16. Scarlett
SIXTEEN
SCARLETT
"We've been going over these files for hours, Scarlett.
Maybe we need to take a break?" Jasper questions, his sapphire eyes watching my every move.
There's an intensity radiating off him now, since our interaction in the car, that wasn't there before.
It almost feels like possessiveness, but that can't be accurate, right?
I'm allowing my emotions to interfere, and steal my focus, and that has to stop.
I stare up at the board in front of us, the one now labeled with each of our victims, and all the gritty details we've been able to discover about them since deep-diving into their actions before their murders.
Like the fact that Simon, our eighth victim, had a rape charge dismissed two years ago when the victim suddenly withdrew the charge, or the fact that George Weston has settled a lawsuit out of the prying eyes of the public, for suspected child abuse over five years ago.
I have no doubt now that there will be commonality amongst the rest of them; we just have to find what it is.
My hunch was right, and it both brings me a sense of elation and dismay at realizing these men hurt women and children, and Ashmaker is out here serving the justice that failed them.
It almost makes me want to delay finding him, and allowing him to rid the world of more of these monsters.
As a member of law enforcement, I know that's wrong.
No one is above the law, and vigilante justice shouldn't be condoned.
Yet in the same token, I know how many of these cases go, and the victims rarely see justice under our current system, and more often than not, the predators get away with just a slap on the wrist, if anything at all.
The unfairness of it has always been a driving force for why I went into law enforcement, especially after my own lived experiences. I want to ensure the victims have someone on their side who would move heaven and earth to get them the justice they deserve.
"What a pretty girl you are, all that dark hair. Don't you want to make your new daddy happy, girlie? Come here and sit on my lap."
The memory breaks through all the barriers I've spent years erecting.
I'm instantly back in the damp, dingy sitting room, with the peeling wallpaper, cloying cigarette smoke, and the smell of cat urine mixed with desperation.
Beads of sweat trail down my young neck as I quickly back myself into a corner to avoid touching him, yet I know it's no use, it never is.
All the foster homes have been the same, except for one, and she was a different type of monster.
You would think I was used to it by now, but how does one get used to living in hell?
My panicked eyes search for a way out, for anything that I can use to stop him, but I come up blank. "Stay... stay away from me!" I croak, tears slipping down my face as my chest tightens with panic.
"Now is that any way to talk to your new father, girl?
! If it wasn't for my generosity, you'd be out on the fucking street like the worthless rat you are.
" His ruddy, sweaty face darkens to a deep maroon with anger as his beady, green eyes narrow.
I take in all the nasty stains on his shirt, and the stench of his sweat fills my nostrils, until I can't take a clean breath of air that isn't filled with him.
I watch with apprehension as he reaches for his brown leather belt, his meaty fingers unthreading it from his pants with unhurried momentum.
He knows I have nowhere to go, and no way of escaping him.
"You should be thanking me for taking you in, and I have the perfect way you can do that. "
"Please..." I beg in desperation, my voice breaking with the sobs that threaten to choke me.
His smirk is dark and filled with malice as he takes a step closer to me.
Great shuddering gasps begin to wrack through my frame, as I try to make myself as small a target as possible, when the belt lashes through the air and lands on my exposed skin.
The pain is instant and sharp, as my skin heats, turning my arm red.
I grit my teeth, balling my hands into fists and wishing, not for the first time, that I was stronger and braver.
That somehow I could fight back. Maybe if I were a boy, things would be different.
Then I wouldn't constantly be the target in all of these foster homes.
The belt sails through the air again, this time catching me in the shoulder, and I can't swallow the scream as it's ripped out of me. He doesn't hesitate with the next lash, and I feel my control over my bladder releasing, and wetness beneath me, soaking my legs. "No! Please! Stop!"
"Dirty fucking whore! Look at the mess you've made! You'll pay for that!" He reaches forward and grabs a fistful of my dark, tangled hair, dragging me toward him, as I scramble not to slip in the mess I've made. "Clean that fucking up! Strip and use your dress!"
