Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
VANESSA
I watched for the glow of his cigarette.
Like the unhinged, mentally deranged bitch that I am, I sat at my window for a solid half hour after the sun went down last night and watched for any sign he was there, watching, And when it never came, I shoved Murphy out the fucking door with my foot up his ass to see where the damn cat would go.
He promptly dug a hole in my withering vegetable bed and took a shit, all while glaring at the house.
This isn’t helping your lack of sleep, you ass. The criticisms started the second I woke up, bleary-eyed and wishing for just one more hour.
I may have stood on the front porch for my first coffee of the day.
I may have also jogged across the road to look for signs of his company.
All I found were a few old cigarette stubs wet from the rain we’d had the day before.
Fuck. I press my middle finger to the inner corner of my eye and sigh. Evelyn arrives today. In less than two hours, according to the clock on my wall. I glance at the folded letter stuffed beneath my house keys. What if Mom’s actually gone? What if my gut is wrong, and she’s no longer there? No longer an open thread for me to pick up when I have the strength. Fuck.
Why can’t life be simple? A happy little nuclear family, the same as they love to portray on primetime television. Two parental figures and a small brood of siblings who, despite their bickering, have each other’s back.
That’s all I ever wanted. When my classmates fawned over the latest music idol or begged their parents for the newest clothing trend, I sat on the bench waiting for the afternoon bus that would take me home and watched the people going about their lives in our small town.
I yearned for the smiling fathers doting on their kids, the mothers who’d crouch with a welcome hug, and the kids who’d chase each other, giggling. Happy.
I ached for happiness .
“I should sell myself to science,” I mutter to a purring Murphy. “I’m sure somebody would love to study how I keep fucking going despite all this shit.”
He yawns, whiskers fanning out as he displays his needle-sharp teeth.
“Thanks for listening,” I sass, downing the last of my coffee and ditching the mug in the sink for later. “You ready to go out? I have to leave soon.”
Asshole turns his little head to squint his eyes against the morning sun that barely broaches the windows.
“You know,” I snap, shooing him toward the door with my hands. “It’d be nice if you could do your fucking job tonight and find where he went.”
I get a disgruntled mewl in response and a lifted tail so the fucker can flash me his asshole.
“Yeah. Fuck you too.”
I use the bathroom quickly, gaze distant as I stare at the wall opposite and practice what I want to say for the thousandth time, then visually sweep the house to ensure I don’t risk burning the place to the ground. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve left my straighteners on or a candle alight.
To the untrained eye, it’d appear as though I have a death wish.
To the better informed, it’s clear my fucking mind is elsewhere the majority of the day.
Clouds mask the sun, rays breaking through in slim slashes of light across the ground. The cooler weather is a small gift considering it means I could wear a comfy hoodie to this goddamn secret squirrel business. Something to shield me from the toxicity the discussion will bring. A safe place to nestle that’ll provide some sensory relief when the inevitable anxiety attacks.
I fix the zipper on my left boot as I stumble toward the roadside, making a mental note to do some online shopping later for a replacement for my old faithful.
A flash from the field across the road catches my eye.
I snap upright, back straight, and eyes squinted as I attempt to find the source of the reflection. It was the kind of flash that comes from metal when it catches the light—the shimmer of something smooth and shiny.
I carefully tread the final steps to the end of my driveway to wait out Marianna, gaze scouring the landscape. Arms folded high across my chest, I tug my hands inside the long sleeves. The flash occurs again—a split-second, but enough to pinpoint its location to my right.
Dread drains the blood from my head, a wash of numbness that pools in my feet. Who the fuck is that? Perched on a wooden gate, mid-calf boots propped up on the frame is a fucking man wearing a goddamn gas mask. Not the full-face kind, just the lower half, the same as I’ve seen athletes wear when altitude training. Yet the odd steam-punk style accessory isn’t the most disturbing part about him. It’s the pitch-black eyes, shadowed beneath the brow and lashes so they look like two black pits. Fuck—maybe it’s the ink across his goddamn forehead that’s clear even from all the fuck the way over here.
The only thing that comforts me is his leather vest, with little slashes of color across it where the badges are stitched.
The glint draws my eye down to the source of the light. Fucking hell. That is one massive fucking knife.
His arm draws back, the blade held high in his grasp, before he slams the weapon down to embed the sharp tip into the top of the wooden gate. His focus never leaves me as the biker reaches into the breast pocket of his vest and tugs out a phone.
I’m too stunned to fucking move when he lifts the device and seemingly snaps a goddamn picture.
The hell?
The rumble of a car from my left breaks the spell between us, and I turn to spot Marianna’s white Jaguar speeding down the road.
The freak across the road rips the knife from the gate, sheathing it against his ribs before he hops off the fence. I wish like hell for Marianna to get her ass here pronto as I watch him stride toward the roadside. Dude. This guy is insane. He’d fit right in if he was chasing me through a house of horrors on fright night at the amusement park, but out here?
