I never thought her endless ramblings or mindless chatter would ever come in handy.
I was almost sad I wouldn’t get to spend the time needed to search for a soft spot.
Almost.
Dressed in all black, I moved carefully through the night. Being the community it was, no one would hesitate to call the police if I were spotted. I needed to avoid run-ins with them for as long as possible. Each time I even looked at Monroe, I felt the noose tighten.
The tree near one of the second-floor bedroom windows was my point of entry, and thanks to Anya, I knew it was the only way I was getting in without triggering the alarm system. She disabled it a long time ago thinking she could persuade me into sneaking up to her room. At the time, it was something I would never be caught doing just to get my rocks off.
Monroe, once again proved that theory wrong.
Scaling the tree and prying her window open was easy work. I was stepping into Anya’s bedroom in no time. I felt a little weird being in her bedroom, but I didn’t know if it was because it was a foreign place or because she was dead.
The mystery of who killed her and Trevor was still at large. As I took in Anya’s typical teenage girl’s bedroom, I realized I hadn’t spent nearly as much time needed to clear my name. Killing wasn’t something I was new to, but it didn’t mean I was willing to spend possibly a lifetime in jail for one I wasn’t responsible for. As far as I was concerned, I paid my dues when I went to juvie.
Various clothing and heels were scattered on the bed and floor. Makeup littered the dresser. Band posters adorned the walls.
It was all a blur as I passed through and entered the long, dark hallway. I didn’t know the layout so I checked every room in search of my target.
I was the big bad wolf come to blow the squealing pig’s house down. Anya’s mother claimed to have evidence proving I murdered Trevor and Anya, and while I didn’t actually kill them, I was there to find out what she knew.
After every room was searched, I confirmed she wasn’t home, and no one else was lurking. I proceeded to search the house from top to bottom. When nothing was uncovered, I sent out a quick text to Quentin to stay guard, and I bunkered down to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Keiran
“Do you see these gloves?” I pulled the black and gray leather material from my back pockets and waved them tauntingly for her to see.
They were still new and unused. I bought them the day I decided revenge was served best in its purest form.
“If you ever see these gloves again, it will mean the end for you. It won’t be swift, and it won’t be painless, but I can guarantee that it will be really messy.”
It wasn’t until after midnight that Mrs. Risdell finally made an appearance. The solitude afforded a lot of time to plot without the influence of Mario or the distraction of… everyone else.
“I’ll have you arrested!” she screeched.
“So you’ve said.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Yes, I am… but I did not kill your daughter. You won’t believe me, and frankly, I don’t care, but earlier today, you mentioned evidence.”
“Why would you care what evidence I have if you didn’t kill her?”
“Because I’m not entirely innocent. Your daughter wasn’t either, but burning her alive was not my work.” I’ve never felt the need to explain myself before. I wasn’t all that sure that was what I was doing now. “But it doesn’t really matter,” I added, regaining myself. “Tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything. I said it to scare you.”
Is she fucking serious? I leaned down and braced my hands on the kitchen chair she was currently tied to. “Do I look like I want to play the ‘Whose Dumber Than Who’ game?”
“It’s true. I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
I slowly and calmly reached behind my back and pulled out the long hunting knife I kept from my past life, and a rag I’d found in the garage. “Well, that wouldn’t be very smart of you.” I yanked her head back, stuffed the gag in her mouth, and brought the knife down swiftly. Her muffled screams carried on long after the blade was lodged in the wood between her legs.
“The next one goes in your knee cap. I’ll dismember every part of your body and will keep you from ever walking, talking, hearing, touching, or tasting.” I removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you listening now?”
Her breathing shuddered as her body shook, and she looked up at me with fear. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone that not even your worst nightmare wants to fuck with.”
“But you’re just a boy.”
“Well, then I guess that makes me a unique breed. Tell me what I want to know. The clock is ticking.”
“I told you, I—”
The knife was against her face drawing a thin, red line against the painted and powered skin of her cheek. Her shaking became uncontrollable and continued even when I withdrew the knife. “Oh, God. Please don’t.”
“Are you going to make me have to kill you?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently.
“Then give me what I came for.”
I knew the exact moment the fight left her. The threat of death was enough to persuade most, but the thought of living life physically impaired was the most persuasive.
“In my purse,” she directed. I continued to stare at her until she nodded her insistence. “In the inside pocket is an envelope marked with my name.”