"Please..." I beg, but I know it's useless. He won't let me go until I obey him, and this won't end unless he gets what he wants from me. It's always a lose-lose battle, and all it ever does is add to the pain and nightmares that plague me.
Go to your happy place, my mind whispers. It will be over quicker if you just do what he wants.
I can't... I won't.
There's no escape from this, Scarlett. You just have to survive.
The corner table catches my eye, a plume of smoke rising from an abandoned cigarette, and I wonder if he's going to use that to burn me, like my last foster mother.
I reach for the hem of my wet, threadbare dress and pull it off me, my skin instantly prickling with goosebumps.
I clutch it in my small, weak hands, still trying to hide my nakedness, as I glance with terror at him from the corner of my eye.
He's breathing heavily now, his chest and protruding belly rising and falling with intensity.
Furious rage wells inside of me, wishing that he would just stop breathing, fall over, and die.
Even if that happened, I know that it would be nothing more than a momentary reprieve in my miserable life, and I would just be shuffled to the next house, maybe even somewhere worse than here.
At least at this one, there are other kids, even if they mostly ignore me, and whisper to each other behind their hands.
"Clean the floor, girlie!" He demands, his heavy-booted foot kicking out and slamming into my leg.
Tears flow faster down my face, my hands trembling as I turn my back to him, hoping to keep even a minuscule amount of my modesty intact, as I use my dress to wipe my pee-stained legs and the floor below.
The move must anger him further, because I get a booted foot to the middle of my back that makes me fall forward into the urine.
"Stupid whore, thinking she can deny me. "
He's on me in the next instant, his hairy arm wrapping around my chest, attempting to lift me off the ground and press my body flush against his.
I can feel his disgusting penis pressing into my lower back, as his other hand attempts to rip my wet underwear down my legs.
I fight him with everything I have. Biting every part of his arm I can reach, kicking, scratching, and snarling, and it causes his momentum to falter.
He shifts backward, my weight putting him off center, and I use the opportunity of his disorientation to headbutt him hard.
He stumbles into the side table, its contents crashing to the ground, including the lit cigarette, which rolls out of sight.
He releases me for a brief second, and I've just regained my feet when he catches me by the hair again, and forces me to halt my movements. "ENOUGH!" His fist connects with the side of my face, and I crumple to the floor, white spots appearing before my eyes, and darkness threatening to take me.
No! Stay awake! You have to stay awake, Scarlett, the voice inside me screams, but my head spins, and the taste of warm pennies fills my mouth.
"We could have done this the easy way, but now, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
" His foot lands on my thigh, crushing me below his weight into the dirty floor.
A scream tears from me, and the pain helps to push back the darkness rapidly accosting me.
A movement from the doorway catches my eye, just a streak of blinding white, and then it's gone. I'm not even sure if I actually saw it.
He drags me towards the recliner in the corner by my hair, walking me like a dog on a leash.
My body's movement is filled with pain and nausea, as I attempt not to faceplant.
Just before we reach the chair, and he plops himself heavily down with a groan, I realize his cigarette from the overturned table has made its way to the edge of the dirty curtains pooling on the ground, and a wisp of smoke is beginning to emanate from them.
He seems completely unaware of what's happening behind him.
His attention is now entirely on trying to hurt me.
My sight becomes utterly focused on that curtain, even though I can hear the sound of his zipper, and the groan he releases.
His grip on my hair tries to force my face closer to his lap, but I use the last bit of strength I have left to resist. I can't seem to pry my eyes away from the bright orange, red, and blue flames that are eating up the fabric.
The flames seem to writhe and dance, and they are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I'm so focused on them that I stop fighting him, and he manages to get the tip of his penis inside my mouth, before I regain my senses and bite down hard.
"FUCK! STUPID BITCH!" He pounds his fist into my face, and blood instantly spurts from my nose as he pushes me away from him. Something inside of me makes me grin back at him, blood coating my teeth and mouth, as I scramble on my hands and knees away from him.
