Chapter 3 – Lily #2
The scales have been balanced, and I’m 500 bucks closer to paying my portion of the bills. In the beginning I felt guilty for commercializing this business. Making a profit off desperate, angry people who’d do just about anything for some payback. Anything but get their own hands dirty, that is.
People need my help, and I’m eager to give it.
It’s my big “screw you” to the universe for taking Violet and letting that psychopath get away with it.
But as the money started flowing in, the guilt faded away more and more.
Day by day. Dollar by dollar. Or crypto by crypto, if we’re being technical.
And there are plenty of people with disposable cash just dying for some revenge.
I’m not rich by any means. Cleosville is one of the most expensive cities on the East Coast, and when Liam, Violet, and I decided to move here from Florida after she inherited the house from her grandma—with a hefty mortgage, I might add—we were splitting the bills three ways.
If we hadn’t moved here, she’d still be alive.
With her gone, it’s a lot harder to keep up, but losing or selling the house is not an option.
It’s her place. Our place. And I’m not ready to let it go.
Closing my eyes, I take a calming breath. Blaming myself is not going to help find her. That’s the problem with our society these days: people spend so much time pointing fingers, they forget about the actual crime.
My eyes fall to the monarch and domino tattoo on my arm. A reminder not to get stuck on the butterfly effect of it all. That you can change as many outcomes of a situation as you want and still end in the same place.
It’s like those old Choose Your Own Adventure books Violet and I read. Many times, it didn’t matter how many choices we made, it ended up the same way.
On my laptop, I decrypt the admin portal to sort through the most recent requests.
Karma Request #2472
Crime: Took a girl on a first date. Spent $300 on dinner and she wouldn’t even kiss me at the end
Evidence: (1) image of receipt,(6) screenshots
Preferred Punishment: Flirt with her on Tinder, then ghost her. Do it five times with different accounts.
Payment Offered: $250
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
While crime may be “down” in Cleosville, the number of fuckboys who deserve itching powder in their underwear drawer is infinite. A blood vessel threatens to pop on my forehead as my face twists. Why are men the way they are?
Karma should be fulfilled on this guy for being such a misogynistic douche. I flag the request in case I’m ever feeling petty and have time to do an IP search.
Next! I shout in my head, pretending I’m on an old MTV show set and these requests are the awaiting contestants.
Karma Request #2473
Crime: My roommate keeps stealing my food
Evidence: (10) photos
Preferred Punishment: Every Thursday they eat dinner at the Rusty Crab on 43rd Street. Put a laxative in their meal.
Payment Offered: $50
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
While this is highly relatable—and I may have had a fantasy or five of committing the same punishment on Liam for stealing my leftover tiramisu last week—it feels like an extreme overreaction, and certainly worth more than fifty bucks.
I let my eyes wander around the coffee shop, willing a better option into the universe.
A few tables away, I spot an abandoned paper from our local media outlet, Solarium News, and I head to retrieve it.
I may not get paid for self-chosen karmas, but at least I get satisfaction of knowing I’m actually helping.
It’s been two days since I completed the last request, and I’m itching for more retribution.
After plopping back in my seat, I unfold it, and my gaze snags on the front-page headline.
Every hair on my body stands, a chill scattering down my spine as I bolt forward in my seat, forcing the chair legs to screech against the linoleum.
The entire room spins on its axis. Did Liam lie the other night? Mugging gone wrong, my ass. My breathing is shaky as I struggle to suppress memories that have been tucked away in the deepest corner of my subconsciousness.
Soft green irises paired with a light laugh blend into my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Come on, Vi,” I say with a grin, dragging her through the crowded room towards the bar. “Loosen up! I need to let off some steam.”
“I’m trying.” Violet looks at her cell again. “I just can’t do Girls Gone Wild tonight.”
“You’re basically the founder of the term.” I huff a laugh, eyes analyzing the variety of liquors on the wall. “What’s going on with you?”
She waves me off, sending another text. “Just a difficult client. They’re not taking no for an answer.”