He’s a goddamn serial killer, without a doubt.
The Jag skids to a stop in front of me, the passenger window down an inch. “Get the fuck inside.”
I wrench the door open and drop my ass to the seat, barely tugging it closed behind me before my best friend performs a maneuver I had no fucking idea she was capable of. The tail end of the car whips around with her tight turn on the dirt road, spraying shit everywhere and narrowly missing the madman as he steps off the grass.
“The fuck?” I stab the seatbelt into the buckle as soon as my balance returns.
“I see you’ve met the new neighbors.”
My blood turns to ice. “The fucking what?” He never said.
Marianna grimaces a smile. “Surprise. You now live across the road from a motorcycle club.”
Nope. This is so not happening. I like it quiet out here. I like being alone. Free from… whatever the hell he is.
“Who the hell was that guy?” I twist to look out the back window and glimpse the monster’s back as he returns to the gate.
“Vanessa,” Marianna announces. “Meet Circus.”
“You mean freakshow,” I mutter.
“Same, same.” She shrugs.
“He looks like Jason and the chick from The Ring had a baby.” I sink into the seat, staring wide-eyed out the windshield.
“Nobody knows where he came from, so I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.” She glances across and frowns. “You good there?”
I flex my hands and fist them repeatedly, shaking my arms out every so often. “Perfect.” Just a whole fuckload of adrenalin using my goddamn veins like a hydro slide, but you know, great.
“You don’t have to come.”
I roll my head to face her as we take the corner toward the small regional airport. “I need to.”
Whatever goes down today, there’s no denying that it’ll shape the trajectory for the rest of my life. Whether Mom is alive or passed, it doesn’t change the fact that he expects me to front up to settle affairs.
This is simply the appetizer for the main show.
At the rate my heart beats, I’m unsure if I’ll survive seeing him.
“Should I stay in the car?” I muse as the high fences of the airstrip come into view. “Or come in with you when you collect her?”
“She said she’ll wait out front for me, so I don’t think it matters.” Marianna drums her lithe fingers atop the steering wheel. “To be honest, once she sees you, there’s no real need for me to open my mouth. I’ll be pretty much redundant by that stage.”
She has a point. “Thank you.” I stare out the side window and swallow the threatening emotions as Marianna slows for the access road. “For helping me with this.”
She’s quiet long enough that I turn my head as the engine growl dies down, the car slowing for the terminal drive-through.
“Babe, I need to be real.” Her gaze scours the distant pavement. “You’ve told me a little bit about life before Temperance. Like, I know this asshole was your stepfather and that your mom seemingly accepted that you were gone without putting up much of a fight. But you’ve held a lot back.” She peeks across at me. “I don’t know what he did to you. And I never felt the need to ask because that was your shit, you know? Asking you to tell me is like driving slowly past a car wreck and hoping for a glimpse at the carnage—it’s nothing but a morbid fascination, hearing about a person’s trauma uninvited. But…” She draws a deep breath as we veer into the slip road alongside the terminal exit. “You two are undoubtedly about to talk about some of that stuff, so if you don’t want me to hear… If you don’t want me to know…”
Not so long ago, I would have jumped at the out she gave, agreeing that perhaps I talk privately with Evelyn. But after Chaos stood in my kitchen and proved people can listen without judgment? “It’s okay.” I give her a weak smile, a shred of fear remaining that maybe she’s not the same—perhaps she will judge. “If we’re to stay friends, you need to know this part of me.”
Her gaze softens, lips pressing together as she reaches across and grabs my hand.
Not another word is said as we idle along the front of the building toward the older woman in a neat short-sleeve blouse and slacks. A jacket drapes over Evelyn’s shoulders, the sleeves hanging limp at her sides.
I draw a shuddering breath, invisible hands clamping tight around my aorta. My chest tightens, phantom pain in my shoulder blades as I try to steady my breathing. It’s not him. She just looks the same.
The same apathetic eyes, wide mouth, heavy eyebrows—the same strange beauty that comes from a mix of unconventional features.
“Do I keep driving?” Marianna asks with a slight laugh.
“As hilarious as that’d be,” I say, thankful for the mild distraction. “It’s okay. Let’s do this.”
She brings the Jaguar to a stop a few feet from where Evelyn stands.
I pick the moment my aunt recognizes my face through the windshield: her eyebrows peak, her hand lifting to her mouth as her legs give out. A picture of modest perfection, she crumples to the ground, legs buckling beneath her, and begins to cry.
Tears well in my eyes. Shit. It’s the most emotion anyone has ever shown toward me. The most concern.
The most love.
Marianna kills the engine, eyes wide at my aunt’s reaction. “This is gonna get deep, isn’t it?”
It already was.