Chapter Eight
“Asher…no…you don’t want to do this…” Kiera’s screams echo through my head.
What the fuck did these two do to her? Limits by Bad Omens pours through the surround sound, the lyrics threading into the cracks in my chest. The song fits too well to be a coincidence.
Her scars feel like reflections of mine, our darknesses lining up, edge to edge.
There’s no way the universe decided I deserved another half.
My own mother couldn’t even fucking love me.
The events from last night replay on a loop.
She gave up control. I took a wild shot in the dark on what her damage was, but maybe I was right.
It tracks—why she’s hesitant to know the daytime me, but willing to hand herself over to the ghost version of me.
He’s someone she thinks she’ll never see again.
Sitting up on my bed, I grab my phone and pull up the cameras.
Kiera is getting dressed, mumbling something about going to the pharmacy for a Plan B pill.
I grin. At least she’s a fast thinker. Deciding I want to see what she’s up to today, I reschedule my jobs and head out, making my way toward the pharmacy.
I park a few blocks away from the pharmacy and spot Kiera almost immediately.
I fall in step a few paces behind her, keeping my distance.
She ends a call and lowers her phone. A second later, she stops dead and scans her surroundings.
Guess she can sense me. She darts into the pharmacy, shoulders tight.
I catch the door before it closes and slip inside, sticking to the left side of the aisles while she heads for the counter.
Kiera asks for something I can’t quite make out.
I edge a little closer. “Plan B works best when Plan A isn’t raw dogging it.
Now, can I have my fucking pills? I’m late for my STD screening.
” I choke back a laugh. Peeking around the endcap, I catch the old lady’s flabbergasted expression.
Don’t know what she said, but the bitch probably deserved it.
I duck out and head back to my truck before Kiera spots me.
I’ll give her space for the next part, even though I know I’m already clean.
Reaching my truck, I hear my phone ping with another email from Wade.
It’s another picture from that night, the same creepy audio attached.
A few seconds later, Wade’s name flashes on my screen.
“I WANT THEM FOUND NOW!” he screams into my ear.
“I’ll triple your pay. Just find the fucking person.
” The call cuts off before I can get a single word in.
Fucking Christ. He’s unraveling at the seams.
Heading toward home, I pull up Cam’s number and hit dial. “We’ve got another problem,” I say as soon as he answers. “Wade got another email. He’s losing his shit and just tripled the pay. We’ve got to do something.”
Cam sighs, “I can try another trace. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try sending a message back.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a few.” I hang up and turn my focus back to the road. Ten minutes later, I’m stepping into Cam’s room. “Any update?”
“Got a little further. It turned into a cat-and-mouse game. Whoever this is, they’re playing.” He hesitates, dragging it out. “But I was able to send a message back this time.”
“Yeah? Maybe we will get something back, even if it’s bait.” I’m halfway to the door when his computer pings. I lean over his shoulder as the notification pops up. It’s an email.
“Umm, Sterling?” Cam says, fingers hovering over the trackpad. He opens the email.
Incoming Email:
Ghost, I know you’re watching. These sins are not yours to claim.
It is not without reason.
Leave it alone.
-Shadow
Who the fuck is this person? “Cam, how did they find us?” My mind scrambles. In the nine years I’ve been doing this, no one has ever gotten this close to figuring out who we are.
“I have no idea. I have twenty programs constantly bouncing our IP. This shouldn’t be possible.” Cam is typing furiously, trying to figure out how they knew my code name.
“Fuck!” I drag in a deep breath. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. They might have my name, not our location.”
“Well, I’m going to find the fuck out. Let you know when I have more.” Cam drops his gaze back to the screen and gets to work.
I head to the kitchen and rummage through the fridge for something to make.
Steaks are thawing on the bottom shelf. Cam must have set them out this morning.
I set them on the counter and step outside to fire up the grill.
It’s in the high sixties, probably one of the last good nights before fall sets in.
Propane stings my nose as I turn the burners on.
I close the lid and head back inside for the meat.
Grabbing my favorite seasonings, I throw together a quick blend of herbs and spices.
I chop up some potatoes to make my tinfoil cheesy cowboy potatoes.
These things are fucking delicious. Snagging a beer, I haul everything out to the grill.
