Chapter 31
“I’m ready.”
The last forty years were spent in fear; fear of what my purpose would be after Callen was gone, or if I was even strong enough to face him again. What if I stood toe-to-toe with my murderer and he turned me back into the small, broken girl I’d been in life?
My fists clenched of their own volition as a blanket of serene purpose enveloped my resolve.
“You are worthy of choice,” I murmured to myself.
“You are worthy of bloody, other-worldly revenge. And,” I shrugged as I stashed the last few favorites into my kill kit.
“Lucifer is likely worthy of an apology.” I exhaled while patting my pockets and scanning the room, making sure I had all of the necessities.
“Got my bag packed, my shoes tied tight. I think I’m ready.
” My two frozen surprises I’d pulled from the freezer were already starting to sweat through my bag, so it was time to fucking go.
Jesus jumped up onto the entryway table, perched, and swished his tail with the most judgmental stare possible.
“Better not fuck it up,” I growled in my best Jesus the cat impression.
“Thanks for your vote of confidence, bud.”
I snagged the last Rice Christy treat off the counter, crammed it in my mouth, and set out the front door, only realizing I wasn’t alone after I tripped and fell down the first short flight of stairs.
Jesus hissed under foot and smacked my head.
“What in Moses’ name are you doing?” I screeched at the angry ball of stupidity. “I can’t take you to a crime scene. What kind of parent would that make me?” My vision was a little wonky as I stood, but it straightened out fast.
Unsurprisingly, Jesus didn’t answer.
“Fucks sake,” I sighed and threw my hands up. “Fine. You can go, but you’re walking. I will not be carrying your hefty ass.”
***
I knew that Callen wasn’t home before I slipped through the back door of his ridiculous house, just like I knew his wife would be tucked away in her silk gown before I covered her mouth and slit her throat.
“You knew,” I snarled above her choked gurgles, my hand still firmly in place as I stared into her eyes. “Filthy and weak.” I snagged the Bible off of her night stand with a bloody palm and tossed it onto her chest. “I look forward to seeing you in hell.”
Their perfectly curated house was immaculate. I went searching through each room, soaking in every detail about Callen’s life that I could find. So far, it had proven fruitless. Everything was as fake and put on display as he was.
Not that it was surprising. Sociopaths don’t have identities. They spend their lives as chameleons, systematically adapting to any situation or relationship that benefited their narcissistic ambitions.
Down the hall from the master bedroom, I opened a door to find the remnants of a boy’s bedroom. It was dressed with simple furniture and organized in such a tidy manner, like it’d been waiting all of this time for its owner to come home.
I stepped in, intrigued to think that their children still kept a bedroom. My previous research on the Whitcomb family revealed that they had exactly two children: Joe, the oldest, and Rose, the porcelain, angelic doll.
Three wall length shelves were stacked with what had to be at least 100 different trophies, metals, certificates of recognition, and numerous kinds of school awards.
Joe’s name was on each of them. Joseph, actually.
Much like Joe’s house, there was no dust to be found. Even on the trophies that had to have been sitting there for at least fifteen years or more.
My smile dipped with a touch of sadness as I walked over to the vanity and found a collage of photos lining the mirror.
Joe’s handsome face was featured in all of them, surrounded by groups of laughing friends, his arm hanging off the shoulders of beautiful girls, and the innocence of youth still written in the lines of his face.
Then, the photo in the only picture frame sitting on the desk caught my eye. Sickness accompanied my sneer as a haunted looking Damien stared back at me. His skin was as dull as his eyes, and he looked at least ten years older than would have been.
Memories of his blood painting my face as I stared at myself in the mirror flooded across my brain. He’d been the first to die after Lucifer pulled me back from the brink.
Killing Callen’s younger brother, Damien, had taken that first sliver of humanity away from me. I knew he wasn’t sick like Callen, but it didn’t stop weakness from prevailing, from letting the sickness spread within and leaving room for evil to take root.
It made me wonder if Joe had been born this way, or an unfortunate victim groomed by evil like his uncle.
Not that it mattered. They chose their paths just as I chose mine, and there were consequences waiting for each of us at the end of the line.
With one last glance, I turned to leave the room, letting the door click softly behind as I closed the door to Joe’s childhood forever.
For the first time since I’d started this hellbent mission tonight, nerves bubbled like champagne in my belly.
Tonight was the night I paid off my debt to Satan.
I’d been staring down this road for thirty years. There had been times I’d driven the speed limit. There had also been times I’d barreled down the center line watching the world blur past me. For a while, though I’d been broken down on the shoulder and waiting for someone to come fix me.
I’d lost sight of the direction I was meant to travel and forgotten who was supposed to be in the driver seat.
That all ended tonight.
Callen left me at a crossroads, and Joe made sure to bury my bones. They were about to find out that they’d called forth a fucking demon.