Don’t impose on others what you yourself do not desire.
—Confucius
The door slings open, and I watch through the wooden slats of the closet door as the sheriff stomps in, angrily slamming the door behind him. He grabs an empty glass off the table by his recliner and slings it across the room. It shatters against the wall as he roars like a beast enraged.
For a few long minutes, his head hangs, his chest heaves, and he grips the sides of the chair for support. He always puts up a good front, but he’s as mortal as the rest of us.
My smile kicks up as he predictably goes to the bar in the living room, opening the door and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. His hands are shaking when he pours a glass and drinks it down quickly.
Any time the pressure mounts, the sheriff has to have a drink. But he can’t let his deputies see him carry a bible and a glass of whiskey. He can sentence innocent people to a gruesome death, but being so weak as to need a drink is simply unforgivable. Not to mention shameful.
I’d roll my eyes, but I’m busy watching as he takes his gun off, putting it by the door.
Finally.
“You’ll pay for this,” the sheriff hisses, glaring at my brother and me as we get carried out of the courtroom.
“He was with us!” I shout again, staring frantically at the jury as they continue to wrangle me out. “They’re hiding the truth! They’re suppressing evidence! This is just a fucking witch hunt, and my father is being framed!”
“Just make them show you our statements!” my brother bellows as they finally haul us all the way out.
As soon as the doors seal shut, they reopen, and the sheriff stalks out.
Cuffs are being put on our wrists, but they can’t lock us away for long. It’s on film. We’re in contempt of court and nothing else.
“Put them in a cell until this damn thing is over. I won’t deal with them again until I have to,” the sheriff barks. Then those cold eyes turn to us. “You’re making a deal with the devil by betraying the souls of the innocent. Your father is guilty. And I’ll make sure he hangs for his sins.”
He starts to walk back inside as we start demanding to be turned loose.
The sheriff turns just as we reach the corner, and he eyes me.
“I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.”
I wait patiently, silently stalking him with just my eyes as he finishes off another glass. His eyes dart toward something near the couch, and his head tilts as he studies something I can’t see from this angle.
He looks away from whatever it is that no longer holds his interest, and carries his glass around the corner to the kitchen, which is near his master bedroom. Pushing the door open silently, I step out, putting my knife in its sheath on my hip.
As I near the couch, my eyes dart down, curious at what held his attention. And I close my eyes as I refrain from blowing out a frustrated breath. My flashlight is there. I put it down earlier when I was looking for any hidden weapons, and forgot to pick it back up.
Rookie mistake.
Opening my eyes back up, I clutch the handle of my knife and walk into the kitchen. But I screech to a halt when my gaze is suddenly locked on the end of a barrel.
“Boo,” the sheriff says, drawing my eyes to his as I slowly raise my hands, feigning compliance.
He looks over the pistol to stare down at me, the barrel just inches from my face.
“Any reason why the fed’s girlfriend is slinking around my house?” he drawls lazily, hiding that welling frustration he showed just moments ago when he didn’t know I was watching.
“Probably because she’s not just a fed’s girlfriend,” I quip, smiling bitterly at him.
He cocks his head, watching me.
“And who exactly are you?”
I smirk as I take a step forward, pressing that barrel right up against my temple with my hands still raised. His eyes widen fractionally, but he masks all other signs of surprise.
“I’m the girl you sent your son to kill. I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.”
Confusion only lights his eyes for the barest of moments before recognition slides over his face.
“No,” he says in a rasp whisper.
But then his eyes turn to ice, and the resonating sound of a dead click rattles around the room that is otherwise cloaked in silence. Fear replaces determination when I smile.
And he pulls the trigger again, and again, and again…all while I take a step back.
“Hope you don’t mind, Sheriff. I took the liberty of emptying all the bullets from every other gun in the house, sans your service weapon you left in the other room.”
He starts to rush by me, surprising me by not lunging for the helpless looking woman before him. I guess I gave him too much credit for being masculine and all that.
My knee slams into his stomach, halting his retreat, and he hits the ground, collapsing with a pained cry.
“I’ve always preferred knives,” I say as I pull mine out, sliding it under his throat as he goes stiff and still beneath the blade.
I crouch beside him, holding the knife there.
“How are you alive?” he asks almost too quietly.
I grin, waggling my eyebrows. “A lot of pain. A lot of healing. And a hell of a lot of tequila. But mostly, I’m here because of Jake. You remember him, right? Jacob Denver? The boy you overlooked as any sort of threat once you realized he’d been in love with my brother? Because what sort of weak man loves another man, right? No way would such an abomination be awesome enough to help a dead girl slaughter so many of your monsters.”
