Killer Within (3 page)

Chapter
Six

DAISY SLEEPS WITH ME THAT
night, and in the morning I tentatively start, “Daisy, I think it’s important you start sleeping by yourself.”

Across the pillows her eyes go wide. “Why? Have I done something wrong?”

Her panic deflates me a little. “It’s just that Dr. Depof said part of healing involves each of us taking independent steps.”

I climb out of my bed and trudge over to my desk, where I left my water bottle. I take a few gulps, if anything to give me a second. “I was proud of the way you and Justin went out with Zach.”

Normally I don’t say this type of thing, but it seems to be all that comes to me.

She sits up in bed, and I swear she’s about to cry. “Well, if I’m cramping your style . . .”

I close my eyes.
Lane, be nice to your sister.
“No, you’re not cramping my style,” I outright lie.

“Well then, what is it?”

I channel Dr. Depof’s words. “Like I said, healing involves independent steps.” I fake a loving laugh. “Just trying to exert some tough love.” And actually, I suppose I really am.

She looks away, and I hope beyond hope she’s deciding to indeed take those independent steps. “Maybe just a few more days?”

Inside, I sigh. “Okay. A few more days.”

“Thanks, Lane. You really are the best sister.”

Despite all the crap going on inside me, I know she’s right. I am a good sister. Or at least I try to be.

I head downstairs, and while I’m making coffee, I flip on the news.

ANOTHER MASKED SAVIOR VICTIM

Jesus!

This one took place in Silver Spring, Maryland, last night. I’ve never been to Silver Spring. A homeless teen was found tasered, zip-tied, and beaten to near death by a baseball bat. Drugs are suspected to be involved. Witnesses report a person
dressed in all black and a ski mask who can be none other than the Masked Savior.

It occurred at ten in the evening. If Aisha was in that dark car following me last night that was between eight thirty and nine. She could’ve made it to Silver Spring and committed this act.

The one thing I do know—it wasn’t me.

Drugs suspected. Teen boy. Sounds like Aisha.

The reporter goes on to detail a local task force that has been put together to blanket DC and the surrounding areas to stop the Masked Savior from continuing this string of violence.

Great. Now I have a task force hunting “my” ass.

I grab my laptop and bring up “my” site. Sure enough the message board is buzzing.

[underground_jill] Homeless teen? Give me a break!

[mean-liz] Do u really think the M.S. did this?

[j_d_l] M.S. should be targeting whoever gave that 10-yr-old drugs.

My thoughts exactly. Wait a minute, j_d_l left a comment before, too. I scroll back through the pages and find his other post.
The M. Savior should’ve overdosed JJJ like he did those kids.

I agreed with him then, too. I’m not sure I like that I agree with someone on my forum.

Victor comes out of the office and lays an unopened card on the dining room table. It’s another condolence. This one’s pale blue. I hate these cards.

“Just put it with the others,” he tells me, and I know he hates them too.

I pick it up, see it’s postmarked Richmond as well, and open it. It’s the same handwriting, but this time addressed solely to Victor:

My thoughts are with you and the children in this tragic time. ~Marji

“From someone named Marji,” I say. “Who’s that?”

He gives that some thought, then shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably someone your mom knew from work. Just put it with the others,” he says again.

Marji. I roll that name around in my head. I don’t recall my mom ever speaking about a Marji. And why would she send me a card and then Victor one too? That doesn’t make any sense.

I slip it under my laptop and head to my Saturday shift at Patch and Paw. I’ll see if I can figure out this Marji puzzle later. This Masked Savior copycat comes first.

When I get to the animal hospital, I find Corn Chip in his usual spot. “Hey, C-squared.”

He does that whole-body-wiggle thing and I melt. I love the little guy. I let him out and pick a few other dogs he likes better than the rest. We all go out to the side yard. I throw ten
too many balls and smile as they yip-yap their way in a zillion different directions trying to get them all.

“If Corn Chip’s mom ever decides to give him up, you’ll be first in line to adopt.”

I don’t have to turn around to know Dr. Issa’s behind me. “True.”

He takes a step closer and I close my eyes. There’s something about Dr. Issa that always stirs my insides.

“You missed a great surgery earlier,” he says. “Wished you could’ve been here.”

“What was it?”

“Open heart on a German shepherd.”

