Heart of a Hunter

The Beginning

The autumn leaves shone like blood against the brilliant sun—the perfect setting for a murder.

The afternoon set in, and as usual, Ariella was distancing herself from her foster family. While her fake brothers and sisters were running around inside the house, making noise and causing general havoc—she sat alone on the porch, repeatedly lining up her dominoes and creating winding trails of them up and down the woodwork. It was oddly satisfying, in a calm, subtle sort of way, stacking so many of them only to knock them all down in one fell swoop.

She couldn’t have known that this would be the last afternoon she spent on the porch of the Grant house.

Ariella was only eight years old, and she’d been through numerous foster homes before. The more strange and peculiar families she’d enter into, the more isolated she became. Being forced to live with strangers was unsettling enough, but to make things worse, none of her foster families seemed to want her for very long. Something would always go wrong; the family would be evicted and she’d be forced back into state’s custody, or someone in the family would die or suffer another emergency, or the family would return her to the state for some other unknown reason. Ariella had been with this family—the Grant family—for longer than anywhere else so far, and the situation was becoming tense. The family was dysfunctional at best, and this was about the time Ariella would be moved away again. She never lasted at any foster family’s house for long. Each day, her anxiety would eat away at her a little more, waiting for something major to go wrong, waiting for the moment when she’d be told, yet again, that she wasn’t wanted. Although she was used to it, it still hurt every time. With each new home, she’d hope that, perhaps, they’d be the ones to keep her, to accept her, to love her like their own—but that naïve hope never came to fruition, and she was beginning to feel and know that it never would. Each family disappointed her, hurt her, and cast her aside—and something major would always, inevitably, go wrong.

Ariella was unwanted—that was the long and short of it. No matter how desperately she craved and longed for a loving family, she knew she would never get one.

It was only a matter of time before the Grant family would find a reason to get rid of her, just like all the others had.

The Grant family was made of eight people; the mother, Eliza, was a skinny, dramatic woman with blonde hair, and she always wore two large hoop earrings and a heavy coating of makeup. The children were a variety of unwanted kids, just like Ariella—a five-year-old named Jamie, two eight-year-olds named David and Sarah, an eleven-year-old named Ken, and the oldest was a fifteen-year-old named Janet.

Eliza would frequently fill the house with shouts and insults whenever she and Janet fought. The fake mom was wildly unpredictable; one minute, she’d be screaming and cursing at a kid for getting a failing grade in school, and the next, she’d be smiling sweetly and offering to take everyone to the nearest fast food joint for ice cream. Ariella found her mood swings unbearable. Whenever Eliza approached her, she tensed up as of a time bomb had just walked into the room. The children weren’t much better, all of them loud and obnoxious, always finding things to throw at each other and dragging Ariella into their circle of bullying against her will.

Out of everyone in the Grant family, Ariella liked the father most of all.

The father was a kind, easygoing pastor at the town’s local church. His name was Edward, or as everyone in the town called him, Ed or Eddie the Great. And he truly was great compared to everyone else in his family, as he was the only member of the Grant family to show Ariella any real kindness, to ask her why she was feeling so down, and to comfort her when her fake brothers and sisters would torment her. He had a pair of bright green eyes, shaved blond hair, and a smile that looked much too genuine to be real. She could never imagine how or why he ended up married to someone like Eliza.

Out of everyone in the household, the fake mother fought with Janet the most. Eliza’s Bipolar Disorder and Janet’s rebellious teenhood didn’t go hand-in-hand at all, but Eddie would always get the brunt of Eliza’s temper whenever Janet wasn’t available to torment. He usually listened calmly and quietly, pouring himself a drink or making himself a sandwich for dinner while she yelled at him, often accusing him of ‘sleeping around’ the neighborhood. She even went as far as suggesting that he was having sex with the children in the house, particularly Janet. For some reason, Eliza was overly paranoid that Eddie and Janet were seeing each other, even though the two of them barely spoke to each other. It was yet another bizarre routine of Eliza’s that Ariella simply couldn’t make sense of.

It was bizarre; some nights, Eliza and Eddie would be cuddled together on the couch, watching movies with the kids and having a wonderful time.

But, other nights, whenever Eliza was in a bad mood or had one too many drinks, a screaming match would break out, and if she didn’t get a response out of Eddie with her loud-mouthed vulgarities, she’d resort to throwing things at him.

Whenever Eliza was in a good mood, she’d act overly sweet and motherly, calling everyone “sweety” or “hun,” offering to buy them something or take them out to eat, but Ariella knew to never trust it. The falsely kind persona the woman wore was always a trap, intended to lure her in and make her feel somewhat safe, or loved, or accepted—just so Eliza could spring pounce and attack once again. She knew there was a wicked, angry, and psychotic evil monster behind her foster mother’s wild brown eyes, and she would never trust Eliza no matter how much fake kindness she would display.