His lips part for a breath of surprise to escape, and the knife presses closer to his throat with the motion.
Casually, I pull out my phone with my free hand, dial Jake, and set it on the ground beside me after putting it on speaker.
“I take it you’re still working on phase five?” Jake asks as I stare at the sheriff’s face.
“He’s still letting it all sink in that all this is his fault. What’s the fun in simply killing him if he doesn’t go through at least a little mind torture of the reality he’s spun from all his lies and corruption?” I ask, grinning down as the sheriff’s eyes turn hard.
There’s the arrogant son of a bitch I know.
“Phase six worked better than planned. The personalized messages got through to everyone except three. I’ve just loaded the last one in the car, skipping the dump truck that was unnecessary. I’ll drop them at the safe zone as soon as I check for the whereabouts of the deputies, and then I’ll move on to phase eight.”
“Good. I want the sheriff to hear phase seven, which is why I called.”
I can almost hear Jake smile as I watch the sheriff watch me.
“Getting out my clone of the sheriff’s phone now,” Jake says.
The sheriff’s eyes shift to my phone, curious. I press the mute button, holding it up for him to see it, while still keeping the knife pressed to his throat with my other hand.
“Deputy Hayes, I need you to assemble all the names I’m about to read out to you. They’re the ones I trust. The deputy and uniformed officers not mentioned should go to the outlying borders and start seeing if they can find anything. Understand?”
There’s a pause, and I watch the sheriff’s face. We can only hear Jake’s side of the conversation.
“They’ll know it’s not me,” the sheriff growls, then winces when talking causes the blade to nick his throat just barely. A trickle of blood spills, and I continue to hold him in place.
“You hear Jake’s voice. But when it passes through that particular phone, it sounds just like you on the other end,” I tell him, grinning as his face pales. “Did I mention Jake is a boy genius?”
Jake starts listing the names of everyone involved with my father’s death and the assembly that resulted in the death of my brother and the death of Victoria Evans as everyone knew her.
Even the retired deputies get called in, considering they’ve already rallied to help ‘defend’ the town. Saves me an extra trip of paying them individual visits.
“You have one hour,” Jake goes on, finishing up the list of names.
I hang up the phone, watching as the hope fades from the sheriff’s face. Helpless is a delicious look on him.
“Now stand up,” I say, pulling the blade back and slowly standing to my feet.
He watches me warily as he slowly sits up, but doesn’t move past that.
“I’ve had to be patient for ten long years, Sheriff. Stop stalling, because I’m out of patience.”
His eyes narrow in challenge. He’s planning something stupid.
His arms open wide.
“If you want me up, then—”
His words end on a scream as I stomp his ankle with the heel of my combat boot. A satisfying crunch follows the stomp, and I grind my heel into his ankle before he lurches to grab at my foot. Then my foot flies up, connecting with his face.
Blood sprays from his mouth as he sails backwards again. He stops his head from pounding the tile, and I calmly walk toward his head.
“I said get up. You decide how much of a beating it takes for you to comply.”
“What’s the point?” he growls, spitting out blood. “You just plan to kill me. You’re a monster. The devil’s own spawn.”
I kneel beside him, keeping a safe distance between us, and my eyes meet his.
“Your son was a monster, Sheriff. Holding a bible or wearing a badge doesn’t offer you absolution from your own inhumanity either.” I tilt my head, watching the fury and unprecedented indignation sweep over his eyes.
“You’re wrong,” he seethes.
“It might have taken you a year, possibly even longer, to realize you’d made a mistake. When there was another rape and kill a year later, maybe? One just outside Delaney Grove? Same victimology as all the others,” I say casually, watching his gaze shift again.
“Once your anger and grief calmed and started to ebb, you realized Robert Evans was never the right man, and you’d framed him, punished him brutally for sins he never committed.”
Every fight in him deflates as those words settle in, and a surprising glisten appears in his eyes.
“You realized too late that a true monster was still killing women and taking from them, and you’re the reason he was free to do it. All that blood is on your hands, Sheriff. It wouldn’t wash away.”
Tears start to form in his eyes as I go on.
“You knew all those claims against Kyle couldn’t all be false either, but you’d already lost one child. You forced yourself to live in denial that the other one was rotten to the core. But then again, you killed his mother after forcibly enlisting her help with framing my father. Tell me, Sheriff, did you collect the condoms yourself? Or was that Johnson’s job?”
He clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the guilt in his eyes, but struggles to do so. It means I’m spot on.
“Because you’d killed your son’s mother in your quest for framing an innocent man, you excused all the disgusting acts of your vile son. Lied to the town. Lied to yourself. That night when you told him to take care of us, you never really expected him to bring all his friends. You never expected they’d reach for the limits of depravity, then cross them even more severely than you crossed them with my father. But you still hid the truth. Covered us up. Acted as though the lives of two innocent children never mattered.”
The anger in my voice can no longer be masked, and the sheriff’s lip trembles as a tear drops from his eye.
“I hated your daughter. But I never wished her dead. My father fixed her car window once. Did you know that?”
He slowly shakes his head.
“She’d slept with another girl’s boyfriend from a rival school. The girl wrote ‘slut’ all over your daughter’s car. Then she busted out the driver’s window. Your daughter knew she’d have to explain, but she was too afraid to tell you she was sleeping around. My father stepped in and helped her even though that girl was a despicable bitch to me for no reason. Because my father said she was a kid. And he could never be mean to a child, for fear that one day someone might do the same to us.”
He sucks in a breath, working damn hard to restrain his emotions.
“She didn’t even thank him. She acted like it was his job to replace that window before you got home from your hunting trip. She didn’t even pay him for the window, and we were struggling for money. But he never said a word. Because she was just a kid. Yet you labeled him a monster. You shattered every ounce of dignity he ever had. And you sent real monsters after all three of us, yourself included. Tell me, Sheriff, do you feel as though all your prayers for forgiveness have worked?”
I slide the blade across the floor, watching his eyes fall to it.
“Or do you think a punishment has finally been sent for all your sins?”
His chin wavers, but he continues to stare me in the eyes.
“Stand up,” I say again, a harsh bite to my tone.
This time, he lumbers to his feet, his shoulders not pushed up so high.
He doesn’t look at me as I gesture toward the bathroom. “Get in the shower.”
“Why?” he snaps.
“Either do what I say, or I’ll let the entire town watch the video of Kyle confessing everything.”
His eyes dart to mine, wide and horrified. “Yes, Sheriff. They may be gone, but they’ll still see the video eventually. All his sins on one long video. He’s crying during his confessions, by the way. In between the spouts of begging for his life.”
The sheriff gags, staving off a breakdown as he turns away from me, tears now leaking.
“All the other videos have them all confessing. Little by little, I had all I needed. They spilled details of where to find all that precious camera footage from both those incidents, as you liked to call them. They told me everything. And people will see that footage.”
“Even Kyle’s?” he asks on a rasp. “Regardless if I do what you say?”
I smile to myself. “I guess you’ve called my bluff. Yes, they’ll see it regardless. But I’ll make a deal to keep all his torture off the camera if you just go get in the damn shower. Don’t make me drag you. I’d have to break your hands to make sure you didn’t try anything stupid, and that will take some time and effort to thoroughly break them.”
He releases a pained sound, swallowing hard.
“How did you turn into this?”
My eyes widen. “Is that rhetorical, Sheriff? Because I’m pretty sure it’d be obvious.”
He lunges suddenly, taking me off guard. But I slam the heel of my palm into his chest, forcing the wind from his lungs, then drop and kick up at the same time, catching him right in the groin.
Always wanted to hit him there.
When he hits the ground, I kick him in the face hard enough to almost knock him out. He stares, dazed, as blood leaks from between his lips.
“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way,” I chirp.
I kick him over to his stomach, grab his cuffs from his hip, and pin him down with my knee against his spine as I roughly jerk his arms behind his back. He’s still too dazed to fight with me, so I hurry before he gets his bearings back.
I have a deadline, after all.
Reaching down, I grab him at the collar of his shirt and start dragging him toward the bathroom, ignoring the groaning fabric. His fight comes back, but it’s futile at this point. I grab him by his hair as we reach the bathroom, and force him to his feet.
The idiot tries to head-butt me when he’s standing in front of me, but I’m much shorter, and simply dodge it, spin around him, and kick him into the open tub.
A pained grunt escapes him as he lands on his back.
“What are you doing?” he asks, staring up at me while his legs hang over the sides.
“Using you to fulfill a fantasy,” I quip as I close the shower curtain. “Two fantasies, actually.”
Staring at the white, plain shower curtain, I pull out my knife. A dark smile curves my lips before I start playing the music from my phone, and I stab him through the curtain.
A cry of pain and surprise echoes off the bathroom walls.