Cam steps out a moment later with his own beer. “What you got going?”
“Steak and cowboy potatoes. And before you start bitching, no, I’m not burning your steak. Medium rare or medium—those are your options.” I point the tongs at him.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Sir, yes, sir.” He snaps off a mocking salute. Smartass. “I’ll take medium rare tonight. Anyway, the program results came back. They didn’t trace us. I still don’t know how they got your name.”
“Well, at least there’s that.” I pull the steaks off the grill to rest and check the potatoes.
A few minutes later, they’re done, and we settle at the patio table.
I fork up a big bite of potatoes. “God damn, these hit the spot every time.” Cam nods, cheeks puffed out with food, humming his agreement around a mouthful.
Lying down, I pull up the camera feed. Lila and Kiera are curled together on the couch, a horror movie flickering across the screen, snacks scattered within easy reach.
I grab my laptop and pull Kiera’s number from the files.
Let’s see how you react. Opening an anonymous texting app, I tap out a message and hit send.
Me: Hi, Thorn.
Kiera’s phone lights up on the camera feed. The color drains from her face like she’s seen a ghost. She glances at Lila, still cuddled with the blanket pulled up to her nose, then her fingers start to move. That’s it. Take the bait. My phone buzzes.
Kiera: How did you get this number?
Me: I have my ways.
Kiera: Leave me alone.
Me: And why would I do that?
Kiera: Because it’s creepy and unwanted.
Me: You saying you didn’t enjoy our night?
Kiera: If you call a random man cornering you,
sure, I had fun! So much fun, in fact, that I went
and got tested.
Me: Ahhhh, so you thought of me.
The typing bubble blinks in and out. I got into her head. On camera, she just stares at the phone, then tosses it to the far end of the couch without replying. I smile, firing off another short text.
Me: Goodnight, Thorn. See you soon.
Satisfied, I lock my phone and stretch out on my bed. Staring at the ceiling, my thoughts keep circling back to Kiera. You feel like mine. You just don’t know it yet. Sleep presses down heavily, dragging at my limbs, and I let my eyes slip shut.
“Mom,” I sob. “Please, why can’t you just love me?
” It never matters; anything I say goes in one ear and out the other.
She moved me to the basement when she first started trying to train ‘obedience’.
I wasn’t bad—just softer than the other kids, more sensitive—but I respected adults and listened.
Her fingers knot in my hair, and she drags me across the concrete to the tool bench against the back wall.
She yanks my foot up onto the scarred wood.
The hammer flashes in her hand, then slams down on my toes.
Nausea surges with the pain ripping through my small body.
I don’t understand why she’s doing this.
“Don’t you dare cry,” she snarls. “Since you can’t seem to understand, I have a special guest for you.
” A man stepped in— the same one who used to play catch with me in the yard.
“Mr. Watkins here was generous enough to help me out today,” she says.
“I’m going to go have a smoke. You two have fun until I get back. ” She nods at him and heads upstairs.
Mr. Watkins turns toward me. “Hello, Sterling.” His voice has a slick, hungry edge, like he's eyeing a steak instead of a kid. He stalks closer, “We’re going to play a game, just like we used to." I try to scramble back, but my shattered foot won’t push, and pain screams every time I move. He fists a hand in my hair and wrenches my head back, forcing my eyes up to his. “Don’t be scared. You’ll enjoy this.
” His other hand goes to his zipper. The nausea rises again, sharper this time, for a different reason.
I see the hammer she left on the bench, just within reach.
Fingers shaking, I snatch it and swing as hard as I can into his crotch.
He will not be touching me. Mr. Watkins’ scream rips through the basement as blood spills over his jeans.
He won't be touching anyone again. Mom comes flying back in. “What did you do?!” Her gaze darts from him, writhing on the floor, to me, and her face curdles into rage. “When will you learn? The only one who will love you is these damn walls, you stupid boy.” She clamps a hand around my arm and hauls me across the concrete to the industrial dryer, shoving me inside. The door slams, metal ringing in my ears, and then she’s gone, footsteps pounding away as she rushes him upstairs.
Tears slide down my cheeks. My broken foot is jammed beneath me, throbbing with every breath.
I don’t make a sound. If I stay quiet, maybe they will love me. Maybe Mom will.