I turn around, my momentary pleasure replaced by genuine curiosity. “How
was
it?”

Dr. Issa smiles. “Phenomenal.” And then he goes on to describe in detail all that was done.

He finishes and I’m totally jealous. “Next time try to wait for me to scrub in. Please.”

He nods. “I will.” Neither one of us says anything for a few seconds, and then he tilts his head and gives me a study. “How you holding up, Lane?”

I’ve always found it difficult to lie to Dr. Issa. My guard seems even more down around him since killing Mom. “Pretty shitty,” I honestly tell him.

His lips curve in amused understanding. “Great description.”

He lost his mom years ago. Granted, he didn’t kill her, but at least he knows what it’s like to lose a mom.

“Would you like to talk?” he offers.

“No.” I shrug. “It felt good just saying that much.” Actually, it feels really damn good.

“Okay.” His phone buzzes, and right before he answers, he says, “Know I’m here anytime if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

He heads off, and I do my usual shift. At the end I make my way into the medical closet and straight over to the tranquilizer section. I snag a vial off the shelf in preparation for Aisha.

I sign out, hop on the parkway, and take it all the way to her apartment community. In a spot not illuminated by a streetlamp, I parallel park a little up from her door. I sit for a second and take things in. She’s home. I see her car.

I do one last visual sweep of the area and get out my science homework. I try to read but it’s too dark. Plus my thoughts are scattered. I close my eyes and play through the scenarios of how this might unfold. If Aisha leaves tonight, she could go to Starbucks again. But I can’t go inside. She’s already seen me once. A second sighting will be way too suspicious.

For all I know, she could already be out with one of her drug pals beating someone up in my name and have left her car at home. I open my eyes to check my watch at the exact second my driver’s door flies open and someone yanks me from my Jeep.

A
huge
guy pushes me up against my hood. “Who are you?” He gives me a hard shove. “What do you want?”

Fear slams into me and my whole body uncontrollably shakes.

Don’t succumb to weakness or inferiority.
I try my best to channel my aikido sensei’s words but come up blank as I stare up into the man’s narrow black eyes. What is
wrong
with me?

Into my peripheral vision steps Aisha. I swallow, and way back in my brain echoes,
You’re in trouble.

“Why are you following me?” she quietly asks.

I try to speak but am rendered mute.

She steps closer. “I. Said. Why. Are. You. Following. Me?”

I swallow again. “I’m not.”

Her eyes narrow. “Let this be a warning. I catch you again, and you’ll wish you never saw my face.” She raises her dark brows. “Got it?”

I manage a jerky nod.

Aisha reaches forward and pinches my earlobe. “Got it?”

“Yes,” I croak.

Big guy grabs the front of my jacket and shoves me back in my Jeep. They stand there while I fumble with my key, jab it in the ignition, grind the car in gear, and pull away. I don’t look back once, and only after I’m
several
miles down the road do I pull over and release the death grip I have on my steering wheel.

I gulp in a couple of breaths as my heart bangs in my chest
cavity. Holy shit in good goddamn hell. I haven’t felt so alive in months.

I put my fingers to the artery in my neck and feel it pulsing my pads, and my mind zings back through the years. . . .

Screams shatter the air. Blood splatters the ceiling.

Mom rears the knife above her head and lunges toward the woman.

Dad turns to me, delight dancing in his eyes. “Is your heart pounding? Do you feel how alive this makes you?”

Chapter
Seven

THE NEXT NIGHT AS I’M
heading to have a little one-on-one Taser/zip-tie conversation with Aisha, Victor announces, “Wait right there. We’re going to church tonight.”

Daisy, Justin, and I all look at each other. I can’t remember the last time we went to church, and, clearly, neither can my brother and sister.

I hold up my book bag. “I was heading to—”

“No, you’re not. There’s a service tonight. Thirty minutes,” he tells us, and heads into his room to get ready.

I don’t disguise my aggravated sigh.

Forty-five minutes later we’re walking into McLean Worship Center. It’s packed, and we find seats in the church equiva
lent of the nosebleed section. No one spares us a glance, and I find the anonymity comforting.

The sermon is on breaking free from the past. I chance a quick look up at heaven. Did God know I was going to be here today?

The minister is saying, “As we focus and put on our new self, we will obtain freedom from that which has shackled us. Colossians . . .”

