Chapter 32
I. Went. Apeshit.
The Louisville slugger quintessential to my kill kit had left its mark on nearly every room in Callen's house, and nothing was off limits.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Callen,” I said as I flipped the master bedroom light switch. “ I need to use the bathroom. Is yours available?”
She laid in a halo of red on her white silk sheets, the Bible still clutched in her cold dead hands.
“Sure, Dany," I mocked with a grin. “Don't mind the bajillion dollar makeup mess on my side of the vanity.”
“Don’t worry Mrs. C. See no evil and all of that junk.”
The bat twirled in my fingers as I sauntered toward the open bathroom door. I wasn't surprised to see a magazine worthy space as I stepped over the threshold. Still it pissed me off.
“Do you think having real marble vanity counters makes their shits fancier or something?” Jesus meowed confirmation as he promptly made a perch out of it.
I caught my reflection in the mirror just as the opening beats of my favorite Hall and Oats song played through a speaker hanging from my skirt’s belt loop.
With my signature crazed smile looking back at me, I yelled “Oh, it is fucking on!”
The mirror shattered, it crashed echoing off the walls as the bat made contact. My arms shook from the reverberation, and I welcomed the ache.
I wrecked every mirror, the shower glass, windows, drywall, even the perfectly grouted tile decorating the floor, like a whirlwind of destruction.
“Oh, here she comes,” I hummed as I skipped out the bedroom door, throwing, “Thanks Mrs. C! I feel a lot better!” over my shoulder as I went.
The upper level was thoroughly fucked up, so I made my way down the stairs, dancing up and down like Baby from Dirty Dancing until I hit the landing. There was something about murder and destruction that made me feel sexy as hell.
Maybe Lucifer thought so, too. The thought made me blush, and excited to see his reaction for my bloody grand gesture. I wouldn’t be holding a boom box, but I was pretty sure he’d like my setup better anyway.
A family photo of the Whitcomb household was mounted on the wall across from the steps. Four pairs of dead eyes stared back at me. If I didn't hate them all so much, I might have felt a little sorry for them.
I lifted the butt of the bat up to my mouth and pulled the trigger of my finger gun aimed at Joe's head as I sang, “Oh the beauty is there, but a beast is in the heart.”
My next destination was my favorite room in any house: the kitchen.
“Let's see what their last supper was shall we? No pun intended, Jesus!” I hollered, unsure where the shithead was but sure he was close behind. He would never miss a chance to snack.
The cabinets were lacking any sort of canned goods from the grocery store. Instead, there were rows of preserved fruits and vegetables, likely from the farmers market.
Did I know that for sure? Nope. But they seemed like the sort to give a shit
“Actually,” I continued my thought out loud. “They probably have a private chef who does it all for them. That honestly makes me hate them more Jesus so I’m gonna go with that.”
I promptly knocked every stupid jar off the shelf, saving only a few to turn around and throw at the kitchen wall.
Next was the refrigerator where Jesus claimed a leftover rotisserie chicken carcass and scattered away like a starved, growling hellcat.
I vacated my snack efforts and opened the appliance garage that only narcissistic rich people had. For a split second I debated stealing them to resell on eBay, but, in the end my own narcissism got the best of me.
Nothing survived.
Nothing except…
“Hells yes!”
Mounted at the end of the recessed counter was the homebase to a surround sound system that I’d only ever dreamed of owning. It could link to up to 10 Bluetooth speakers that had a crazy range.
It only took a matter of seconds to get my phone connected and blasting my favorite 80s hits throughout the house
“Pretty tech savvy for a dead girl, eh Jesus? And will work perfect for my inevitable, dramatic rage fueled murder.”
I was antsy just thinking about it. When I saw Callen’s face, I wanted to savor the kill.
I wanted to torture him by telling him how I’d killed his son, make him feel helpless as he watched Joe die through my words, and then spin hours keeping him on the brink of death until he begged to cross that line.
And even then I wouldn’t give it to him.
Fueled by the anticipation of bloodlust, I checked the GPS tracker Barb had downloaded on my phone to check Callen’s status.
I’d taken a risk by coming to his house after my murder spree.
There was no way of knowing if Callen would come back to this house.
It was the only thing that made sense though.
There was nothing decent or human inside of Callen, and he would be on edge about discovery.
The only emotion sociopaths like him were capable of was paranoia and the chaotic, explosive rage that followed.
The sort of mess at the shipping yard would draw considerable attention.
Certainly local, and likely national. I’ve been sadistic enough to bring in agencies like the FBI, and they were really good at sniffing out people like Callan.
His whole world would be crumbling, and I couldn’t wait to play with the pieces.
***
The downstairs was thoroughly wrecked. The lights were off. The scene, set.
I sat in the one chair I hadn’t run a knife through, phone open, and in my lap, tracking the two dots that were pulling into the driveway.
A shiver crawled over my skin. The purpose of my afterlife was a mere minute away, and my nerves were in a frenzy.
I didn’t know what life looked like after Callen’s death. What I didn’t know, though, was that I was ready to find out.
The mechanical whir of the garage door vibrated the air and changed to a home as Callen’s SUV pulled inside.
I took one deep, studying breath and navigated to my music app as I exhaled.
Eddie Money stared at me through a sepia filter from his epic Can’t Hold Back album. My thumb hovered over the song that had both defined and controlled the last thirty years of my life.
I heard muffled voices getting closer to the interior garage door, and so I pushed play. The first musical chords of Take Me Home Tonight drifted through the speakers.
This is it, I thought. Tonight is the night you take your power back.
The door opened, and I laughed offhandedly, because even the doors were too perfect to make a sound.
“I can’t believe you let this happen,” growled Callen. The door slammed clothes behind him and keys clanged against the countertop as he discarded them in a frenzy. “The police are going to—”
He stopped short, and even the Earth stopped turning as it held its breath.
“Who the fuck is there?” Calen called, his voice firm and commanding. “Stacy?”
My hands trembled as I replied, “Sorry, Stacy is unavailable right now. Can I take a message?”
Callen startled, his head swiveling toward the darkened corner of the room where I sat waiting. His eyes never blinked as he fumbled toward one of the drawers and pulled out a kitchen knife alongside the pistol holstered on his hip.
“I will shoot you,” he said, more calm and collected than any normal human being would have been during a home invasion.
“How about we use the knife during foreplay and save the gun for the real thing?” I called out. “I’m kind of into double penetration.”
I stood up from the chair, dragging the bat behind me as I slowly walked toward the light.
“What the hell is this?” Callen ground out. As I came into the light, though, he froze, all color draining from his face as that evil brain of his began sorting the next step.
He recognized me from tonight, but I was ready for him to recognize me from my Death Day.
“The funny thing, Cal, is that you know me.”
“Listen bitch,” said Callen. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I don’t have any goddamn time for your bullshit. So why don’t you take your little splinter and leave, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
“The name’s Dany, not bitch.”
Callen got a single shot off before my bat redesigned his kneecaps and sent him buckling to the floor.
I kicked the gun out of his hand, picked it up, and pointed the bat at his head.
Stupid, stupid boy.
“What the fuck?” He yelled as his body slumped. “Are you fucking crazy?”
“Yes,“ I answered emphatically. “Anything else you’d like to know before we begin?”
“Begin what, you fucking cunt?”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Callen, but flirting won’t get you out of this one.”
This time when I swung the bat, I knocked his fucking lights out.