Even now, sitting on the front porch next to the screen door, she was able to hear Eliza and Janet trading nasty swears at the top of their lungs, their shrill voices echoing from inside the home.

Ariella hugged her knees, kicking over her dominos and gazing into the grassy field, which was now coated in autumn leaves. The grass out there was tall enough to engulf her legs now, as nobody ever bothered to mow the lawn.

The sunlight cast a deep glare over her head, her dark auburn hair shining as it hid her face from the world. Deep blue eyes watched from behind her bangs, observing the paved walkway leading up to the house, waiting anxiously for Eddie to come home. She didn’t feel safe here without him, especially not when Eliza and Janet would fight. So many afternoons she’d spent on this porch, staring into nothingness for hours, waiting for that fateful moment when the old blue car would roll up the grass and park, when Eddie would step out, and when he’d march up to her and greet her. It was the only thing she ever looked forward to, aside from visiting his church.

Suddenly—the screen door busted open.

Ariella jumped.

Eliza leaned outside, craning over her like a vulture.

“Ariella, sweety, will you do the dishes for me tonight?” the woman asked, flashing her usual empty smile. “Janet decided she’d rather go out and whore herself out for the town tonight instead of doing her chores!”

She was sure to turn her head back and scream her nasty remarks loudly enough for her oldest foster daughter to hear.

“You’re not my freaking mom!” Janet hollered from somewhere inside the house. “I just wanted to hang out with my friends! God! You could’ve just said no! You didn’t have to blow up on me! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Don’t you dare use that kind of language with me!” Eliza screeched, stomping back into the house and resuming their argument as the screen door swung shut again behind her.

Ariella eavesdropped on them, remaining silent and not moving. She intended to do the dishes as she was asked, but she wanted to see Eddie first.

For a while, she gazed into the empty field, listening as her fake mom and sister screamed and threw things at each other inside. It felt like hours were passing her by.

Then, at last, the blue car rolled up from the far end of the driveway, shining in the afternoon sun—and Ariella finally felt relieved.

Eddie parked in his usual spot, climbed out of his car, and made his way onto the porch, adjusting his hat and kneeling in front of her.

“Hiding out here again?” he said sweetly.

He heard the ambient cursing of his wife, then sighed, his smile fading.

“I getcha,” he added, giving her a solemn look. “I don’t blame you.”

“Why do they have to fight all the time?” Ariella asked in a voice so faint, Eddie could barely hear her, as she was terrified Eliza might overhear.

“I wish I knew,” Eddie replied. “Well… it’s kinda normal for someone Janet’s age, and Eliza… she’s not completely ‘there’ all the time.” He tapped his finger to his temple. “Sometimes, she’s not all there. She has a few mental problems. You know what that means?”

Ariella nodded.

Then—the screen door flew open again.

Eliza glared out at Eddie and Ariella, this time not bothering to plaster on a fake smile.

“I told you to do the dishes, Ariella,” the woman snapped. “Get off your lazy butt and do what you’re told—now. All the other kids have to do their chores before bedtime. You ain’t no better than they are.”

“I’m talking to her right now,” Eddie stated. “And I thought Janet was supposed to do the dishes. Why’re you having Ariella do it? She’s only eight. Dishes is a chore for an older kid.”

“Oh, little miss Janet has decided that she doesn’t care about this family enough to do her part,” Eliza grouched loudly, turning her head and announcing her remarks throughout the house again, most assuredly angering Janet even more. “She doesn’t want to do her chores tonight. So, someone else is gonna have to pick up the slack, while Janet is well on her way to earning a one-way ticket back into state’s custody!”

“Fuck you!” Janet screamed from the kitchen.

Ariella embraced her knees and hid inside her arms, and Eddie looked down, shaking his head.

Eliza inhaled and prepared to lash out at Janet again, but she hesitated, instead turning her focus back to Ariella.

“Go do your chores,” the fake mother ordered. “Or you’re not leaving the house for a week. Do you like being grounded, Ariella? ’Cause I won’t just take away your outdoor privileges and your TV time. I will take everything—including all your books and your retarded little dominos.”

“Stop,” Eddie ordered his wife. “Now, that is really enough. Ariella didn’t do anything.”

“Excuse me?” Eliza planted a hand on her hip, rolling her neck and raising her thin brows, staring challengingly into her husband.

Eddie merely returned the stare, thoroughly unfazed—but Ariella was growing incredibly anxious, her breath instantly cut thin, her heart beginning to pound.

Whenever the fake mother would chant an exaggerated excuse me, it meant that absolute hell was just about to break loose. Those two words, in this household, were reminiscent of a siren that warned of oncoming crisis—and whenever she heard them, Ariella knew to duck and cover in preparation for the bomb that was surely about to go off.