But I stab again.
And again.
And again.
Until he’s just gurgling sounds.
Then I jerk back the curtain, smirking. “Life goals,” I say to myself, still smiling as I leave the dying man in the tub. I walk through the house and back to the living room where his service weapon is still on the table.
It’s the only loaded gun in the house, and shooting the sheriff—with his own gun—is just too poetic to pass up.
The song continues to play as I walk back in, and blood is flowing from all the wounds and the sheriff’s mouth as I watch him from the doorway.
His eyes are barely staying open as I point the gun at his groin. Words try to form, but he’s too injured to make an intelligible sound.
I grab a stack of towels and drop them to his lap, then I press the gun against the towels and fire. The sound is still loud, despite the muffling of it against the towels, but at least my ears aren’t ringing.
I hate guns.
But again…too poetic.
The sheriff jerks as I pull the gun back, and the white towels get redder and redder as he bleeds out. The tub catches all the blood, taking it down the drain as he continues to spill his shade.
I wipe my knife off as the sheriff slowly dies, and I listen to the song that is playing on repeat.
I shot the sheriff…
Then I take a picture for Jake once the life finally leaves the sheriff’s eyes.
Just to be sure, I check for a pulse. It’s gone. Then, to be doubly sure, I slice the knife across his throat, leaving his blood to continue to drain.
I wipe the knife off again, place it back in its sheath on my hip, pull my hood up, and walk out with my phone still playing that song.
The town is like an old western ghost town now. I half expect tumbleweeds to start rolling by me as the wind blows. The sun is three hours from setting, but the endgame is moments away from starting.
Everyone expects sundown to be the endgame time, since that’s what we told them.
But we have another set of rules we’re playing by.
And we’re ready.
Jake is already in my old house when I step inside the familiar home. This house is in the perfect location.
My heart thumps a little faster when I see the inside, because it’s like stepping into a different vortex. No pictures of us line the walls the way they used to.
The carpet has been replaced with hardwood. The blues have all been replaced with neutral colors. And they knocked out the wall between the living room and kitchen.
Everything is different, yet there’s a pang of familiarity in my chest.
He’s put in all his monitors, ready to start this process.
“You took longer than you were supposed to,” Jake says as I step in and strip out of my hoodie.
“I shot the sheriff,” I start singing, and he grins.
“Time to shoot the deputies.”
I strip out of my clothes, and start pulling on my kill clothes. I can’t wear a baggy hoody or restricting pants. This is the ultimate kill zone.
“Phase nine complete?” I ask him.
“As soon as you step into the middle of town, all I have to do is press a button. The next button gets pressed when you step inside. Then you’re on your own. You know the charges are set; you know the small window you have to get out; and you know to keep your head down. Don’t get killed on a part we could skip.”
I tug on my leggings, making sure to do the splits and double check their flexibility.
Jake watches me grimly.
“I’m not skipping this part, Jake. They need to feel the same fear. Just dying isn’t good enough. And risking someone surviving isn’t any good either.”
He blows out a breath as I grab my tank top, ready to brave the chilly air while being sleeveless. I’ll warm up once I start fighting.
After getting my boots back on, I grab the bulletproof vest that is thinner and less constricting than most—thank you, Jake.
Then I start packing in all the weapons into my many holsters, and use the action game assembly Jake has laid out.
“I’m having a moment,” Jake says, biting down on his knuckle as I finish loading the last of the weapons into their designated spots on my body harness.
“What?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Times like these remind me why I can’t give up women. Something about a girl with a gun, and right now, you’re every nerd’s comic-book-sexy fantasy girl.”
I roll my eyes.
“Seriously! The tight pants, all the guns, the sleeveless shirt—”
“All meant for functionality,” I state dryly.
“Still doesn’t shatter the illusion.” He mocks a dreamy sigh, and I laugh despite the impending madness I’m close to stepping into.
“You ready?” he asks more seriously as I finish clipping on the last knife.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Then I’ll get your theme song ready.”
“You’re really going to play music?” I muse as I walk to the door.
“Every epic climax needs a good theme song,” he quips, forcing a smile.
He crosses the room in a few quick, long strides, and his arms go around me, tugging me to him as he kisses the top of my head. I return the embrace, steeling my nerves and my breaths.
“I love you, little sister,” he says softly.
“I love you, big brother,” I say back, clutching him tighter.
He pulls back, cupping my chin in his hand as our eyes meet.
“Now go kill them all while I burn the town to the ground.”
I nod. “Phase ten.”
