Chapter 2 – Aster
ASTER
My routine after a kill is foolproof.
Leave no evidence.
Disappear.
Go directly home.
Lie low until morning.
It’s never been broken in the 102 bodies I’ve dropped—until tonight.
My gaze is transfixed on the mysterious stranger as she wanders down the street, pink tips of her hair wisping in the wind.
Every muscle aches to follow her, demand her name, but I’ve been distracted long enough.
Benjamin Drescal’s corpse will be found any minute, and I’d prefer not to be caught in the street with the murder weapon hidden in my pocket.
Besides, she’s a stranger. She’s not worth getting caught over.
There are only three short blocks remaining to my house, and I force my legs in that direction.
Once inside, I strip immediately, tossing my clothes in the washer—water extra hot—with an enzyme-based detergent.
A minute later, the scalding shower beats down on me.
I use a nail brush to remove any DNA that may have gotten under my fingernails, then drop it in a cup of bleach.
Lathering antibacterial soap along every inch of my body, I wince at my waist, finding a small cut where the target nicked me with a knife.
A knife that’s on my nightstand, ready to be polished clean and added to my collection.
My mind wanders back to the woman. Why was she tree climbing in the middle of the night?
It clearly wasn’t her house, or she wouldn’t have been so cagey.
Maybe she was stalking her boyfriend, or an ex.
I could make him an ex, permanently.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I finish showering and dress. My brain is groggy, and sleep calls me like a long-lost friend.
A buzz on the dresser has a curse slipping off my tongue. Did they find the body already? I’d prefer to get some rest before I go cover a crime scene I created.
Grabbing my phone, I note the caller ID. Guilt sinks in my stomach as my younger sister’s name flashes across the screen. I’ve rejected far too many of her calls lately, and if I ignore one more, she’ll send out a search party. Or worse, show up here herself.
“Annabelle,” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.
“He lives!” she coos. “I was beginning to think you’d been offed.”
“Unfortunately, you haven’t been so lucky,” I tell her, walking toward my bed.
“What a pity. I suppose I’ll still have to count on splitting the inheritance.”
“Take it,” I say gruffly, putting her on speaker and setting the phone on the mattress. “I don’t want it.” I grab Drescal’s knife off my nightstand and a polishing cloth, then situate myself on the bed against the pillows to a lounge position.
“Oh, come on,” she says as I bring the cloth to the blade, rubbing off a scuff. “Can we just joke like normal humans for two single seconds?” My hands freeze in place. Like normal humans… Well, I should probably put the knife away for starters.
“I’d never joke about that.” A pit burns in my stomach as I set the weapon in the nightstand drawer and slide it closed. “I don’t want anything to do with Dad or his money. I told him so last time I visited.”
“That was, like… two years ago. Surely, you’ve come to your senses.”
“Afraid not, Belle.”
“You’d seriously just refuse half a billion dollars?” she scoffs in disbelief.
“It’s blood money,” I remind her, forcing my own dark memories away.
“He’ll probably leave it to wife number eight anyways,” she replies, ignoring my comment.
“Or the twenty illegitimate children coming out of the woodwork for the will reading.”
She laughs, light and airy. “Oh, how I have always wanted a slew of brothers and sisters.” A pause settles between us, and her voice grows softer.
“You know I’m kidding.” It’s been so long since I’ve thought about him.
Thought about the ache he left behind. “Aster… I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have said that. I keep saying all the wrong things tonight. ”
“No,” I reassure her. “It’s okay. It’s just…”
“I know.” A beat of silence passes between us. “I miss him too. He would be proud of you, you know.”
“Unlikely.” If my older brother knew I’ve spent the last decade searching for retribution for his killer instead of living my life, he’d murder me himself.
“It’s been thirteen years,” she reminds me. As if it’s all but a distant memory. A memory that only haunts me on the low days, not every time I close my eyes to sleep. The memory that fuels me every time I take another life from someone who no longer deserves to live it.
“How’s San Francisco?” I ask, desperate to take the conversation to something more light and present-day. “Win any big cases lately?
“Oh.” Static crackles through the line. “Yeah, um, it’s been fine.”
“Fine? What’s going on, Belle?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Everything is a-okay.”
“You once told me, if a woman says she’s fine, I should already start doing damage control.”
“Yeah, that was in reference to the women you’re dating, not your sister. If I say it’s fine, it’s fine,” she says, pitch hitting soprano.
“You know you can talk to me. I’m sorry I haven’t been answering your calls. I—”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just work stuff.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.” Voices flood through the other end of the line.
“Where are you?”
“Oh, you know me, still at the office. I’ll call you next week, okay?”
Why is she being so cagey? “Okay… Love you, Belle.”
“Love you too, Ass.”
“I still hate that nickname.”
“I know.” Her laugh echoes through the line until the call drops.
By the time I fall asleep, I’ve almost been able to shake away the memories from the night Oliver died.