“Just have Ken do the dishes,” Eddie suggested, trying to diffuse her. “He’s at least tall enough to see over the kitchen counter.”

“Um. No. You’re not hearing me,” Eliza growled. “I told Ariella to do the dishes, and she decided to just sit out here and ignore me. And that’s fine for you? It’s okay if the children don’t do what they’re told?”

“You’re being insanely dramatic,” Eddie exhaled, already sounding exhausted with the conversation. “Don’t you think the kids would listen to you more if you stopped cussing at them and calling them names?”

Ariella cringed, not daring to observe the bizarre look of fury strewn across the fake mother’s face. He’d done it now…

Eliza’s mouth opened wide, almost as if the demon inside was readying to escape from within.

Just then, Ariella and Eddie were saved; Eliza heard something shatter in the kitchen, followed by a string of furious swearwords from Janet.

The fake mother whirled around and stormed back into the house, grabbing Janet by the wrists and wrestling her away from the dishes, though Janet had already shattered many of them on the countertop by the time Eliza reached her.

Ariella and Eddie stared at each other, both wearing the same tired expression.

“I hate her,” Ariella said without thinking. “I wish she was dead.”

Eddie tried to reply, but he fell momentarily speechless. Then, he let out a breath, his visage heavy with deep, saddened concern.

“You don’t mean that, Ariella,” he said softly.

“Yes I do,” Ariella replied, sounding and feeling more confident than usual. “I wish she would die. We’d all be happier if she was dead.”

Eddie sighed again and took her into his arms, giving her a close, loving hug.

Ariella lay on his chest, comforted by the gentle heartbeat of her foster father.

She would’ve held him longer if she knew it would be their very last hug.

“Don’t worry about doing the dishes, okay?” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, his eyes gazing kindly into hers. “You can stay out here, or you can go upstairs and hang out in your room, whichever you want. I’ll go talk to her.”

Ariella nodded.

Eddie gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, reached his feet, and marched into the house.

Ariella decided to follow him, slipping stealthily past the kitchen and creeping up the stairs as quietly as possible, leaving the scene of the screaming and shattered porclien behind as she headed off to her room.

Her bedroom wasn’t really hers; it belonged to Janet, and it was decorated with band posters and Gothic décor. The lamp by the teenager’s nightstand had a purple bulb instead of a regular one, and she had another black light hanging over her desk. The bedroom looked beautifully alternative, and Janet rarely ever used the light switch, as she preferred the room to glow an ominous neon purple. All of the children shared rooms, and Janet and Ariella shared this one—Janet’s bed up against the wall, Ariella’s foldable mattress sitting a few feet away, a single cluttered nightstand separating the two.

Ariella was thankful that Janet wasn’t in the room right now, always pleased to find some solitude in the house. She curled up on her tiny bed, sealing herself away in her old blanket and trying to block out the distant screaming with her pillow.

Eliza and Janet weren’t the ones screaming downstairs anymore. The fight now consisted of Eliza and Eddie, but Janet’s voice could no longer be heard.

Then, to Ariella’s dismay—Janet bashed the bedroom door open and stomped inside the bedroom, the doorknob breaking a hole in the bedroom’s wall and ruining one of her posters, but she didn’t seem to care. She stopped at her desk, brushing her long brunette hair in a quick and almost violent fashion, her face twisted up in anger.

“Bitch has been drinking way too fucking much tonight—surprise, surprise,” Janet complained. “She downed that whole fucking bottle of tequila. All I did was ask if I could hang out with my friends tonight, and she totally fucking flipped on me. She’s a fucking psycho.”

Ariella didn’t reply, though she silently agreed with her foster sister.

“She’s still making drinks, too,” Janet went on. “She was pouring herself shots while she was screaming at me. Take a shot, call me names. Take a shot, scream at me. Take a shot, call me a whore. Yeah. She’s a great fucking foster mother, isn’t she? I don’t know how she’s allowed to take care of so many kids. She’s a goddamn nutcase.”

“Yup,” Ariella murmured.

When Janet finished brushing her hair, she stuffed her brush into her school backpack, then began collecting her makeup and loose articles of clothing and shoving them into the bag as well. She left the room briefly, then returned with a toothbrush and a bottle of toothpaste and packed them away with the rest.

Ariella sat upright, watching her closely. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m getting the fuck outta here,” Janet told her. “I’m sick of her crazy bullshit.”

Ariella blinked. “You’re running away?”

“Yup,” Janet nodded, slipping into one of her leather jackets. “Wanna come?”

“Where’re you gonna go?” Ariella asked.

Janet shrugged. “I might go to a friend’s house. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere’s better than here. You can come with me if you want.”

