Chapter 5 Indie
Indie
Dark Horse - Katy Perry, Juicy J
“Goooood morning, sunshine!”
I groan as the unnecessary high-pitched voice wrenches me from my slumber, grating through me like nails on a chalkboard.
Blinding white light bleeds into my bedroom as Regina whips open my curtains.
“You know, my gun is only an arm’s length away. And it’s loaded.” I unwillingly force one eye open, watching my best friend act like a fairy godmother as she rearranges my bedroom, picking up clothes and folding them back into the drawers.
I love Regina to death, would give my life for hers.
But Jesus fuck.
She’s so energised this morning. I don’t know what the hell she’s ingested.
Then it hits me.
“Is it?”
“You bet your sweet ass it is.” She throws a winter jacket over my head whilst leaving my bedroom. “Come on, Morticia. Let’s go make a snowman.”
Satan, if you’re listening, I’m ready to come home now.
I reluctantly peel myself off my bed, padding through to the bathroom for a shower and to embrace the day. I let the heat of the water seep deep into my bones, washing away the last remaining layer of my double life.
It can sometimes take days for me to switch completely off. It’s strange being a vigilante killer.
I don’t enforce the law; I’m righting a wrong.
Wouldn’t say I’m even a serial killer—don’t get the itch when it’s been a while.
I simply sleep a little easier knowing I’ve provided someone with a chance Regina and I were never offered. One we would have grabbed with both hands during those early days.
I crave the peace it will eventually give me when it’s our turn.
I’m able to disassociate from my job and reality. But it’s the latter that got me in this work in the first place.
There are people who walk freely in the streets, with more power than one human should be allowed to wield, when their hands are filthy with crimes against the innocent.
Who think they’re above the law, and they heart-wrenchingly are.
I’m not sure what kind of sacrifice some of them made, but it granted them immunity somehow.
It’s something rooted in the secret society of the Sumus members.
The two individuals responsible for our way of life might have dipped beneath our radar the last couple months, but we sure as hell make sure there’s fewer like them in this state.
We’re just waiting for the moment their heads rise above the sand again.
And they will. They thrive flexing their power in the public eye.
We watched them walk free as if nothing ever happened.
Once I’m fully kitted as if I’m ready for a weekend in the French Alps, I find Regina outside. She’s already begun assembling the base of her creation. Her hair peeks out against her white coat, wisps of it blowing free beneath her beanie hat.
The urge to throw a snowball is so tempting, and I lean down and take advantage of her distraction.
“Don’t even think about it,” she calls behind her.
I swear, the girl either has eyes on the back of her head, or she’s got the same sixth sense I’ve adapted.
My laugh follows me into the backyard. “Your little pompom was swaying about, screaming for me to hit it like a bullseye.”
I lean down to gather snow in my hands, and her green eyes narrow on me.
“I’d shove this down your pants quicker than you could say Hail Mary.”
The moment serves me well. I shove the snow in her face, cackling as I make a run for it.
“You’re fucking dead, Indie Kent!” she splutters, spitting out snow as she aggressively forms snowballs in her pink-gloved hands.
After twenty minutes chasing each other like a pair of school kids—the entire backyard no longer coated with white—we call it quits.
I’m shamefully breathless by the time we reach the porch, kicking my boots against the back door.
“You think the neighbours will no longer be suspicious of our late-night activities? Maybe just think we’re a pair of overgrown kids?” I ask her, watching her dust the flakes off herself.
“Speaking of which. Old Billy asked me where the hell we snuck off to the other night.”
I freeze, searching her eyes, but they’re full of amusement.
“Going by the questions and utter judgement that dripped off his face, I think he assumes you and I are into sex work.”
A cackle bursts from my throat. “Really?”
She nods, a wry smile edging her lips. “So I played the nosey old bastard like a fiddle. Told him to go educate himself and stop being whoreaphobic. I might have also added that you were paid handsomely for your services.”
We do most of our work when the rest of the world is sleeping. It’s textbook assassin of course.
The deepest part of the internet provides us with that lucrative information.
It’s not like we head out in the dead of the night in ski masks and armed to the teeth; we put them on in the car.
