She stares at him one last time, then nods. Quietly, she walks to her aunt’s side. The nurse sees her approach and gives her a sympathetic smile before returning to work and attending to her other patients in the unit. Julia gathers her close, and they proceed to leave all this nightmare behind. Halfway down the hall, they pause. Julia's shoulder shakes as she tries to conceal her grief, but Rose’s eyes are dry now. She doesn’t cry, nor does she look away. Instead, she locks her gaze on Vic, her small hand white knuckling the stuffed rabbit in her arms. In that silent exchange, a promise lingers between them—the words Vic told her and ones she will carry on into her future.
The walk home is quiet. I called Emma from the office to tell her everything that had happened. Everything I’d feared might come true. She gave me her word that it would be okay and thatshe’d help. Back at my desk, I’d pinned Vic’s location on my phone, watching the little blue dot moving around the hospital, which helped to calm my rising anxiety. Knowing Vic, he’s already formulated a plan for revenge. But thanks to Jameson, I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t fall apart on his own. I refuse to lose him again. The device, although small, still has its own SIM card, making it undetectable on Bluetooth and ideal for concealment. Tonight, its presence is a comfort, and I’ll take whatever I can get.
That was hours ago, right after it happened, and I’d gone back to my office pretending to work, while the day lagged on. When Vic and I finally left the hospital, he clung to me, whispering how much he loved me, but I could feel his mind wasn’t with me. It was with Rose and the silent promise he made to her. We walked hand in hand, as always, but when we reached my apartment, I could sense him pulling away emotionally. He turned off that part that makes him human, the urge to feel too much. Instead, he had only the clinical detachment he reserved for everyone else, except me.
“I’ve got something to do,” he murmured. He didn’t have to tell me that. I could already feel it. Whatever type of monster that lived inside him had already stirred awake, and he was slipping away, becoming nothing more than its shadow. I nodded, letting him go, even as every part of me wanted to drag him back.
THIRTY-SIX
VIC
Icouldn’t stay and play the part of the distracted boyfriend, nor pretend to Dani that I wasn’t on a mission to find Sonya's husband and ensure he never hurt another person. Especially not Rose. God, the way that she shook in front of me at the mere mention of her father was heart-wrenching. After asking for her address and finding out where that piece of shit lives, I follow him to a bar. He isn’t in the least bit upset about the fact that his wife has died, because they had to call him.
He’s a good-looking man, not the type one would envision when thinking of a man who abuses his wife and child. But then, evil sometimes hides behind the pretty illusion of a good career and a well-groomed persona, all the while their insides are black and rotten to the core. A poison that leaks out, infecting anything it touches, hidden behind a white-toothed smile. I can tell. He sits at the bar as a woman comes up to him and sits on the stool. I sit close by, listening to the conversation transpire, itching to get closer and warn her that he is an abusive piece of shit, but I can’t. I'm playing the long game, and soon it will be over.
She points at his ring, and he lowers his gaze, summoning a mask of grief—one that is full of manipulation as he tells herhe’s a widower. Her hand clutches her chest in sympathy, while her other slides onto his leg, desperate to comfort him. He stares at her hand on his thigh, and she can’t see the smirk that plays at his lips, I can from my view in the darkened booth next to them. The game he plays to get women into his bed. His wife died hours ago, he was the reason she was there, and didn’t care about her enough to see her go, nor be there for his daughter. We have established this isn’t the type of man he is. He chooses to pick on the defenseless, the ones who can’t fight back, and I remember all too well how that feels. To not be big enough or strong enough to protect someone when you can’t even defend yourself.
The woman leans closer. “It looks like you could use some company for the night.” She looks down at his hung head, hope filling her lust-filled gaze. And when he looks up, he meets her eyes as his darken. He leans over to whisper something in her ear. I can’t make it out, even from here, the effect is apparent—she likes it. Her cheeks flush crimson with heat as her thighs push together against the bar. She licks her lips, and he watches it all. He turns away, downing the rest of his dark amber liquid in his crystal glass in one quick swallow. As he stands abruptly from the stool with his hand extended out toward her, she doesn’t hesitate. She leaps up, grinning like she won herself a prize. Blind to the knowledge of what it will cost her.
