Twenty Four
R I V E R
THREE LONG DAYS OF grueling, radio silence from Mako. Three days of police knocking on my door, asking questions. Parasites littering the lawn, waiting for any opportunity to snap a picture of me and publish it with some half-assed article with headlines like The Truth Behind
Ryan Fitzgerald’s Murder.
It’s tiresome.
Reports over the past few days have been that Ryan’s true murderer was finally caught. The Ghost Killer. Who was also Ryan’s client. It honestly couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. It played into the story we had already spun. Ryan figured out who the Ghost Killer was, and so he was silenced before he could reveal the truth. The only thing they’re missing is Ryan’s body, but police are figuring the Ghost Killer didn’t follow his M.O. because it was a desperate, last minute kill before Ryan could reveal his identity.
In a single breath, Mako solved the case for not only his brother, but one of the biggest, most notorious cases in the U.S. I don’t need to be around Mako to know he’s not happy about it. He technically didn’t discover who the Ghost Killer was—he was told. In a pretty fucked up way to boot. There’s no sense of justice or satisfaction when discovering a serial killer in that manner. When discovering that the girl you’re in love with knew who he was for months and didn’t say anything.
And discovering that it’s the same man who beat and raped her not too long ago.
I waited on thin ice, expecting police to storm the house and arrest me for Ryan’s murder. Surely, Mako wouldn’t keep up the pretense after I lied to him for so long. Surely, he wouldn’t consider me worth risking his entire life over.
And yet, he kept true to his word. He covered up Ryan’s murder, blaming it on a man that committed countless, heinous crimes except for the one he’s going to be arrested for.
That’s the scariest part. He hasn’t been arrested yet. Because they can’t find him. Billy has connections everywhere. I’m sure he knew of his arrest before it was even decided that they had probable cause.
No one knows where he is. So now, it’s not a search to find who the Ghost Killer is, but where he is.
“You look like death.” The soft, voice rings out from behind me. I’m curled into a ball on the couch, facing away from the world. Amelia can’t even see my face and she’s already calling me out.
I try to sniffle, but both nostrils are completely congested. “You can’t even see me yet,” I retort weakly.
Weight compresses the leather couch behind my legs. A soft huff escapes her mouth. She’s only five months along now, but she’s getting huge. When you get knocked up by a mammoth, it only makes sense that you’re going to get pregnant with one.
I turn towards my best friend, confirming her presumptuous statement and settling my eyes on her
basketball of a stomach.
“How’s the baby?” I ask, my voice hoarse and weak. The corners of her eyes tighten, but she humors me anyways.
“I’m convinced I was abducted by aliens and injected with a baby. There’s no way this thing is human. I’m five months and look like I’m ready to pop. This lady in the grocery store asked me when I’m due, and of course when I told her, she didn’t believe me! She said I must have pregnancy brain because I’m clearly about to enter into labor any day now.” She huffs with annoyance when she recalls the memory. “Damn witch. I may have someone slowly consuming my body from the inside out, but I’m not stupid.”
I laugh at her antics. “Did you decide on a name yet?”
Amelia called me yesterday to dryly inform me she’s having a boy. She was never one to care about throwing gender reveal parties or making a big deal out of stuff like that. The technician asked if she wanted to know the gender, Amelia said yes, and there was her answer. Though she did admit that she cried when they said she was having a boy.
“I think we’re going to go with Beckham.”
“That is incredibly cute. You have my approval.”
She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s too worried about me and it’s tainting her excitement.
“Please stop worrying about me,” I whine pitifully.
“River. Your boyfriend was murdered only two weeks ago. You told me that perfectly edible man fucked the soul out of your body and then an hour later, kicked you out of his car because he discovered that your abuser is also a notorious serial killer and you knew about it and didn’t tell him.
And, that your mother told you that that notorious serial killer is also your father.” She pauses for dramatic effect, earning an eye roll. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be worried?”
“I don’t know if he’s actually my father,” I mutter, ignoring the other several valid points she made.
“Whether he is or not, he’s an evil man that’s been terrorizing you your entire life. I get why Mako’s pissed, I really do. But does he not understand the extent in which you are absolutely terrified of Billy? Does he not realize the trauma that man has inflicted on you, and in turn, gains your unwilling loyalty purely because you’re fearful for your life?”
This is why I called Amelia and told her everything. Well, not everything. I obviously didn’t tell her that I tortured and killed my boyfriend. I trust Amelia with my entire soul and being, but that doesn’t mean she deserves to be burdened with a secret like that.
But I’m glad I confessed everything else to her. Not only is she a solid shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen, but she gets it. She understands what it’s like to be abused. She understands the trauma and fear. We both know I should’ve told Mako the truth. And because I kept my mouth shut, several people were murdered because of my silence. It was never said, but I know that thought passed through Mako’s head, too.
“I don’t know, Amelia. I think he’s too angry to rationalize it that way. It’s hard for someone to do that when they don’t know what it’s like to have someone like that haunting your life.”
She sighs and nods her head, agreeing.
“Do you think Billy is going to know that it was you and Barbie that told Mako who he really was?”