“What is it this time? Another one that doesn’t understand they can’t buy the Mona Lisa?”
“It never ceases to amaze me. At least once a year, someone thinks the rules don’t apply to them. But no, something else.”
“I’m not used to seeing you this stressed about work stuff.” I nudge her shoulder. “You’re usually so robotically zen. Do we need to go to yoga in the morning?”
“I’m still human.” She smiles, booping my nose. “Just because I can get zen doesn’t mean I can’t get stressed.”
“True. But I still don’t think I’ve ever seen you more stressed than our senior prom.”
“Listen.” She chokes a laugh, running a hand through her black hair, twirling the purple ends. “What can I say? It was a wild night.”
Two shots are placed before us, and we clink before downing them. Violet’s phone rings, and she glances at it with a sigh.
“Don’t answer,” I beg, gripping her arm. “Whoever it is can wait till tomorrow.”
“Lil, I love you.” She places a hand on mine. “But I can’t just ignore my responsibilities.”
“These people don’t own you. They have to understand you’re not available every moment of the day.”
“I’ll be sure to remind them of that after I close this deal.” She presses accept and puts the phone to her ear. A few inaudible replies, and she hangs up again. “Okay, don’t be mad—”
“Three words that never seem to ease the anger,” I tease, narrowing my eyes at her.
“I have to go meet a client.”
My brows pull together. “It’s ten at night!”
“Some of my clients are very high maintenance.”
“More high maintenance than your best friend?” I ask with a pout.
She kisses me on the nose. “No one could ever replace you, Lilypad. See you at home?”
“I can’t believe you take me out, then abandon me.” I place a hand dramatically over my chest.
“She’s been eyeing you for an hour,” Violet says, gesturing to the gorgeous redhead at the end of the bar. “I’d say I’m doing you a favor.”
“I didn’t come out for a hook-up,” I argue. “I wanted to drink. Dance. Get down tonight.” I shimmy my shoulders. “Blame it on the boogie.”
She wiggles her fingers, grabbing her purse. “See you at home.”
“Fine.” Rolling my eyes, I wave her off. “See you at home.”
“Try not to miss me.”
I blink back to the present, gaze abandoned on my empty coffee mug.
Try not to miss me. The last words I ever heard Violet speak.
As if she knew something I didn’t. As if she was preparing me for the hardest months of my life.
Although I find it hard to believe that’s how she would have left things.
Surely, she would have reminded me at least four times to water the butterfly bushes near the front door weekly.
Crap, I forgot again. And certainly, she would have given me a final piece of dating advice and ended on how I better never replace her or she’d come back and haunt me every single day of my life.
She would have said more than five words that are irritatingly impossible.
Try not to miss me.
The concept is laughable. I miss her every damn day she’s not here. I hate her for leaving me. I hate her for this gaping Violet-sized hole she’s left in my chest since the moment Liam told me about her death. But then I remember it’s not her fault she’s gone, and I hate myself all the same.
Blinking, I struggle to pull myself out of the spiral as a single tear drips to the table.
Violet never even made it to her meeting that night.
The Kodak Killer’s photo of her corpse was shared by the Solarium News two days later. Her eyes vacant and void of life. The necklace Liam gave her for her thirtieth birthday still settled on her neck. Her blood-stained neck.
I just hope she didn’t suffer. That she didn’t spend her final moments in fear, waiting for someone to rescue her.
Try not to miss me. As if my chest doesn’t ache at the mere mention of her name.
“Lily,” Amara’s soft voice says, cutting through my tortured thoughts. I blink rapidly, suppressing the tears that haven’t yet fallen, and glance up to her concerned gaze. “What’s wrong?”
With trembling fingers, I hold out the paper, and she reads the headline. Her concern turns to devastated empathy, and she kneels next to me. She doesn’t speak, just puts an arm around me, hugging me close. I place my hand on hers and breathe.
A beat of silence passes between us. This is the eleventh victim Kodak has taken since Violet’s death alone. “Will this nightmare ever end?”