The fire lashes out like a trapped beast, roaring to life and making it up the side of the wall to the ceiling, only to devour everything in its path.
He finally realizes and shouts, trying to use a discarded blanket to put it out.
An acrid wave of heat sears into my lungs, and has sweat beading on my flesh, as the embers leave a choking trail in their wake.
Fire alarms are screeching through the house, and I can hear the distant sounds of feet running and slamming doors.
Good, they are all escaping. I'm giving them a chance at freedom from this monster.
My gaze slides down his body, seeing the front of his open pants, and his cock hanging limply and abandoned between the folds.
The darkness threatens me again, but this time it's different; it's all-consuming, and intimately wrapped in rage.
I quickly search for something, anything to hit him with, but other than a few small items, nothing is going to make a real impact.
I'm about to give up when a small voice breaks through my panic, and I turn to stare to the side.
A small child who can't be more than four or five, with almost white blond hair, stares back at me calmly with the largest gray eyes I have ever seen.
He swipes at his snotty nose with the back of his hand, and trembles in the doorway in just a t-shirt that is two sizes too long for him, and bare feet.
Even from where I'm standing, transfixed, the fire heating my flesh, I can see the red welts on his legs and neck.
"Here!" He screams, and I realize he's holding a wooden rolling pin, the kind you use for baking, in his trembling, skinny arms.
I don't stop to think about what I'm going to do next. I grab the rolling pin from him and push him back toward the front door. "Go, get out before the fire spreads." He hesitates for a brief moment before running off, and I turn back to my foster father.
He's still too preoccupied with attempting to put out the fire, and doesn't see me coming up behind him, or swinging the rolling pin at the back of his head.
It makes a sickening sound, and at first, I don't believe I've hit him hard enough.
He stumbles forward with a cry, and turns to glance at me over his shoulder, dropping the burning blanket.
Fuck, what do I do now? I swing again, this time catching him on the shoulder, and he sways and falls to his knees, the fire blazing mere inches away from him.
"Please..." he groans, and the sound of the word is my undoing.
I swing again, hitting him awkwardly on the side of the head, before dropping the rolling pin and escaping out the door without a glance.
"SCARLETT! WHAT THE FUCK!" Jasper shakes me so hard my teeth rattle, and I'm pulled out of the terrifying memory. I stare up into his deep blue eyes, filled with concern, his skin pale as if he's seen a ghost. "What the hell just happened to you? It was like you were in some sort of trance."
I force the scream down and gulp huge, ragged breaths, trying to dispel the feelings of long ago that still terrorize me whenever I think about that moment in time.
It's been so long since I had one of those nightmares, and I've never had one while awake.
"I'm... I'm sorry," I croak, but that's when I realize what I'm holding in my shaking hand.
"Put the gun down, Scarlett, slowly," Jasper demands firmly, but I can see the fear in his eyes and the strain on his face. I instantly place my gun beside me on the table, and take hasty steps away from it, shock racing through my limbs and making me tremble.
"I... I don't know... what just happened," I admit as I slide down the wall and cradle my legs tightly. I try to take a deep breath, but it's as if I'm breathing through a straw, and I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
He darts forward, grabs the gun, and quickly shoves it into the back waistband of his pants, before crouching on the floor a few feet away from me.
I notice that he doesn't make any attempt to touch me, and I'm grateful for the small mercy.
I meet his gaze, a warm tear sliding from the corner of my eye, and making its way down my face.
"It's going to be okay, Scarlett. It's all the stress of this case.
It's getting to us. I promise it will all be okay. "
His words should reassure me, and maybe in another lifetime they would, but right now, from where I am sitting, realizing that I could have shot him while I was in a blackout, I don't believe him. Something is very wrong with me, and I don't think it's just the stress of this case.
A shard of the memory tries to resurface, a flash of white, but before I can make heads or tails of it, it's gone, and all I'm left with is the shock of what I've done, and Jasper staring back at me like I'm some exotic animal he's never seen before.
"I don't know what's wrong with me."