Ariella considered it, wanting to agree, but the thought of running away was far too intimidating. Many things could go wrong if she tried something so drastic. Janet was older, and she knew what she was doing, at least to some extent—but Ariella wouldn’t know how to survive on her own, and she certainly didn’t have any family or friends to go to for help.

“No,” Ariella mumbled. “I can’t.”

“You sure?” Janet wondered. “I’ve got a few friends who might let us stay with them.”

Ariella shook her head. “I can’t…”

“Okay, suit yourself.”

Janet strapped on her backpack, opened her window, and stepped halfway through it, giving Ariella one last glance and a brief little wave before grabbing a nearby tree branch and pulling herself out of the house. Janet then climbed down the tree and made her getaway—leaving Ariella alone in the bedroom, listening to the ambiance of bickering adults downstairs.

For a while, she tried her best to sleep through the noise.

The sun had set, a breezy twilight taking its place outside, the sweetly scented air gusting into the room from the window Janet had left open.

It was unusual to hear Eddie shout back at Eliza, but from what Ariella could hear, he was tired of simply listening. She wondered how long it would take for them to notice Janet’s disappearance. They probably wouldn’t even realize she was gone until sometime tomorrow.

Time passed.

Ariella lay restlessly in bed, the distant echo of screaming and cursing unsettling her more and more. She hated hearing Eddie so upset, and the insults Eliza spewed at him were getting nastier by the minute.

“You’re screwing her, aren’t you?!” she heard Eliza shriek. “That little bitch is out of here!”

“Oh—for God’s sake!” Eddie exploded. “You cannot be serious. Do you really think I’d touch Janet? Do you really think I’d touch any child?!”

“What about that bitch from church? What the fuck is she bringing you cookies for?!”

“She brought them for the service!”

“Oh, puh-lease! You’re fucking her!”

“That’s enough!”

The two continued trying to holler over each other.

Ariella, far too anxious to fall sleep, inched out of her bed, stepped into the hallway, and tip-toed down the stairs.

And as she did—with every soft step and with every slight movement, she felt a strange static-like sensation slither down her spine, slowly drawing nearer and feeling as if she was encroaching upon something far darker than a simple argument. The sensation of a slow-rising dread felt stronger than her usual anxiety, feeling as if a grave oncoming storm was just around the corner, as if she’d never forget any minor detail of the staircase, or the nervousness, or the shouting, or the darkening of the windows out front, though she couldn’t have yet known why.

Ariella continued to move forward as silently as a shadow, the space beyond the stairs slowly coming into view just before her, the empty living room off to the right, the front door directly opposite her, and the light from the kitchen shining from around the left corner.

The screams grew louder as she stepped off the final stair, inhaling deeply and trying to force down all the peculiar dread that seemed to have arisen out of nowhere.

She then slowly peeked into the kitchen from around the corner; Eddie was standing at the end of the bar, hands balled into fists, his back facing Ariella. Eliza was on the other side of the kitchen, pouring an amber-colored liquid into a small glass. She turned it up, gulped the whiskey, and slammed the glass back down.

“How much have you had…?” Eddie asked. “Please stop drinking. Especially right after you take your medication. You know better.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was allowed to do at least one thing to make me happy. God knows you won’t. You and these damn kids.”

“Stop talking about the kids like that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ed.”

The other children had already retreated to their bedrooms, hoping to hide away from all of the fighting, as they usually did.

Ariella didn’t know what possessed her to behave differently tonight, to approach the two adults and spy on them, but she remained hidden at the bottom of the stairway, observing Eddie and Eliza and wanting to help her foster father somehow, her heart pounding roughly. She could only imagine what kind of hell she’d face if the fake mother caught her eavesdropping…

“I’m kicking the little whore out,” Eliza said pompously, pouring another shot. “And I don’t give a flying fuck what you say. Janet’s going straight back into state’s custody.”

“Good God. I don’t know how you can be so threatened by a fifteen-year-old,” Eddie retorted. “Are you not even taking your meds anymore? Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one going around fucking everyone in town.”

“No I’m not!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Ed!”

“I am not lying!”

“YES YOU ARE! I’M TIRED OF YOUR BULLSHIT!”

“I’M TIRED OF YOUR DAMN ATTITUDE!”

“FUCK YOU! I’M KICKING THE BITCH OUT AND THAT’S ALL THERE IS TO IT!”

“NO YOU’RE NOT!”

“WATCH ME!”

“YOU ARE NOT KICKING ANYONE OUT! NOT WHILE I’M HERE!”

“OH—FINE! FINE, ED! I WON’T KICK HER OUT! YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I’M GONNA DO? I’M GONNA GO UP THERE—AND I’M GONNA PUT HER ASS TO BED!”

Eliza began rifling frantically through one of the drawers in the kitchen—pulling out a small silver revolver.

Ariella’s heart might’ve stopped.