I was almost sad I wouldn’t get to spend the time needed to search for a soft spot.
Almost.
Dressed in all black, I moved carefully through the night. Being the community it was, no one would hesitate to call the police if I were spotted. I needed to avoid run-ins with them for as long as possible. Each time I even looked at Monroe, I felt the noose tighten.
The tree near one of the second-floor bedroom windows was my point of entry, and thanks to Anya, I knew it was the only way I was getting in without triggering the alarm system. She disabled it a long time ago thinking she could persuade me into sneaking up to her room. At the time, it was something I would never be caught doing just to get my rocks off.
Monroe, once again proved that theory wrong.
Scaling the tree and prying her window open was easy work. I was stepping into Anya’s bedroom in no time. I felt a little weird being in her bedroom, but I didn’t know if it was because it was a foreign place or because she was dead.
The mystery of who killed her and Trevor was still at large. As I took in Anya’s typical teenage girl’s bedroom, I realized I hadn’t spent nearly as much time needed to clear my name. Killing wasn’t something I was new to, but it didn’t mean I was willing to spend possibly a lifetime in jail for one I wasn’t responsible for. As far as I was concerned, I paid my dues when I went to juvie.
Various clothing and heels were scattered on the bed and floor. Makeup littered the dresser. Band posters adorned the walls.
It was all a blur as I passed through and entered the long, dark hallway. I didn’t know the layout so I checked every room in search of my target.
I was the big bad wolf come to blow the squealing pig’s house down. Anya’s mother claimed to have evidence proving I murdered Trevor and Anya, and while I didn’t actually kill them, I was there to find out what she knew.
After every room was searched, I confirmed she wasn’t home, and no one else was lurking. I proceeded to search the house from top to bottom. When nothing was uncovered, I sent out a quick text to Quentin to stay guard, and I bunkered down to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Keiran
“Do you see these gloves?” I pulled the black and gray leather material from my back pockets and waved them tauntingly for her to see.
They were still new and unused. I bought them the day I decided revenge was served best in its purest form.
“If you ever see these gloves again, it will mean the end for you. It won’t be swift, and it won’t be painless, but I can guarantee that it will be really messy.”
It wasn’t until after midnight that Mrs. Risdell finally made an appearance. The solitude afforded a lot of time to plot without the influence of Mario or the distraction of… everyone else.
“I’ll have you arrested!” she screeched.
“So you’ve said.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Yes, I am… but I did not kill your daughter. You won’t believe me, and frankly, I don’t care, but earlier today, you mentioned evidence.”
“Why would you care what evidence I have if you didn’t kill her?”
“Because I’m not entirely innocent. Your daughter wasn’t either, but burning her alive was not my work.” I’ve never felt the need to explain myself before. I wasn’t all that sure that was what I was doing now. “But it doesn’t really matter,” I added, regaining myself. “Tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know anything. I said it to scare you.”
Is she fucking serious? I leaned down and braced my hands on the kitchen chair she was currently tied to. “Do I look like I want to play the ‘Whose Dumber Than Who’ game?”
“It’s true. I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
I slowly and calmly reached behind my back and pulled out the long hunting knife I kept from my past life, and a rag I’d found in the garage. “Well, that wouldn’t be very smart of you.” I yanked her head back, stuffed the gag in her mouth, and brought the knife down swiftly. Her muffled screams carried on long after the blade was lodged in the wood between her legs.
“The next one goes in your knee cap. I’ll dismember every part of your body and will keep you from ever walking, talking, hearing, touching, or tasting.” I removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you listening now?”
Her breathing shuddered as her body shook, and she looked up at me with fear. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone that not even your worst nightmare wants to fuck with.”
“But you’re just a boy.”
“Well, then I guess that makes me a unique breed. Tell me what I want to know. The clock is ticking.”
“I told you, I—”
The knife was against her face drawing a thin, red line against the painted and powered skin of her cheek. Her shaking became uncontrollable and continued even when I withdrew the knife. “Oh, God. Please don’t.”
“Are you going to make me have to kill you?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently.
“Then give me what I came for.”
I knew the exact moment the fight left her. The threat of death was enough to persuade most, but the thought of living life physically impaired was the most persuasive.
“In my purse,” she directed. I continued to stare at her until she nodded her insistence. “In the inside pocket is an envelope marked with my name.”