I leave my tonic water and lime there untouched at the table, slipping out after them, careful to keep enough distance between us, so he doesn’t sense me trailing behind. Outside, the night air feels heavier, cloaked in low-lying fog. My car purrs to life, headlight low, as I ease from the spot a minute later. His taillights illuminate with a red hue, a beacon guiding me along the path I’ve already memorized back to his house. He leads me back to his street. I don’t park near him, instead, I slide onto the next block. Pulling up beside a house that rests empty ona corner lot behind his. A “For Sale” sign is placed in the front yard, yet the house remains dark. Staged amidst the greenery and annuals that appear freshly planted, perhaps to showcase the house with its well-maintained landscape, giving the illusion of what it could be.
I walk in the shadows of the night, my feet make no sound on the concrete walkway, as I round the corner of the back yard and onto the darkened porch around back. There are no cameras here. That would only provide proof, evidence of the atrocities that happened in this place.
I give it thirty minutes before I come in. The back door is unlocked because predators rarely worry about becoming prey. They grow too sure of themselves, too reckless, that they think they are untouchable. Getting away with the abuse because his brother is a police officer has lulled him into a false sense of security, a bubble about to burst before his very eyes. I hear the faint sound of music in the living room as I follow it. I see a glass of wine mostly finished and a glass of whiskey left mostly untouched. I follow the sounds of slapping skin and grunts that come from the bedroom. I wait on the couch for it all to finish, thinking he must be a selfish lover, only searching for his own release. I bet she doesn’t even come.
He finally emerges from the bedroom, and still I wait. The sound of his footsteps crosses the hall, unhurried. He opens the refrigerator door, and in the pale light, I see beads of perspiration on his forehead and the sheen of sweat on his skin. From the bedroom, there is nothing, no voice calling out to him. No sound whatsoever. And it’s sometimes in that silence that the scream is loudest.
Before I can address that, I need to come here and finish what I set out to do. With that, I take a quick step, stabbing him in the neck with a scalpel. The precision I usually use to fix a patient has the opposite effect as I rip his skin about, slicingthrough tissue and hitting his major artery in seconds. Before he can figure out what is happening, he slumps to the floor. His blood coats the black and white checkered tiles of the floor as he holds onto his neck, trying to staunch the bleeding. His eyes are wide, scared, and I take deep satisfaction from it. I just regret that he didn’t get a chance to feel more of it.
My scalpel drops, and when I bend down to retrieve it, I see it—the same tiled pattern. A sick trick of the mind perhaps, but the similarity all the same. I can’t move because I am seeing a different scenario from long ago. One that I tried to erase from my mind, pressed into the darkest corners, hidden forever, but it explodes open as the memories come back in vivid color before me: my mom, her body surrounded by all that blood. I can’t move, I’m paralyzed in this spot. My vision blurs and my ears pop. I can’t hear, I can’t see, all I can sense is the pounding of my heart in my chest as I fight the urge to pass out.
“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” I wheeze out between pursed lips. Then I feel someone by my side, the hand warm against my cool, clammy skin.
THIRTY-SEVEN
DANI
Iknew what he was going to do when he left my apartment. It was written all over his face, there at the hospital, and when we got back. I see the blue dot moving, and I already know where he is headed. When he asked Rose for her address, it was already decided that her father would die. Suffer a similar fate, but have the mercy of not suffering as long, so as not to risk the chance of a recovery, because dead men can’t talk.
I saw that he was at a bar, so I waited at a restaurant, sipping on a Coke and having a little appetizer. I need to keep up the appearance of being a patron, and honestly, I’m also fucking hungry. I pick the perfect location with a window view of the bar entrance. I already paid my tab and secured the tip, so that when I need to leave, I can. Just as I finish my last dumpling, the bar door swings open. A man leans close to a woman with his arm draped over her shoulder, murmuring something in her ear. She throws her head back laughing, the sound carrying across the street. Her hand rests against his chest as they get into his car, driving off.