Eliza popped the gun open and managed to put three bullets into the chamber before Eddie snapped his hands around her wrists, trying his best to restrain her—jerking her arms around and trying to wrestle the gun away from her.

The two of them fought and struggled, Ariella’s heart now hammering with terror.

Eliza and Eddie rolled over the counter, knocking over the toaster, the coffee pot, and several dishes—the chamber clicking into place as the gun hit the countertop—

Then—Eliza shoved herself into Eddie’s midsection and—

BANG.

Ariella gasped—jerking around the corner and clamping her hands over her mouth, her breaths thin and rapid, eyes filling with tears.

Eliza watched as Eddie’s mouth fell agape, his eyes widening with shock and horror, his hands beginning to shake. The front of his pastor outfit slowly became stained with a thick blotch of crimson, his energy abandoning him, his muscles refusing to cooperate any longer. He tried to keep fighting, tried to reach for the gun, though his body began to go limp, his energy draining rapidly and his limbs refusing to cooperate any longer. He clasped onto the side of the counter, but his legs soon gave out—and Eddie collapsed awkwardly to the kitchen floor, still, motionless, and dying at Eliza’s feet.

Ariella couldn’t bring herself to peek around the corner again.

That couldn’t have happened—could it?

Was she dreaming?

Was she imagining how her life with the Grant family would end, yet again playing a drastic worst-case-scenario in her mind?

A few moments went by, which seemed to stretch on for years.

Ariella stood stiff as a board behind the corner, not moving an inch, not making a sound, nearly too scared to breathe.

Eliza loomed over Eddie’s body, heaving big and rushed breaths, blowing a strand of her blonde bangs from her face as she quietly processed what she’d done. She didn’t react with a hint of sadness or remorse, merely glaring down at her dead husband with a cold, unfeeling stare.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell sounded—nearly making Ariella jump from her skin.

Eliza glanced at the front door, then at Eddie’s body, then back.

When nobody answered the bell, the person outside began to knock. They bashed their fist into the door over and over again, and then, Ariella heard a voice from outside.

“What’s going on in there? I heard gunfire—open the door.”

The stranger knocked relentlessly, yelling for someone to answer, but of course, no one did.

Suddenly—Eliza stepped over Eddie and thundered toward the stairs.

Ariella’s heart skipped several beats at once; Eliza planned to shoot Janet next, but she wouldn’t find the teenager in her bedroom. Janet was long gone by now. Instead, she’d run into Ariella—the only witness to the murder of Edward Grant.

When Eliza whipped around the corner—she stopped dead, surprised to see Ariella there.

The foster mother instantly became enraged; she took Ariella by the hair and yanked her violently toward the living room—throwing her onto the glass coffee table and shattering it.

Ariella let out a piercing scream, her head throbbing madly and going light, her face and arms suddenly bleeding from several places, her cries echoing from the Grant household as the shock and terror soon overwhelmed her. Her vision blurred—though she was just able to see Eliza standing over her, looking maniacal, her eyes wild, her tied-up hair falling apart, her teeth clenched, and her mouth unraveling into a sick, demonic smile.

Petrified with fear, Ariella stared groggily upward, gazing down the barrel of the revolver and sobbing hysterically.

Then—the front door busted loudly open, shards of wood flying amok.

A man charged into the home with haste—stern-faced and severe, his long tan overcoat shifting at his heels, his eyes burning a fiery blue, and he carried a .45 pistol in a manner far too professional for any ordinary bystander.

Eliza jumped, gaping at the man.

The stranger scanned over the situation and quickly took action; he let off a series of deafening shots, the muzzle flashes lighting up the house, bullets tearing ruthlessly through Eliza Grant.

Ariella’s hands were clamped over her ears. She couldn’t hear herself crying over the sound of the gunshots.

It wasn’t until sometime after the massacre ended, and sometime after she heard Eliza’s body hit the floor, a morbid silence fell, and she dared to cautiously ease her eyes open.

Combat boots stood about a foot away from her face, black ones, both of them covered in clumps of mud.

Her gaze slowly ventured upward, seeing the end of a long tan trench coat. Under the trench coat was a pair of black pants, followed by a black suit jacket, a white undershirt, and a dark red tie. The man had short black hair that was about an inch long, and he had a wide face with a sharp jaw, his expression looking as if it always wore a rather serious visage. He glared at Eliza’s body for a moment, then lowered his gun, turning his gaze onto the wounded young girl.

Ariella sat whimpering in the pool of glass, not yet realizing that she’d been cut deeply in many places, gazing up fearfully at the man as her head continued to spin.

“Is anyone else here?” the man asked, his voice a faint, raspy growl, though his tone carried no hint of anger. “Anyone else with a gun? Anyone else who’s dangerous?”

Ariella sniffed and shook her head.

The man nodded, slipping the pistol into its holster and kneeling down in front of her.