I bite my lip, debating how much I should divulge. If I should tell her the truth on how terrified I am that Billy will come for me. I glance up at her, and whatever’s in my eyes must answer her
question. Her lip trembles.
“Cameras working again?” she asks in place of my response. I nod once.
“Come home with me.”
“And possibly put you and your unborn child’s life in danger? I should punch you for even suggesting something like that,” I say, a bite in my tone. She flinches but nods her head in acceptance.
The sad truth is, Amelia understands that there’s not much I can do to get away from Billy. And knowing that, as my best friend, is killing her inside. Just like it would do to me if our roles were reversed.
“So aside from this Ghost Killer clusterfuck. How are you handling everything?” she asks, forcing the conversation away from something incredibly terrifying as she absently rubs her hand on her belly. She said he’s already started kicking. I stare at her belly intently, silently bribing baby Beckham into kicking his mother so I can feel it.
“Everything as in my abusive boyfriend being murdered or the fact that I think I fell in love with his brother and he hates me now?” Amelia gives me a droll look. I sigh. “I’m not sad about Ryan.
Maybe I should be because we were together for over two years, but any love for him went out the window already. He hit me, raped me and cheated on me. I feel nothing.”
Amelia slumps against the couch dramatically. “I’m glad you said it. I would’ve been totally willing to empathize with you if you were still in love and missed him, but it would’ve hurt my soul, too.”
I smile, feeling a tad lighter than I have in days. “As for Mako… I don’t know what’s going on there. I finally realized that he’s everything I want in a man the same time he realized that I’m everything he hates in a woman.”
Amelia smacks my leg lightly, shooting me a look. “That is not true, River. Mako’s pissed, and rightly so. But he told you he loved you, and even though I only met him for like, thirty seconds once, he doesn’t seem like the type of man to say that to just anyone. And in those thirty seconds, he looked at you like you hung the fucking moon and stars, as cheesy as that shit is, okay? He loves you, he’s just hurt.”
My lip trembles, and goddamn the bitch for giving me hope. I hate hope. I hate that word as much as I hate the word beautiful. Hope is hopeless. Hope is disappointment. I had no expectations for Mako to come back to me and now I’m trashing those expectations and replacing them with hopeful
ones. Gross.
“Should I reach out to him?”
She doesn’t answer right away, seeming to look for the question in my penguin socks, as if the flightless birds are going to reveal the secrets of the universe. Finally, she says, “Let him come to you.
He needs to cool off and think about things rationally, and right now, that’s pretty hard to do when he’s dealing with distraught parents that just lost their son, a manhunt for a very dangerous serial killer, and you have parasites suntanning on your lawn.”
Can’t argue with that.
NIGHTTIME IS WHEN IT’S the worst. The house is enormous and empty. But it doesn’t feel empty. It feels like there’s all sorts of scary things lurking in the millions of shadows in this house. Even when Ryan was alive, I never liked being home alone. Scenes from horror movies would play through my mind on a reel, and my heartrate would increase until I was on the verge of hysteria.
It’s so much worse now. The reality that Billy is missing has hit me full force. It’s unlikely he knows that his identity reveal had anything to do with me, but that doesn’t make me feel any less on edge. What if Barbie somehow warned him that Mako—a fucking detective—discovered who the Ghost Killer is?
Would I blame her for telling him? Yes and no. Barbie would warn Billy for the same reasons I didn’t tell Mako who he was. Fear. Something that Billy has ingrained into me and Barbie so deeply, it’s nestled deep into our bone marrow.
Without ever fully acknowledging it, I convinced myself that if I told Mako who Billy was, he’d find out. He’d know it was me, and not only would he come for me, he’d come after Mako, too.
Barbie’s pumping her system full of drugs that easily cause paranoia. The second we left her house, she probably convinced herself that Billy was going to find out and warned him.
Realizing this has me nestling deeper into the couch. I could hardly stand to look at this couch for months after I embarrassed myself all over it, and now it’s the only thing offering me any shred of
comfort.
I wish Mako was here.
I turn the T.V. up louder, some reality show on that I’ve hardly paid attention to. I’m hoping the privileged women complaining about their lives will help drown out the very scary thoughts threatening to send me into a panic attack.
A SOFT NOISE FILTERS through my dreams, coaxing my brain away from the dream and back into reality. Bright flashes of light flicked across my lids before the nasally voices from the T.V. follow suit. Reruns of that reality show are still playing.
God, how long has it been?
My heart starts to pound as a sick feeling starts to settle in. Something woke me up. The air feels different. Like someone is in the room with me.
Heart in my throat, I slowly crack open my eyes until the room comes into view. Nothing immediately jumps out at me. Nothing amiss except for the feeling of eyes on me.
Light flickers across the expansive living room, casting dancing shadows across the room. The dining room connects to the living room, which will also lead to the kitchen where one wall is all windows. Ryan had mentioned that that glass was hurricane-proof but it doesn’t mean someone can’t
find a creative way in if they truly set their mind to it.