Freedom from that which has shackled us.
Why didn’t I see this before? I need to release my mom and my dad. I need to say good-bye and let their ghosts go.

All these childhood memories I’ve been having. Taking my energies out on that cheerleader and that freshman. Freezing up with Jacks. Being taken off guard by Aisha. I’ve lost my focus. I need to get it back.

Officially saying good-bye to my parents is the key to regaining my equilibrium and purpose.

The sermon continues and I listen intently. Maybe this church thing isn’t so bad after all. By nine o’clock we’re back home, and I go straight to my room.

I clear it of anything that is connected to my mom. The necklace she gave me when I was ten, the books she bought me at twelve, and the souvenirs she picked up when on business trips. Everything I can find, I gather it and put it in box.

I crank up my laptop and delete every picture and every file
of not only her as my mom, but the Decapitator as well. I don’t ever want to see anything again.

When I come downstairs, Victor shoots me a look. “Where are you going?”

I hold the box up. “My lab partner texted me that he needs this stuff. Mind if I make a quick run?”

He nods. “Okay, be safe.”

“I will.” I stop. Now would be a good time to ask. “Did you ever clear out Mom’s personal stuff from her locker?” If he did, I could dispose of it, too.

“No.”

I nod. I know it’s hard on him. I’ll be patient.

He sighs. “But I will. This week. I promise.”

“Take your time,” I encourage him, and he gives me a relieved smile.

I’m out the door and driving to a gas station to fill up an empty gallon container. I jump on the toll road and go straight to where it all started—4 Buchold Place in Herndon.

I sit in the yard for a few seconds remembering when I came here with my mom. She walked through the house with me, acting all normal, knowing what she and my father had done here. Knowing what they made me watch. What they made me participate in.

Anger rolls through me, heating me to a boil, making my jaw clench and my breath come slower, deeper.

I hate her. I hate him. I hate what they did to me. What they made me become.

I throw my door open, stalk to the house, and use my keys to let myself in. I go straight to the room where they killed my preschool teacher and stand in the center, panting now, seething, allowing the raging fury in. To take over.

I toss the box of mementos down, saturate the whole room with gas from the container, and open the window.

I charge straight out the front door, pull a lighter from my pocket, flick it, lock it, and throw it in through the ajar window. The room erupts in flames, and my pulse deepens to a thick thud.

I stand for a second, watching, soaking the heat into my face as the flames cleanse me. Renew me. I am my parents’ daughter. I am a killer. But I am
nothing
like them. Nor will I ever be. I will
not
carry on their twisted legacy.

I am me. I am justified.

A siren pierces the air and I move, not even glancing back as I pull away. I don’t have enough time to fit an Aisha visit in, so I drive straight home to find Daisy waiting in my room.

“I’m ready to ‘part ways,’ ” she tells me.

“Excuse me?”

She laughs a little and it reminds me of the old Daisy. “I’m ready to be a big girl again. I’m moving back into my room.
And I’m going to start eating lunch with my friends again. No more bugging you.”

“You weren’t bugging me,” I fib.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I was.”

I smile. “Well, just don’t go back to being a bitch.”

Daisy gives me a playful punch.

“Hey!”

And then she wraps her arms around me. “I love you, Lane.”

I hug her back, harder than I recall ever hugging her before. “I love you, too.”

She heads out and I sit on the edge of my bed. It seems that sermon did us all some good.

Victor knocks on my door.

“Come in.”

He hands me a business card. “Listen, I know you don’t like Dr. Depof. So I’m hereby giving you permission to not go anymore.”

I almost fall over in shock, but glance at the business card instead. “What’s this?”

“It’s a group thing. Thought you might like that better. If you go, it’d be just you going, no family. It’s a mixture of people who have lost loved ones.”

Yes, but is it a mixture of people who have
killed
their loved ones? “Do you want me to go?”

“I would very much like that, but I’ll leave the ultimate decision up to you.”

I look up into his caring eyes and see how much this means to him. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

He smiles, and my heart relaxes at his relief. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Dad.”

He turns back. “I really love it when you call me Dad. Thank you for that.”

Mom always insisted I call him Victor. She was adamant he was my stepfather. I never realized it until now, but I bet that hurt him. And it gives me one more reason to despise her.

From now on I will always call Victor Dad. Because the truth is, he’s more of a parent than my real ones ever were.