Twenty Five
M A K O
NEVER IN MY LIFE did I think I’d be sitting here consoling my mother as we bury her son —my brother. Not that I could ever technically call him that. He was never much of a brother and more of an abuser. That’s what he was to many people.
Mom’s head is resting on my shoulders, bawling her sad blue eyes out as we lower Ryan’s casket into the ground on a chilly Saturday morning. An empty casket. Dad’s on the other side of her, barely holding it together as he hugs his wife from the other side, his arm firmly wrapped around her tiny waist. It’s taking everything in me not to lift my arm back and clock him. Doesn’t matter that I hated Ryan, it doesn’t change the fact that he raped a little boy for who knows how many years. Did
he ever really stop?
That’s something I’ll never know.
I haven’t told Mom the truth about him, yet. I tried, but it was so hard to do while she’s grieving the death of her son. I’m scared to see how she’ll react when she has to grieve her husband, too.
As many people there are that cared about Ryan, Mom and Dad insisted on a personal funeral.
Immediate family only, with the obvious inclusion of his girlfriend.
She’s not fucking here, though. Not sure if it’s because she didn’t think she could handle being able to keep up the pretense of grieving a man that hurt her in so many ways, or if she didn’t come because she didn’t want to face me. Either way, Mom and Dad are upset she didn’t make it, without a
word as to why.
And me? I’m just fucking pissed.
Part of me doesn’t feel I have the right to be angry. Ryan did some pretty fucked up shit to her, and if she doesn’t want to show up to his funeral, then she shouldn’t have to. Maybe I’m just angry because it would’ve given me an excuse to see her. Talk to her. Even if it would’ve just been an angry-filled exchange, it would’ve soothed something in my soul to see her again.
“No mother should ever have to bury their child,” Mom whispers from beside me, dabbing her nose with her tissue daintily.
“I know, Mom,” I whisper back, feeling a million different shades of guilty when I’m the one that helped put him in the ground—or rather, a bunch of pig’s stomachs. I don’t feel guilty that it happened, I feel guilty that my mother is the one ultimately suffering for it.
The priest says a few prayers. Mom steps forward, Ryan’s childhood teddy bear clutched in her hand. Supposedly, when he was a baby, he never let that thing go. It was his comfort when he was scared, clutching the teddy bear with tiny hands, convinced that it’d keep him safe. Mom decided to bury it with his casket in the hopes that he’ll find comfort in the bear even in death.
She throws the bear, crouches down and with a heartbreaking sob and throws the first handful of dirt on the casket. Dad slowly walks up to join her, fisting the dirt like it personally wronged him, his knuckles bleeding into white, before throwing his handful on the casket as well. They asked me to do
the small tradition, too, but I declined. I think I have enough bad karma built up, there’s no need to rub it in by pretending I care that much.
They rejoin my side as the dirt begins to pile on, scoop by scoop.
“Where do you think she is?” Mom asks softly from beside me, her tears still freshly falling.
I sigh, not sure how to answer. “From what I know about her, she’s not used to the family thing. I don’t think she’s the type of person that finds solace from other people. She probably just needed to be alone today, Mom.”
Mom nods, accepting that answer. Always the most kind-hearted person, never judging others.
“Everyone grieves differently,” she says. “I hope she knows she can always find a family in us.”
My heart clenches, for reasons I can’t even name. I can’t tell if it hurts that she’d be included in the family as Ryan’s girlfriend, and not mine. How would Mom even react to that? River and I falling in love with each other? Sometimes it’s hard to say with her. She’s understanding, but she’s also never dealt with a death of a child before. She could react in ways even neither of us would expect.
Not that it matters much anymore, anyway. River lied to me repeatedly for several months. I get that we weren’t on the best of terms—to no fault of my own—but she couldn’t open her fucking mouth at any point when I was helping her cover up my brother’s murder?
