Rodney Larsson makes parole after five years in a facility for the criminally insane.
“Well, no shit.” I grab the discarded newspaper from the table I’m bussing and look over the front page.
I wasn’t really sure what happened to Rodney the Viking after the incident at the shelter, but I’m not surprised he got locked up. I’m also not surprised he’s being let out. It was clear, even to an eighteen year old kid, that guy wasn’t playing with a full deck, and I felt for him right up until they hauled him out of the church. I mean, I felt for him as much as I’m capable of, anyway. Six months later and I don’t think Rodney crossed my mind once, so seeing his picture on the front of The Chronicle with that kind of headline makes me grin.
I scan the article as I drop off the tray of dirty dishes to the kid in the back, mindlessly heading back out to the front counter while I read.
Larsson, 47, will be released into the care of Dr. Gabriel Locke of the Mourningwood Institute five years after brutally murdering Jessop Hollbrook, 51 at the time of his death, a known pedofile and child rapist.
I had no idea who Rodney killed, or why.
All I knew was that he told me I was safe, I believed him, and now that makes sense. Granted, I wasn’t a child but being so underweight and barely an adult, I can see why Rodney said what he said to me. Especially when you consider that Hollbrook guy was only a few beds away from mine.
Spreading the paper out on the counter, I keep reading about his diagnosis and treatment, about how Rodney grew up in a shitty situation similar to mine and how this Dr. Locke has made serious progress with him and his rehabilitation.
I pop my hip against the display case, smirking while I devour the article.
Seems like Rodney did this town a service by eliminating someone so vile and the author of this piece isn’t even trying to hide their bias toward feeling that way as well.
Justifiable manslaughteris a repeated phrase, and I can’t help but agree.
“Oh, I just love a studious omega.”
I freeze as a claw-tipped finger comes into my line of sight, tracing the sentences on the page in a pattern that brings it closer and closer to my hand.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my heart starts hammering away in my chest, my palms tingle and begin to sweat, and my mouth goes bone dry.
“Someone smart and sexy. A real intellectual. A mind made for knowledge with a body made for…”
I swallow hard and slowly lift my head, pushing my glasses up my nose as I take an involuntary step backward. My eyes shift from the female in front of me to the male next toher, bouncing back and forth between them and their almost identical expressions.
Predatory expressions.
Not only are these two the least attractive humans I have ever seen, they are quite possibly the most terrifying, and stupidest, ones I’ve come into contact with.
I’ve only seen them a couple of times before, stopping in to grab a coffee or bagel on their way to wherever the hell they go. Probably somewhere to kick puppies or steal babies from their mothers. A simple few interactions and I don’t doubt for one second that these two have an evil streak longer than the female’s terrible fake extensions.
“What do you think, Kyle?” she asks, her beady eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Does Octavian do it for you the way he does for me?”
The male,Kyle, looks me up and down as well, his stare harder than hers as it lingers too long over my throat. “Definitely.”
“Oh goodie,” I grumble, the words spilling out all on their own and in the most sarcastic tone I’ve ever heard come from my mouth.I’m sure I’ll pay for that somehow.“I’msoglad I have your seal of approval. I’ve been worrying myself sick over whether or not I’ddo itfor a set of idiotic twin alphas. My life is now complete.”
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve been working at this coffee shop for a few years now and never once have I even wanted to talk to anyone that way.
Not even when I first saw these two morons.
I just fill orders, clean tables, and keep to myself until it’s time to go home. I don’t make small talk with the customers, I barely talk to them at all, and working the counter is the last thing my boss likes for me to do because of it.
Getting shitty with these two out of nowhere isn’t really my MO.
Then again, I’ve sort of come into my own over the last few years.
A proper diet, healthy activity, and a fresh start all contributed to a growth spurt I finally had and was most likely long overdue for. I shot up to six-foot-one, packed on not only some weight but a little muscle, too. My hair stopped falling out in clumps thanks to all the stress of living in Illinois, and my skin is clearer and healthier than it’s ever been.
Not getting beaten and burned on a regular basis will do that to a person’s complexion.