I lift up on my arm, my eyes staring deeply into the darkness, praying I don’t find someone in the shadows watching me. My instincts are blaring red right now, and I can’t see why just yet. Just when I begin to relax a little, a foot steps out from the dining room. I jump up, the blankets tangling in my legs and nearly tripping me as a body emerges from the shadows.
I freeze when his face comes into view. Every warning I told myself earlier has come to fruition.
I knew he’d come for me. I fucking knew it.
“Hey, Billy,” I greet, my voice trembling. There’s no point in hiding my fear. Billy knows the taste of it well by now.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice low and sinister. He’s dressed in a suit, as usual.
Impeccable as ever, even when he’s about to conduct a kidnapping. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him, his suit not as fitted as it usually is. His skin is grayer, and there are acne scabs scattered across his face.
The meth is getting to him. His body is deteriorating.
Piercing eyes penetrate me from across the room. It was always Billy’s scariest quality. Never mind the massive scar on his weathered face, or the intimidating nature in which Billy carries himself. It was always his eyes. Cold, dark, and dead. Even meth can’t dim the darkness in those eyes.
“I always do,” I whisper, detangling my legs from the blanket and standing tall. Thank God I dressed myself into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Billy would’ve taken great pleasure in molesting my body with his eyes if I was wearing anything remotely revealing.
My personal boogieman stuffs his hands deep into his black slacks and stares at me with a detached expression. Shivers race down my spine, despite the warmth in the house. If I ran right now, Billy would chase me. I may know this house better than he does, but he has far more experience as the cat hunting down the mouse. He would catch me eventually.
“What are you doing here, Billy?” I ask, swallowing nervously. He takes another step forward.
My eyes glance to the entrance to the foyer. I can’t back up any further with the couch pressed into my legs.
“Don’t play stupid, River. You know exactly why I’m here,” he growls lowly.
My heart drops. Where the fuck is my phone? Probably lodged between the cushions of the couch. Nowhere that’s easily reachable. And definitely not in a spot where I could sneak it into my pocket. Billy’s watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to twitch in a manner that he doesn’t like
before he pounces.
“What did Barbie tell you?”
“You know I’m hurt,” he cuts in before the words barely finish leaving my mouth. “I raised you, River. Watched you grow into a young woman. Taught you many life lessons. I thought we had a bond.” My heart speeds up when he walks closer. Closer, and closer until a monster is standing directly in front of me.
His eye twitches, the only sign that Billy is angry. I don’t know if he’s on meth right now or not, but Billy can be really good at hiding when he’s riding high on drugs if he needs to be. Ever the professional. Just like Ryan, he always cared about his reputation and image with people. He would never live it down if he looked like some tweaker from the streets.
“Billy, I don’t know what Barbie tol—” The loud slap rings in my ear before the burning sensation fully sets in. I close my eyes against as the fire finally catches up, setting the nerves in my face ablaze. I glue my teeth shut, learning my lesson not to speak.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he spits, letting the blank mask slip for a few terrifying seconds, before donning the mask once more. The switch—quickly turning from one person to the next—is unsettling to watch. Calm and collected one second, to raging mad another, and then back to calm as if I hallucinated the anger.
I don’t speak again, not trusting the right words to come out of my mouth. There are no right words. He’s angry and it doesn’t matter what I say. In his eyes, there’s no excusing the fact that I sold him out to the police. To a detective.
“Do you realize how much money it’s going to cost to clear my name?” he asks, tilting his body down to eye level. His breath reeks of spearmint gun, the sharp smell invading my senses. Billy always loved to chew gum. He said it would look unprofessional to kill someone with bad breath.
I shake my head once, tightening my lips into a firm, white line. His hand snaps out, startling me as he grabs a fist full of hair and wrenches my face into his. I jump, a scream loosing from my throat.
Dead eyes stare into widened eyes filled with terror.
“You betrayed me, River. Your own father.”
A gasp lodges in my throat. My body freezes and my eyes squeeze shut. From pain. Denial.
Absolute rage.
I convinced myself Barbie was lying to me, just to hurt me further. Twist the knife that was already plunged in my heart when Mako found out I was lying to him. I refused to actually consider what she was saying. Refused, refused, refused.
“You’re lying,” I spit through gritted teeth, my body resuming its fight tenfold. Burning rage consumes me. There’s no way Billy is my fucking father. “My father could be anyone.”
Billy’s dark laugh reaches my ears and slithers down into my soul, cracking it just a little bit more.
“I had a paternity test done when you were born,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder as if he isn’t currently tearing my life apart. Tears burn my retinas, those words eliciting a response in me I can’t quite describe. Barbie could never tell me who my father was—at least that’s what she always led me to believe. Any time I asked, she’d scoff at me and ask me how many clients she fucks in a week. I could never give her an answer.
“I don’t look anything like you,” I argue, a last ditch effort to catch him in a lie.
He smiles sardonically. “You’re right. But you got your eyes from my mother.” My eyes narrow, still not ready to believe him.
“You look so much how Barbie did when she was your age. Beautiful. But those eyes, they’re exactly like my mother’s. Always filled with fire and brimstone. And you know what?” He pauses,
waiting for my response.
“What?” I grit out.
“I hated my mother.”