Fuck, she even tried getting the answer out of Ryan before she killed him, already knowing the answer herself. And she still kept her mouth shut. It hurts. It hurts that she knew how badly I wanted to solve this case, how much it was getting to me, and she didn’t care enough about me to end my misery.
I’m a damn good detective, I know that. I’m on the verge of getting promoted to Sergeant, for fuck’s sake. Every detective has their one. The one criminal that gave them absolute hell to catch. The Ghost Killer was mine, and no part of me would’ve been ashamed if River revealed her suspicions to me.
The only thing that pisses me off more than River lying to me is the fact that the Ghost Killer was right under my nose the entire time, attempting to fuck with the investigation anyway he could. After his story started changing, I stopped relying on him. Stopped listening. Long term use of meth fucks with your memory and Billy is no stranger to tasting his own product. It started off as just a few minor details that changed, and then eventually, some key details.
It makes me wonder what would’ve happened to the investigation if Billy would’ve came to me as a sober man. I loathe to admit that he probably would’ve succeeded in fucking with my case. I wouldn’t have been chasing him this long if he wasn’t a smart man. I guess I can be thankful for meth if it means I have a stone-cold killer starting to make mistakes.
The fire inside me has been raging since the moment I saw Benedict Davis on River’s phone, staring at the camera with cold, dead eyes and an expression that would better suit your nightmares.
And those scars. Those goddamn scars. I’ve been tempted to ask Benedict how he got them when interviewing him, but I always kept my mouth shut. Now, all I want to do is give him new ones. The flames are being stoked, wood thrown into the inferno now that Benedict—or Billy—is missing.
Now that I know who the Ghost Killer is, he has no fucking chance of escaping me now.
I PUT MOM TO bed only an hour ago when my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. I ignore it for now, more focused on making sure my distraught mother is okay. Couldn’t give a fuck less how Dad is feeling. But the buzzing is insistent and soon Dad is snapping at me to answer the phone already. I listen if only for the fact to get away from him.
With a sigh, I answer, “Mako.”
“Mako? Oh my God, Mako. Thank God.”
My brow creases, not recognizing the voice over the phone.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Amelia, River’s best friend.”
My heart stops and everything around me freezes. If River’s friend is calling me, that means something happened. Something bad.
“Where’s River?” I ask, a bite to my tone.
“That’s just the fucking thing, I don’t know! I was just at her house yesterday, and while she was stuck on the couch crying, she was otherwise fine. And then I go back over today to drop off some comfort food and the house is trashed! She’s gone, Mako, she’s fucking gone and I know it was Billy.
I know he fucking took her!”
By the end of her rant, she’s hysterical and I’m shaking from… fuck, from so many things. Potent fury is coursing through my veins. That motherfucker took my girl, and now there is no hope that I’ll be bringing back Billy alive. The second I get my hands around that asshole’s neck… I can’t think about it right now, I need to focus on finding River.
“I’m heading to her house now. Stay there.”
I hang up the phone and rush out of the house, Dad’s concerned questions chasing me out. I don’t have the brain space to hear them, let alone give a solid answer.
I’m peeling out of the driveway and speeding towards Ryan’s house, donning my sirens to get there faster. Ryan lives about fifteen minutes away from our parents. I get there in five.
Throwing the gear in park, I don’t even bother turning the engine off before I’m nearly stumbling out of the car and into Ryan’s house. Amelia is in the living room, pacing a hole in the carpet with steady streams of hot tears trailing down her face. Amelia chirps with relief and then throws herself at me and hugs my midsection, crying into my chest.
Shock renders me helpless, my arms splayed out with awkwardness for a moment before my brain catches up. I relax my arms and wrap them loosely around her back, listening to her garbled words while anxiously looking around the house, searching for any sign on what happened to River.
“I need you to tell me anything you know. Did River mention anything the last time you spoke?
Did she seem scared or express any concerns that Billy was coming for her? Anything at all?”
Amelia steps back and rests her hands on her swollen stomach. Her mascara is smudged on my white t-shirt, but I couldn’t give a shit less.