Ariella whimpered and backed away, scraping her palm against a large shard of glass as she did.

The man held up a hand, falling still and watching her, waiting for any sign of trust.

Ariella fought the urge to explode into tears again, trembling from head to toe as the grave severity and sorrow of it all overcame her.

She knew it was about that time again, time for something major to go wrong in her home, time for her to be discarded, and pushed away, and shipped off to state’s custody… but she never thought that the dark, dysfunctional endeavors that always ended her time in a foster home could become so very terrible and horrific, and so without warning, it all was…

“It’s okay,” the man assured. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Ariella blinked, suddenly brought back to reality by the man’s words.

She couldn’t know if he was lying, but this man, whoever he was, had most assuredly just saved her life. He was the only person she could possibly trust now, now that Eddie was gone forever.

The cries returned to her, and she buried her face in her hands, smearing blood on her cheeks as she sobbed quietly into her palms.

The man reached out to her, but then he hesitated, turning and narrowing his eyes at the stairs.

Ken, Jamie, David, and Sarah were all huddled together at the bottom of the stairway, each of them looking positively mortified, trading gasps of shock and pointing at the corpses of their foster parents.

“Go upstairs,” the man told them. “Pack up all your belongings. The police will be here any second. Time to go.”

Ken, the oldest of the four, was trying to pull the children away from the grisly sight. The other three began to cry, but he managed to escort them all upstairs.

The man turned to Ariella again, taking her by the arms and gently pulling her to her feet. She was shaking so badly, she could barely stand, so he decided to scoop her up off the floor, carrying her out the door and cradling her like an infant.

As expected—the night had brightened by the sight of flashing red and blue.

Police cars rolled over the tall grass, covering most of the front yard. Only one of the cars parking across the Grant family’s property lacked all of the lights and décor of an average police car, and it was a vehicle that Ariella’s savior recognized, a dark maroon four-door that belonged to a certain detective.

Policemen began to swarm the scene, storming into the house with their guns drawn, shoving past Ariella and the man carrying her. From the dark maroon car, a middle-aged man calmly stepped out. He wore a dark blue overcoat, his black hair slicked backward, a cigar protruding from his mouth. This man—Detective William Lumis—strolled onto the scene with ease, unlike his trigger-finger counterparts.

“So,” Lumis said, stopping in front of the man carrying Ariella. “You wanna tell me what happened, Vance?”

Ariella’s savior—Vance—took in a deep breath. “Something went down. I had to get involved.”

Lumis’s eyes drifted down to the girl he carried, surveying the deep gashes on her arms. “What happened to her?”

“She fell on a glass coffee table,” Vance explained. “The mother was gonna kill her. She’d already shot someone else before I got in. Looked like the husband.”

Lumis took a puff from his cigar. “You’re supposed to be next door.”

“I was next door,” Vance told him. “Didn’t find anything there. The dealers left the neighborhood. The house was cleaned out. When I came outside, I heard gunfire from the house next door, so…”

“So… you came over here and did what, exactly?” Lumis asked, eyeing the Grant house, where one of the police officers was now standing in the doorway, pulling out his cellphone and dialing the CSI.

“I… intervened,” Vance answered.

Lumis squinted at him. “How?”

Vance bit his lip.

“Tell me what you did,” Lumis ordered. “Is this something we’re gonna have to go to court over? What happened?”

“I… had to shoot her,” Vance conceded. “She had a gun on one of the kids. Had no choice.”

Lumis let out a long, disdainful sigh. “Oh… good God, Vance…”

“It was in defense of others,” Vance stated. “And it was a child, no less. We won’t face any problems from this.”

“Yeah right,” Lumis scoffed. “We don’t need to give anyone any extra reasons to accuse you of being a whack-job. You know this isn’t good for your rep.”

“Don’t care.” Vance adjusted his grip on Ariella, seemingly unbothered by the blood smearing onto his coat. “She needs to get to a hospital. Might need stitches.”

“Well… take her, then.” Lumis swatted at him, motioning over to Vance’s black car, which sat parked in between the Grant house and the empty house next door. “Hurry up, before someone finds a reason to process your ass. Some people on the force don’t like you, and you know that by now… but someone’s gonna show up at your house to take you downtown sooner or later, regardless. You’re gonna have to go through a lot of questioning and bullshit, even if you don’t get in any real trouble.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Vance replied.

He started to walk off, then faced Lumis again, remembering something.

“Oh—there are other children in the house. Four of them. Get them out of there. They don’t need to stare at the bodies.”

“Oh, Christ.” Lumis pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “All right…”

Vance then marched away, carrying Ariella off to his car.

Strangely, as she lay in his arms, she felt safer than she ever had before—but she expected it wouldn’t last. Soon, she would be back in a group home, waiting to be shipped off to yet another family that didn’t want her.

