Chapter 17 Nicole #4
The leather of the steering wheel digs into my trembling fingers.
I didn’t want to dwell on it because it shouldn’t matter, but…
I just don’t get it. How can someone kick you out of their life without any explanation, and yet you still welcome them back with open arms?
Yes, the Black Joker is also a threat to Daria, and it’s in her best interest to team up with me—but she doesn’t have to be so nice about it.
“We were friends, and then…” I glance at her, then back at the road. “We weren’t.”
I’m hoping she’ll tell me she hates me, that I deserve to be taken by the Black Joker. Now that would be a normal reaction.
She just sighs, hand draped casually in her lap. “Five years ago, I probably would’ve reacted differently, but… Our paths separated, Niki. Life’s too short to hold grudges.”
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “It’s not that short.” The irony of those words, coming from me—the girl who might forfeit her soul in less than three weeks—is not lost on me.
My mind drifts to everything I have planned for the coming months: events on my calendar, outfits I’ve already imagined, conversations I’m eager to have. Yes, it feels like a long road lies ahead. Daria, with her meditative breathing and daily yoga routines, wouldn’t understand.
So, I say, “You’re probably right. Thank you for the invitation, but it’s better if I’m alone.
If he suspects anything… We’ve already been lucky he hasn’t appeared, and I don’t want to push it.
Besides, the contract states he guarantees my physical safety, remember?
Even if things go wrong, he won’t kill me. ”
But he might drive me to a point where I’d wish I were dead. I don’t say that part out loud. Wouldn’t want to provoke her pity.
“All right, but I’ll call you tonight to check in,” Daria says.
Something warm pierces the walls around my heart and eases my previous irritation.
I can’t remember the last time anyone said they’d call to see how I was.
The thought unsettles me until I brush it aside.
I reach into my bag, careful to avoid the knife.
“You probably don’t have my number. Give me yours, and I’ll text you so you have it. ”
We exchange numbers. Then she climbs out of the car. Before closing the door, she leans down and smiles, though worry fills her eyes. “Promise you’ll keep me posted.”
For the first time in years, my past doesn’t stir that familiar knot of dread in my stomach.
Instead, memories surface. Late-night phone calls with Daria, sleepovers, the incredible desserts her mother used to make, the way we laughed at her father’s snoring…
“Of course. And send my regards to your parents.”
Her expression dims in the space of a heartbeat. She pauses for a beat, then says, “My parents are gone, Nicole.”
The ground tilts beneath me. “They… passed away?”
Daria nods, her attention drifting to the road. “By the time they found the cancer in my mom, it was too late. The stress from work had taken its toll. And my dad… well, you remember he was older. His heart gave out after she died.”
Awkward silence settles between us. My chest heaves with guilt and sympathy. I never asked. Never cared enough to find out what happened to her after our friendship crumbled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
Daria shrugs. “There was no way you could’ve. It’s not like we kept in touch. Anyway. Life goes on. I’ve learned not to take time for granted and to only do things that genuinely bring me joy.”
“And your sister?” I whisper.
Her lips curve into a smile. “She married a Spaniard. Lives in Barcelona with her husband and their two kids.”
At least her sister is well. I can’t think of anything else to say.
“Call me,” Daria says again.
I press the accelerator and try not to glance in the rearview mirror as I drive away. But my eyes betray me, of course they do. Damn it. She’s standing at the curb, watching my car disappear.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Daria has lost her family, and yet she still manages to smile. Am I really stronger than her when all I can offer is a hollow “I’m sorry”?
Damn it. Pull yourself together. What happened to her parents isn’t my problem. Strong characters don’t break down from emotion. Strong people don’t crack. Weakness is a weapon others can wield against you.
Still, I can’t help but wonder—back then, at school, was Daria really weak? Her way of dealing with the bullies was silence. She’d stand there, head bowed, enduring their taunts without fighting back. Eventually, they’d get bored and move on. She outsmarted them by not fighting.
But that was never enough for me. I couldn’t lower my head or wait until they were tired of tormenting me.
I dreamed of pouring gasoline all over them and looking in their eyes as I struck the match. Let them see it coming. Let them know they were burning because I lit the fire.
That last thought pulls my attention to the handbag wedged between me and the door. I’m preparing to commit murder. Pierce the flesh of a real, living man. Yes, a man who’s been stalking me, but…
I check the rearview mirror, half-expecting his shadow to appear behind me. But instead of him—or the road—I keep seeing Daria, standing by the curb, watching me drive off. Daria, who has been through so much in these past years.
If I somehow survive the Black Joker’s three trials, what guarantee do I have that Daria will survive hers?
A shudder runs through me. I grip the wheel. He’s a predator. And predators don’t stop. Not until someone stops them. That someone has to be me.
For Angelina. For… Daria.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. Where should I do it?
If I continue down this road, I’ll eventually reach home.
My room is no place for a murder. The mess alone…
I don’t want to have to clean it up—let alone explain what happened to my parents.
Then again…Would my father be angry if he found a corpse on the carpet? Or would he congratulate me?
As I consider other possible locations, I remember the fields along the road to Bankya. Far off, yet not too far, a small forest rises beyond the curve. If I could summon Gaetano there…
My thighs clench as flashes from the previous night resurface, and fury rises in my chest. For a brief, shameful moment, I’d imagined he was jealous because I’d gone out with another man…and I wanted that jealousy. Craved him to make good on every dark promise he whispered.
And then what? I would have offered him not just my soul, but my body, too. Not happening.
One thing is certain: either I destroy the Black Joker, or he destroys me.