“She didn’t say the words, but yes, she was terrified. We had a brief conversation about it. I asked her to come live with me and she nearly bit my head off for suggesting it, knowing that it would put me and my baby in danger. I asked if the cameras were back on and she said yes. That was about the extent of it.”
Sobs crawl up her throat and wrack her body once more. She drops her head in her hands, covering her face. My own hands rip through my hair, tugging until the sharp pain rivals in the pain in
my chest. I can’t fucking breathe.
River knew Billy was going to come for her.
And I was too fucking selfish and stewing in my own anger to realize this. I should’ve fucking known. I should’ve known Billy wouldn’t let Barbie and River’s revelation go unpunished. The man is hooked on meth and paranoid that all his men are betraying him on a good day.
Fuck!
That’s the whole reason the Ghost Killer even came about. His paranoia. His complete conviction that no one can be trusted.
I swear to God, if I find River murdered with that fucking word carved in her chest… “What are we going to do?” Amelia cries, pulling me away from my violent and very unhelpful thoughts.
I’ve already started carefully picking around the house. Looking at the only evidence I have.
Blood spatter is on the carpet, not enough to be fatal, but enough to stall my heart in my chest. A fleece blanket is tossed on the floor, strands of curly black hair lying on top of it. Could’ve been from natural shedding, but I have a feeling it’s from Billy yanking her around by her hair.
The more I see, the more the red haze in my vision deepens. More blood on the dining room floor, this time in streaks as if a body was dragged across the blood. He made her bleed somehow, hopefully from a nose bleed rather than anything more brutal like being stabbed or cut. Then he dragged her into the dining room, more than likely by her hair based off a few more strands stuck in the blood. Half a footprint is stamped on the ground, likely from her kicking her feet.
The blood is consistent all the way through the kitchen and out the back door. The final nail in the coffin is the small bloody handprint on the window, the size of River’s hands. Amelia’s cries harder when she sees the handprint, both of us imagining very vividly River’s desperate attempt to get away from Billy.
Based off the streaking of the blood, a couple more cropped footprints and fingerprints, River left all evidence that she was taken forcefully.
My girl didn’t leave without a fucking fight, that’s for sure.
“What do you know about Billy?”
“N-nothing really. River was tight-lipped when it came to him. She said the less I knew about him, the safer I am.”
I growl in frustration, storming my way into Ryan’s office where his monitor is. It’s already been combed through by the police for any evidence, but all that was found was work-related information.
I sit down in the office chair and pull up the security feed. Amelia huddles behind me, peering over my shoulder as I wind the cameras back. A heavy feeling of unease settles inside my chest. I need to see this, but I already know I’m liable to punch a hole through the monitor once I see Billy lay a single finger on her. Based off the nervous energy emanating from Amelia behind me, I’m sure she’s not feeling much different than I am.
With Amelia’s direction from when she left the house, the feed is wound back to about ten o’clock last night, only a couple hours after Amelia left. River is curled in a tight ball, sleeping on the couch, her black hair splayed across the couch. In her sleep, she looks so innocent. Her face softened, almost making her look like a teenager.
And then her eyes are snapping open abruptly, as if she heard a noise. She slowly sits up, propped up on one arm as she looks around the room, the only source of light being the T.V. It takes a few minutes, but from the corner of the camera—right where the dining room entrance is—Billy steps out of the shadows.
My hands grow clammy watching River scramble up, tripping over the fleece blanket between her legs. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but River’s terror is so potent, I can feel it through the camera. Adrenaline rushes into my veins, flooding my ears as I watch Billy come closer to her. River presses her legs into the couch, her eyes rounded and wild as they exchange words. My fingers twitch with the need to reach out and touch her. Save her.
Billy raises a hand and slaps her in the face, their exchange becoming more heated. I nearly propel myself through the screen, desperate to pull Billy out of it and crush him in my fist.