Vance opened the passenger door and carefully placed her in the seat.

Then, he knelt at the door, leveling with Ariella and meeting her eyes. She was shaken, bloody, and traumatized, absolutely miserable and rattled to her very core. He practically felt the despair radiating off of her.

“Hey,” Vance said, gently placing a hand on her cheek, turning her head to face him. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You’re gonna be fine from now on. Okay?”

Ariella replied with a nod, though she didn’t believe him, not one bit. She knew what would happen, and she had her life’s grim routine pretty well memorized by now; she’d jump between foster homes, face various levels of abuse, and continue to live as a child unwanted until something horrendous would inevitably unfold again in the future.

She knew that, after tonight, she would never see Vance again, never see Eddie again, and never meet another adult whom she could trust again. She knew that nothing would actually be okay, and she knew that no one ever meant it when they said everything would be all right.

Vance would be the first person to ever prove her wrong.

Chapter 1

Man of Infamy

The Texas town of Gates Mill lived in peace since the disappearance of the Cutthroat Killer.

You know, if you pay enough attention, you can always trace the very beginning of any major event back to the moment it started, back to the first domino to fall. And sometimes, if you’re very intuitive or lucky, you notice it right then and there, right when the series begins, right when that lone domino topples over and hits its partner. The chain-effect commences, and you, wherever you are and whatever you might be doing, suddenly feel a shudder slither down your spine, or an odd sensation of anxiousness emerge from the depths of your mind and spread throughout your body like a smooth, cold fire. It’s usually subtle, not something you’d notice at first… but the more bad things to happen and the more dominos to fall, the more obvious the beginning becomes later on, and the more we kick ourselves for letting that first domino start a ripple-effect of disasters from the get-go.

It was a subtle feeling of quiet, mild dread and realization that Vance and Ariella were both fairly accustomed to, as Vance had worked numerous cases alongside Detective Lumis, and Ariella—well, she did it simply out of habit. It seemed to be the way both of their minds worked. While Vance wasn’t Ariella’s birth father, the two of them had a few key things in common, most notably their blue eyes, their hyper-vigilance, and their ability to effectively problem-solve. Vance’s hound dog instincts were a leftover skill from his time in the military, but Ariella, on the other hand, simply figured she did it out of paranoia.

Still, despite her peculiar anxiety—many years had passed since Vance liberated her from that broken foster home. It was a peaceful life growing up under his care, and the quiet, seemingly unwarranted dread she sometimes felt usually wasn’t even necessary. It was late July now, and soon, Ariella would be attending her third year at the university. Nothing frightful or traumatizing had plagued her life since the death of Eddie Grant, and after a long childhood of therapy, social avoidance, and decently undisturbed peace, she was finally branching out in life now. Things were as peaceful and as ordinary as could be.

On this late morning, Ariella was snoozing lightly on the couch, wearing a smooth half-smile as the TV played lightly in the background.

The Callaghan home was on the corner of Colonial Avenue, and the inside was the most familiar and most comfortable sight in her life; directly ahead of the front door was the hallway leading farther back into the house, the three bedrooms, and the bathroom at the end. To the left of the front door was the living room, the back of the couch facing the kitchen, perfectly sectioning the living room off from the rest of the comfy interior. A mahogany coffee table sat between the couch and the TV, covered with books, a few dirty dishes, and a laptop Ariella used for fun and school work. A huge window was beside the TV, curtains shifting in the late summer breeze, as she often liked to leave the window open on the cooler days. To the right of the front door was the kitchen, a round table in the center near the window, a tiny doorway in the corner, leading into the nook where the washer and dryer resided. A few paintings and Navy SEAL artifacts hung from the walls, many of them lined with dust, as they hadn’t moved in years.

Everything always moved a little slower in Gates Mill, everybody seemed to know everybody, and many homes remained the same over generations, most traditions older than those of the world beyond the town. Gates Mill was everything you’d expect a small Texas town to be—quiet, stable, and isolated from the chaos of the rest of the world.

It was the last place anyone might expect a serial killer to run rampant.

The peaceful and old-school atmosphere of the town was something Ariella adored about Gates Mill. Admittedly, she grew somewhat restless at times, but that was nothing that a weekend in the city or a summer vacation couldn’t fix. After so many years of laboring beneath a heavy anchor of social anxiety—at long last, Ariella had finally adjusted to the comfort and serenity of her safe and wonderful life. In fact, she’d even made a few friends at the university, which was something she struggled terribly with throughout her younger school years. Talking to people didn’t seem so difficult anymore, nor did leaving the house and enjoying life’s simple pleasures. Perhaps that was why she’d fallen asleep with a tiny, peaceful smirk on her face today.

But the smile faded when her consciousness returned, and she blinked herself awake when she heard a hard knocking on the front door.

