main reason Reggie was hard for me to track was that I had very little idea of what he looked like as he was fond of wearing masks when he violated me. Clowns, demons, ghouls, carved up baby faces, whatever it took to scare the shit out of me, he was into it. He’d play horror movies like Chainsaw Cheerleader Party on his laptop while he would fuck me, and he’d squirt fake blood all over me when he would come. It was disgusting and I loathed every second spent with him. Of course, he’d want me to act scared, which required little work on my part. As well as being a complete pervert, Reggie White legitimately scared me.
Any first-year criminologist will tell you that the behavior of a victimizer will always escalate if it is not stopped. That is to say, if the victimizers themselves are not stopped. I can certainly verify this through my own experience with men like Reginald White. For example, on Reggie’s first ‘session’ with me, that’s what Sugar called them, ‘sessions with clients.’ I suppose it sounded much more professional than ‘feeding the prey to the predators.’
The first time I was sent to Reggie he was wearing a store-bought Halloween mask and wielding a cheap rubber butcher knife. Over time, his masks and props would increase in quality and realism, which got me to thinking. Once I’d escaped and left Detroit, Reggie would have simply started over with a different girl. Maybe another of Tony Sugar’s or maybe not, but his obsessions were only growing, and he’d have to feed them more over time. His type of obsessive behavior would drive him to increase the quality of his masks. Perhaps even reaching out to and employing custom mask makers.
Knowing this, I set up trace programs on the computers of every mask maker and horror prop maker I could find via a clever virus embedded inside a lucrative potential job offer email. It took me almost three months just to complete that task and only sixty-three percent of the emails were successfully opened. But while I was away on the book tour, I got a hit. Fantasy Factory Masks and Wigs in Bridgeport, Connecticut received an order for a ‘maggot infested rotting pig’s head mask’ from an R. White in Detroit, Michigan. His home address was only four blocks away from the hotel where we would meet.
This had to be my subject. And as much as I hated the thought of going back to Detroit, Reggie wasn’t the traveling type, so I’d have to hunt him on his own territory. Either way it made no difference really. Reggie and I would have our reunion, but this time I would be the one wearing the mask and my knife wouldn’t be fake.
Neither would the blood.
* * *
Shep
M y phone buzzed as I walked into my mother’s house. I saw it was a text from my buddy, Doom, so rather than texting back, I called him.
“Hey, brother,” he said.
“Hey. How are Lyric and the kids?”
He chuckled. “Better than I deserve.”
“Well, that’s not true and you fuckin’ know it.”
“How about you? You good?”
“I’m actually in town until Tuesday. You got time for a beer?” I asked.
“If you don’t come over for dinner while you’re here, my head’ll be on the block, and you know it. How about tonight? Tell your mom she’s welcome.”
“Yeah, tonight works. I think Mom’s got plans but I’ll ask her.”
“Perfect. Let’s say six unless I text you otherwise.”
“Sounds great. See you then.”
We rang off and I went to find my mother.
* * *
I pulled up to Doom and Lyric’s home just before six, and before I’d even had the chance to get my door open, Daegan and Ramsey were rushing to open it for me.
“Uncle Shep,” Ramsey squealed, her tiny hand reaching for mine.
I climbed out of the car and lifted her into my arms, kissing her cheek. “Hey, sweetheart, how’s my favorite girl?”
“I got a one-hundred on my spelling test.”
“Great job, honey.” I set her down and Daegan gave me a fist bump then a side hug. “Hey, bud, you wanna help me with the grocery bags?”
He grinned big. “Sure.”
I handed him one of the bags and we headed into the house, with Ramsey chattering away as we walked up the porch steps.
Doom was waiting in the doorway holding their four-year-old, Sterling, looking happier than a pig in slop.
“Look, Daddy, Uncle Shep’s here,” Ramsey announced. “Uncle Shep’s here.”
“I see that, baby,” Doom said. “Go help your mama, yeah?”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, and skipped off toward the kitchen.
I set the bag I was carrying on the foyer floor and hugged Doom, then we followed Ramsey and Daegan into the kitchen where Lyric was attempting to feed their two-year-old, Aria, who was in a highchair.
Aria appeared to want nothing to do with it and was screaming her head off. Lyric dropped her head back and groaned, then calmly stood and made her way to me, hugging me tightly. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Hi, beautiful.”
“Okay, that’s quite enough of that,” Doom said, setting Sterling on the ground before making his way to their daughter.
Lyric chuckled, releasing me, then wetting a paper towel and cleaning Aria up. “She’s overly tired, honey. Do you want to try and get her down?”
“Yeah,” Doom said, unbuckling Aria, and lifting her out of the highchair. “Be right back.”
Lyric kissed her daughter, then focused on me once Doom left the room. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
I grinned. “I know.”
“So, tell me about the woman that brought you here.”
“How the hell did you know it was a woman?”
“I didn’t until just now.”
“Jesus,” I hissed. “Why do I keep forgetting you’re a lawyer?”
Lyric shrugged with a laugh. “I have no idea.”
Ramsey came running into the room, interrupting us. “Mama? Can I have a snack, please?”
Lyric leaned down and stroked her cheek. “Baby, we’re going to eat in less than half an hour. Can you wait or is your tummy super rumbly?”
Ramsey rubbed her stomach. “It’s kinda rumbly. May I have a banana?”
“You bet, baby.” Lyric handed her a banana, and Ramsey skipped off with a ‘thank you.’
“They look really happy, sweetheart,” I said, sitting at the kitchen island.
“I’m not gonna lie,” she said, leaning against the granite. “It’s taken a lot of work to get them to a point where they’re not terrified, especially Daegan, but it gets better every day. We do still find him sleeping at the foot of Ramsey’s bed on occasion.”
I sighed. “Baby steps.”
She nodded. “He remembers so much more than she does, and I hate that for him.”
“Yeah.”
Lyric reached over and squeezed my arm. “I hate it for you, too.”
“How’s Linc doin’?” I asked.
“He’s close to perfect,” she said.
“I’m all the way fuckin’ perfect,” he said, strolling back into the room, and wrapping his arms around his wife, kissing her.
“Other than his bossiness, he is,” Lyric agreed, patting his chest. “Get our friend a beer so I can finish dinner and then he can tell us about this woman he flew all the way back home to see.”
“I was wonderin’ why you were back so soon.” Doom raised an eyebrow as he opened the fridge.
“I didn’t just come back for a woman,” I countered.
Lyric let out a snort as she pulled open the oven, grinning at her husband. “How cute is he?”
Doom grinned handing me a beer before sitting beside me.
Lyric closed the oven door, then leaned over the island. “Tell us everything .”
I filled them in what I knew about Evangeline, leaving out the R-rated moments, hoping that they’d be satisfied with the little information I provided.