A minute later, I see Vic, his face controlled and fury radiating from every pore in his body. He rounds the side of his car, sliding into the seat, and quickly follows suit after the cardrives off, carrying the couple inside. I start piecing it together and wipe my mouth, throwing the napkin onto the table. I thank the waitress on my way out and start walking onto the sidewalk toward the blue dot that is moving at a quick rate away from me. I call an Uber, already having an idea of where he’s going. The similarities in the man’s face and features are close to those of the little girl who was crying for her mother as she died mere hours ago.
The black sedan picks me up, and I give an address for a block away, needing to make sure that I still stay as discreet as possible. I hop out of the Uber, thanking the driver as I pretend to walk up to my house. As he drives away, I round the corner and pull the hood over my sweatshirt, covering my face, as my sneakers make quick work of getting closer to Vic’s blue dot on my screen. I see his car parked around the corner, walk around the block to the address on file for Rose and Sonya. The house is dark except for a lamp in one of the rooms and a faint hue coming from the back of the house, which is probably the kitchen. As I walk around the back porch and peer through the window, I see Vic with his back against the wall. He’s crouched down, and the man is sprawled out in a pool of blood. I notice the similarities in the title and how he must have retreated into his own mind from the death of his mother.
“What the fuck?” I push the door open all the way which was left slightly ajar with the covered portion of my hoodie. I walk over to Vic, who is crouched over, hyperventilating. He isn’t seeing me, and he isn’t seeing the dead man on the floor. I know that without a doubt, he is seeing his mother, as she fights for her life and takes some of her last breaths. I drop down to him. “Vic, baby. Look at me,” I implore. I take hold of his arm, placing my hand on his, and feel how cold he is. “Vic, please look at me. Breathe, baby, breathe,” I beg him as he moves his head in my direction.
His voice comes out hoarse. “Dani?” he questions. And I nod, as tears threaten to fall down my cheeks.
“Let’s get you out of here, baby.” He nods as he stands to his full height, towering over me. I bend to retrieve the scalpel, walk over to the sink, and use a tissue to turn the knob, rinsing the blood off the blade and flipping the nozzle off as it gleams in the dim kitchen lighting. The refrigerator door remains open, and as I tuck it away in my pocket. The body lies on the floor, with eyes wide and open, but no life remains. As I take Vic’s hand in mind to leave, he holds me back, and I stop in my tracks, watching his face take on an expression as if he is just remembering something.
“There was a woman who came with him. I heard them having sex in the bedroom, but I haven’t heard anything since he came out, and I am fairly certain she is still here.” I notice the concern on his face, and I nod.
“Okay, what do you want to do? She would have heard this commotion, though. Don’t you think so?” The music continues to play from the bedroom, and Vic takes a couple of paces out from the kitchen, turning his head to look around. Nothing remains to be seen except his keys, his phone, and a piece of paper that resides atop. I walk over to the table by the sofa, noting the two glasses. One is mostly empty, and the other is almost full of an amber-colored liquid. Upon further inspection, I notice a white film coating the wine glass, and my stomach sinks at the implication. “Vic,” I call to him, but he is looking at some papers on the desk under the keys.
“Motherfucker took out a life insurance policy on Sonya,” he spits out, and the realization dawns on me that this was likely premeditated. I swallow the lump in my throat, but I walk toward the bedroom, also thinking about what I will find once I get there.
“Vic,” I call again, and this time he walks toward me, and I point to the bedroom. “I think she was drugged,” I say quietly, and his eyes widen. His face is murderous, and we proceed to the bedroom with caution. The door is left slightly open, but it’s enough to see that the situation is not okay. A woman is left naked and handcuffed to the bed frame. I can tell that she is breathing, but she is unconscious. What may have started as consensual is clearly no longer the case.
