Personal conflicts aside, I’ll have to leave this ending to be a surprise.
If people knew the story of how I grew up, they would feel so badly for me. Most of them would. If, however, I started that tale with the barn … a sarcastic huff leaves me as I picture women securing their arms around their children and slowly backing away.
The metal stairs to the fire escape creak and groan as I climb down until my boots hit the pavement.
The streetlights shine down on me and that’s just fine. With the jacket that’s tight across my shoulders sporting an electric company logo and the nondescript black bag in my hand, I’m merely out on the job. Fixing a broken cable box or whatever the hell will do the trick to get bystanders feeling comfortable.
I went from being a boy abducted from his shitty hometown with crime rates that rivaled the most dangerous cities, to becoming an onlooker in a sleepy suburb, hiding in an abandoned barn while I observed the most heinous of crimes. I spent my days watching a man who defended both the innocent and guilty for a living, a man everyone seemed to look up to.
It wasn’t often he came to the barn with his victims. But my birth was a long one and I learned who I was, what I wanted, and more importantly, how and why I should kill.
I was the lucky one who escaped one hell, only to be birthed into another.
Delilah
It’s far too quiet in this apartment now that I’m alone. It’s late and the residents above me, the Whitmores, must have gone to bed early or left for vacation. I haven’t heard a thing through the floorboards. It would offer me peace any other time to know the obnoxious pacing and thuds of heavy footsteps are silenced for whatever reason, but not tonight.
I can’t help but to focus on the fact that last time I showered here, Marcus brought roses to my kitchen. He broke in and not a soul knew while I was in this very bathroom. I check my bedroom the moment I step out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel, although I hold on to my gun with a tight grip. The lightweight Beretta hasn’t left my side since I’ve come home.
I take careful steps into every room and I truly wish there were some sign of someone else, even if it’s only Mrs. and Mr. Whitmore arguing over the television channel and what to watch next.
No one’s here. Not a sound can be heard except for my own nervous heartbeat. My apartment is empty, the security system up and running. A click on the keypad to my laptop, open on my kitchen counter, would show any movement at all surrounding the apartment. Of course I see various people coming and going, mostly neighbors and their friends flowing through the locked front door as they’re buzzed in.
With the pads of my feet still damp, I vacate the empty kitchen. The perfectly cleaned island counter, lacking anything at all on it, stays in my mind.
Back in the bedroom, I recheck all the windows. It’s the back bedroom window that I’m certain Marcus came in through before. I don’t have any proof but it would only make sense. It backs up to brush, so it’d be difficult, but it’s quiet along that street with hardly anyone there to witness a break-in.
With a prick climbing up my spine, I stare at the window, the gun slipping against my palms until I breathe out a frustrated sigh.
This is necessary. Getting used to being home alone after a break-in is something that simply has to happen. I’m not the only one who goes through this anxiety. There’s a break-in nearly every thirteen seconds, adding up to over two and a half million a year. So many people go through this. Still, as I set the gun down on the counter, remove my shower cap and stare at my reflection, I loathe that fear is leading my actions. I suppose the comparison isn’t quite the same. Two and a half million people don’t encounter serial killers … or get gifted flowers and forbidden kisses during their break-ins.
My gaze drops to my lips and I let my fingertips drift there. It’s not like I’d use the gun, I remind myself as I set it down and go about my routine.
I have questions and Marcus has answers. Answers Cody supposedly doesn’t have. Taking