There’s a moment of pause, where they both look at each other, sizing the other up. And then River bolts, darting to the left towards the front door. Billy expects the move, catching hold of her by the waist before slinging her back on the couch. River doesn’t stop to absorb the impact on the couch, immediately scrambling off towards the dining room. But Billy is right there, catching her again.
She struggles and fights while I sit on the edge of the chair in suspense. I know how it ends, but yet I’m waiting for her to escape him anyways. Amelia’s face closes in on the screen, her cheek nearly pressed against mine. She trembles just as I do, hating every second of watching her best friend being abducted but not being able to unglue her eyes from the scene.
River’s mouth opens wide, and though I can’t hear it, I feel the scream she lets loose. So loud, her body shakes from it. Billy curls a fist and punches her in the face, once, twice, three times before River’s body begins to go limp. Blood pours from her nose.
Billy drags her fighting body out of the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. I switch camera feeds as he drags her through the house, my heart pounding as Billy gets closer to the door leading outside. Once they go through that door, I won’t be able to see her anymore.
A tear drop lands on my hand as the last of River’s body disappears through the door. She’s gone. And I feel nothing but anger and desolation.
Amelia sniffles, another tear dripping from her face and onto my hand. I don’t move my hand away, nor do I try to comfort her. Instead, I let the tears of River’s best friend soak into me, propelling my anger. River has at least two people in her life that would die a little inside if she died. Part of mine and Amelia’s soul would be lowered into the ground right alongside River’s body.
“Do you have any idea where he could’ve taken her?” I ask lowly, my voice hoarse with emotion.
She sniffles again, wiping her nose. “I have no idea. From what I know, Billy didn’t tell River much about his drug operations, and even if he did, she wouldn’t have told me anything. If Billy would’ve found out I knew anything, he would’ve killed me.”
I nod my head, already coming to the same conclusion. I lose myself in thought, staring at the feed once more, trying to find anything to go off of. Anything.
“Do you love her?” Amelia’s soft question cuts through my concentration like a hot knife. Her question stings. Because I do love her. And I treated her badly, and now she’s gone. Fuck. I’m still pissed at her for keeping the Ghost Killer’s identity from me. But how can I blame her for being scared when I’m watching her abduction right in front of my fucking face?
“I do,” I answer.
She nods her head, as if I confirmed something she already knew. “She loves you, too. I think she fell in love with you on that dance floor.”
My head whips to her, surprised. She’s staring forlornly at the screen. “She told you it was me?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I recognized you. Even in my drunk-addled brain that night, I remember watching you two dance. I remember watching the way you looked down at her. And I recognized that look because I see it every day when my husband looks at me. I’ve seen River dance
with many men up until that point, but never did I see her enjoy it the way she did with you. I watched two souls connect and even though I was incredibly sick at that point, I felt so much guilt for pulling her away. Because I know something special would’ve happened that night, and it’s my fault it didn’t.
And because of that, she ran into Ryan’s arms. Sometimes I feel guilt for that, too. If I would’ve just taken care of myself, she never would’ve dated that monster.”
Another tear slips from her eyes. This time, I do wipe it away. “It’s not your fault, Amelia.
There’s a lot of things I’d do differently that night. The first one would be getting her phone number.”
A sad smile stretches across her face. “She didn’t say much about you. I asked her once, and the look on her face said it all. She was plagued by you. She admitted she refused to look at your face.
And when I asked why, she said she didn’t want your face to haunt her every night, just as your hands do. She shut down after that and I didn’t push.”
She pauses and it seems like she’s struggling with something she wants to say. “She told me what happened between you two. I get why you’re mad. I really do. But this right here, is why she didn’t
tell you. I hope you can forgive her.”
“I already have,” I whisper.
Too many emotions well inside of me. I turn my face back to the screen and watch once more as the love of my life is taken away. From me. From Amelia. From her life.
“I think we need to go pay her mother a visit.”