Plus from October to March, Kingstone gets dark earlier, which is when we usually take down our marks.
We live in a civilised neighbourhood; most of the homes around us are families.
Billy’s the exception.
“Oh great, can’t wait for him to spear the inners out of me on that one.” I laugh. I couldn’t care if he judges me for it; it’s better than him calling the cops for the truth.
Once my limbs are no longer tingling with numbness, Regina and I head to the gym for our daily session. We spend two hours sparring and drilling down our techniques.
My dad began teaching me different martial arts at the age of six; it was mostly the basics and pre-arts due to my age. Then when I was around fourteen, he upped the training. I’d often drag Regina and Jenna along to the sessions in the backyard.
And when we were twenty-two, full of grief and a rage we couldn’t find an outlet to, we began taking professional classes to get more serious.
And it helped, to an extent.
Some things just live with you forever.
“You know, this much activity in one day isn’t good for someone who spends at least eight hours a day at a desk, never mind you making me fucking run yesterday,” Regina whines, stretching herself on the mat during our cooldown.
“Actually, it’s probably the best thing for you. You’re gonna end up with a fucked-up spine.”
Even when we’re not working, Regina is scheming in her room.
Her setup would make the government nervous. I’ve never seen so many flashing lights and screens in one place my entire life.
“Speak for yourself, The Bride. My spine is perfectly straight thanks to those employee modules on health and safety.” She beams before leaning forward to touch her toes.
I mirror her movement. “Right, the online package that costs twenty thousand dollars, and all our staff work from home, probably sitting on the sofa all day.”
The downside to running a company that doesn’t really do what you want it to?
The legal side.
Regina laughs as we help each other off the floor, making our way towards the changing rooms. “I’m sure I could obtain something cheaper…” Her voice trails off, and I turn to see her a couple steps behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my gaze following her line of sight.
I scan the long row of cross trainers, up towards the ceiling holding a collection of suspended TVs across the gym.
A news reporter is on the screen, the subtitles scattering across the bottom as it brings in breaking news.
“Clarke White, CEO of White’s Psychiatry Research Development, the world-leading branch on revolutionary psychology methods, has been reported dead this afternoon.
It’s stated that he was found by his wife in the early hours of this morning.
Mr White passed away peacefully at his home after a short illness, a battle he had supposedly been dealing with privately. ”
The news reporter’s voice drones out, and I stare at Regina as the silence churns between us.
My pulse roars in my ears, static replacing the surrounding chatter.
Eventually, we manage to snap out of it, slowly continuing our walk to the other side of the gym floor.
“Oh fuck,” she eventually jokes, but her laugh is as nervous as I feel.
I subtly pull her aside to the water fountain.
“Did you hear what they said?” I keep my voice low, but I know my eyes are wide and wild. The only illness that man had was in his psyche.
Clarke was the man I killed last night; he was a piece of absolute shit.
No loss to anybody.
He was our latest mark from the list for the Sumus society.
He was in the year above them at university.
When we looked at his file against the police records, we only used the dates of his graduation, and the one his wife provided.
The latter was a domestic disturbance logged but never filed completely through.
When we contacted his wife, she told us it happened repeatedly over their seven-year marriage.
She’d lash out, he’d drug her.
She’d been suspicious he was hiding something, and to keep her quiet, he forced her to be unconscious.
When she tried to file for divorce, he started a smear campaign against her.
Not a single lawyer in the state would take on her case.
When she’d finally realised she couldn’t live like this, she tried to report it to the police, and that’s where the case we found showed it was marked closed.
The last straw was when she needed an overnight stay in the hospital.
Regina visibly swallows. “Clarify to me how you left the body again?”
“A home invasion gone wrong,” I grit through my teeth.
Or in my terms, I murdered him and covered it up perfectly.
When I decide to go through with these kills, it’s easy to want to simply execute them on the spot. But that draws too many questions.
Was this an old enemy?
Who could have hated them so much to do this?
Was this targeted?
I switch it up between home invasions and masking it as them taking their own lives.
The Sumus members have hidden their misdeeds well. We haven’t been able to dig up dirt apart from the police files, and I’ve made sure none of their deaths would spark interest in being connected.
All spread out, all different.