why I’ve deemed the ones on the lists under the underlined names dogs. They’re owned by the men in charge, happily wagging their tails and barking orders to others as if they have any status in the pack at all. Snarling and backing the weaker ones into corners, they’re as moldable as they are feral.
The three kingpins, including Talvery, a crime family boss in this area, can’t be bent or broken. But the men beneath them could easily be swayed. Or put in a ring and made to fight one another.
I haven’t decided which is best yet. All I know is that there are plenty of pawns to play with. Plenty of them to start the game and deliver justice piece by piece.
The snap of a twig beneath heavy feet rips my gaze from the three names I’ve added. The graveyard is a scenery of grays and greens. The stones and the oak trees and the grass, long overdue for a cut, nearly hide the one I’ve been waiting for.
His name is inconsequential. What matters is the fact that his sister was a bird.
Another twig cracks under his weight as he comes into view. All of the burial plots surrounding where he stands are covered with time. The one at his feet, however, is marked by fresh blades of grass and overturned dirt.
A month has passed, but spring has only just begun. I don’t think he’s noticed me, and I stay quiet, merely observing him as I have for months. All I’ve done is watched. If Mr. Jones taught me anything at all, it’s to take it all in, every detail, and to learn the habits of whoever it is that’s selected. Mr. Jones chooses victims. I don’t lower myself to his level, and I promised myself I never would. I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of him anymore. Not after I left him the note. I’ve never seen so much damage caused by a simple letter.
Smiling at the thought, I close my notebook and take in the boy I’ve been waiting for.
Charlie, the thin boy in worn jeans and a dark hoodie stares straight ahead, seemingly at nothing. He still hasn’t dropped the flowers he brought. He does this when he works the day shift at the garage. The sun setting is the only reason he leaves. One might say he’s guilt ridden and for good reason.
He sits feet from me, but still fails to realize he’s not alone, at a grave with an inscription that reads:
When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives. ~ Lauren Eden
Although, that’s not the woman’s name carved on the tombstone.
“You okay?” I speak up without walking toward him, still leaning against the tree. After an initial shudder of shock, with his grip tight around the bouquet, Charlie’s gaze meets mine. It’s easy to tell I scared him at first. He’s been afraid ever since they killed her.
“Yeah, just … Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, then offers me a tight smile and finishes the thought. “Just leaving flowers.”
“For who?” I play up my youth. I know I look younger than I am. Poor nutrition will do that.
“My sister.”
All men are fueled by motives, by desires. Revenge is a deep-seated motive. We all have it buried inside of us. Including a high school boy, burdened by his mother’s poor choices and his sister’s death.
“What happened to her?” I chance a couple steps closer, eyeing the grave as if I haven’t seen it a dozen times before.
A gust of wind blows by, followed by silence. In the last few weeks, Charlie’s told four people what happened. He broke down at his workplace, the garage. He’s been slipping away and devolving. I nearly second-guess my decision to approach him today, the two-month anniversary of her death, and the two-week anniversary of the man who killed her getting off scot-free.
But then he answers, “She got involved with the wrong kind of people.”
“The wrong kind of people?” I know damn well who his sister was and the relationships he’s referring to. Knowledge is the only path that will save the damned.
“Yeah … they weren’t good guys.” He swallows thickly and his reddened cheeks burn brighter as he closes his eyes and allows the wind to batter him. “She said she was seeing … someone.” He shakes his head, huffing out a humorless breath and says, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to—”