“Regis, you have to let me explain.” I take a step in his direction.
He holds the ax at arm’s length, pointing it at me. “I don’t have to do anything of the kind. I’ve given you so many chances, Acacia. So many chances to let me in, to tell me who you really are, to prove you’re not…” He can’t finish. The ax falls limply to his side.
“That I’m notwhat? A murderer? Is that what you were going to say? Is that what you believe I am?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, tormented, distrusting. “It’s generally what we call someone who kills someone else.”
I nod my head, press my lips between my teeth. “I’m not a murderer,” I tell him. “But I am a killer.”
He faces me now, aghast that I’ve said it so plainly. His jaw can’t quite form the words.
“The problem,” I go on, “is that there isn’t a word for what I am exactly, not in your circles.”
“What circles are those?” he shoots back.
“Legal ones—law enforcement, government.”
He swings the ax again, splits the block into threes, tosses each piece onto a pile off to the side. Then he turns in my direction, leaning against the tree trunk. “So, in what circles is there a word for you?”
I look down at my feet and try to clear my mind before answering. When I look up, he is waiting, face skeptical, arms crossed, as if he can’t imagine what I’ll come up with this time. “Secret ones,” I reply.
He shakes his head and turns for the house. “I’m not listening to this.”
I grab his arm. “Please. Just hear me out. It’s not a story; it’s real. Haven’t you wonderedhow?”
That gets his attention. He pulls my hand off and my heart shudders in my chest.
“The man who took your sister,” I begin. “He wasn’t very old. Late twenties maybe, early thirties.” I watch his eyes widen, the lids shrinking back with shock, his curiosity more than he can refuse. “Looked like a regular young man, someone that could have sacked your groceries. He drove a blue truck with a dented fender. I bet you’re wondering how he got her inside, aren’t you? I bet it’s eaten at you all these years.”
Regis just stares at me, a film of tears beginning to wash over his eyes.
“She loved kittens, didn’t she? Your sister, Tanya. He didn’t know that, but he knew most kids came running where animals were involved. He had a box of five-week-old kittens on the seat, a litter he’d gathered from a junk lot near his house. Told her there were more nearby, that he’d give her one for free if she helped him catch them.”
The tears slide down his face and he staggers on his feet. I rush to his side to make sure he doesn’t fall. When I know he’s steady, I place a hand over his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I just didn’t know how else to get you to believe me.”
“She’d been begging my parents for a cat for years, but our mother was allergic,” he finally manages. “It’s hard to explain that to a child, though. And Tanya was more stubborn than most.”
“We should go inside,” I tell him. “Get out of the cold.”
He nods wearily, opens his door for me. “After you.”
Inside, he heats two mugs of water, digs out fresh tea bags, sets them before us. “When, how did she die?” he asks once he’s gotten the courage.
The scenes spark through my mind, grisly and devastating—the duct tape, the reddened hammer. I shake my head. “She didn’t last long,” I tell him quietly. “Not even twenty-four hours.”
He winces, stares down into his cup, stirs it absently with a sugar spoon.
I lay a hand on his arm. It’s the only comfort I can give. “It was fast,” I tell him. “And that was a mercy.”
He doesn’t ask for the details, and I am grateful. “If he were still alive,” I tell Regis, “I’d kill him myself.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that for me,” he’s quick to reply.
“I wouldn’t do it for you,” I tell him. “I’d do it forher.And for all the others like her who could have been spared.”
He studies me, thoughts shuttered away where I can’t read them. After several long minutes, he says, “Are you part of a secret society, is that what you’re telling me? Some kind of underground network of female assassins? Vigilantes?”
His accuracy smacks me in the ribs. For a second, I can’t draw air. “Actually, yes. That is what I’m telling you.”