Ariella yawned and levered herself upright. Her hair was straight, smooth, and almost shoulder-length, a dark auburn that was almost black, though it shone a deep red in some lightings, and it was now askew from her long sleep. She shifted her bangs aside, twisted around on the couch, and gazed over the back cushions, narrowing her eyes at the door until she heard another knock.

Sighing, she lumbered off the couch and straightened out her shirt, a long and baggy black t-shirt with silvery gothic designs strewn on the front. It tented over her like a dress, a favorite shirt of hers that she often liked to use as a nightgown.

“Dad’s asleep,” Ariella yawned at the door, twisting the lock and pulling it open.

When the door swung aside—Detective Lumis appeared on the small concrete porch before her, puffing on a cigar and scoffing mildly. Contrary to how he looked the first night Ariella saw him, his hairs were now mostly gray and silver rather than charcoal black, and they were slicked back, as always. The detective wore his usual navy overcoat, his slightly wrinkled face harboring a somewhat caustic expression.

“It’s almost noon,” Lumis grunted, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah… well… you know how he is,” Ariella chuckled, stepping aside. “You want me to wake him up…?”

“Oh, no, no—I want that job,” Lumis smirked, sauntering into the house and closing the door behind him.

Ariella snickered and folded her arms, tip-toing behind the detective as he strolled down the hall. Lumis marched across the house and stopped at the master bedroom, sighing and hammering his fist to the door.

“Wake up, princess—I told you I was coming by today,” Lumis grunted into the door. “We need to talk about this Joseph Wick case.”

At that, Lumis headed back toward the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee before sinking into the nearest chair. Ariella fashioned herself a cup of iced tea and took a sip before speaking again.

“What’s the Joseph Wick case?” she asked curiously.

“Ah… this shitty father,” Lumis replied, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Guy’s a little older than you, still in college… he had a three-year-old son who recently passed.”

“Oh… God,” Ariella murmured. “What happened?”

“Well… I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be involved if it wasn’t suspicious,” Lumis told her. “The kid drowned in the bathtub, supposedly by accident… but we found evidence of foul play. Joseph seems like the hotheaded party-type, too. He fits the profile…”

“Of a killer?”

“Well… of an irresponsible blowhard. It wouldn’t be the first time a parent resorted to killing their kid just to alleviate themselves of the responsibility.”

“Jesus… that’s messed up. You hardly ever hear about that kinda stuff happening here.”

“Small towns have psychos, too. And it’s happened here before.”

Both of them fell silent.

Ariella slowly nodded, sparing the Grant home a brief thought before shaking it away.

Lumis, on the other hand, was thinking of another murder, the only one in Gates Mill that he and Vance never solved—but the thought left the detective’s mind when he heard the bedroom door open down the hall.

Seconds later, a tired Vance drifted into the room, his short black hairs slightly messy, his wide and somewhat grizzled face carrying a perturbed, exhausted expression. His button-up was twisted around his torso crookedly, as he’d fallen asleep in his day clothes again.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Lumis snarked. “Didja have some sweet dreams?”

Vance wandered past the kitchen table as if he didn’t hear, stopping at the coffee pot and glaring silently into it for nearly a full minute.

Ariella and Lumis traded smirks.

“Always zoning out,” Lumis uttered.

Ariella nodded in agreement. It was true; Vance’s mind always seemed to work in strange ways. Whenever he was deep in thought, he’d always appear as if he had completely disengaged with the world around him. And, while his Dissociative Amnesia kept his past somewhat shrouded in a mental fog, his thought processes were always surprisingly accurate and precise whenever he pondered on the present. But, despite this, he had a habit of overthinking, often without realizing it, and often resulting in insomnia.

For several long seconds, Vance merely stared into the steaming coffee pot, waiting for the pot to fill.

Lumis figured he was either deep in thought or falling asleep standing.

“Vaaance,” the detective called out. “Penny for your thoughts…?”

“Joseph Wick,” Vance muttered in his usual voice, a low and scratchy one.

“There he is,” Lumis chuckled. “Back in the real world. Got any info for me?”

“Aside from… the obvious,” Vance mumbled sleepily, swallowing a yawn.

Lumis and Ariella exchanged faces.

“Well,” Lumis said with a sideways nod, perking his brow at Vance. “What you call obvious isn’t usually obvious to the rest of the world. Enlighten me.”

“Indentions on the knuckles suggest a regular use of hands… placement of the indentions and small calluses means he’s likely a boxer or martial artist or something,” Vance grumbled tiredly at the coffee pot. “Muscle tone suggests frequent physical activity, too. Posture alludes to a confident demeanor—meaning he might have a touch of arrogance to his personality. Possibly a narcissist, but that’s speculative. The liquor and the friends he has indicate a party-goer lifestyle and a need to please the expectations of masculine peers, and the fraternity necklace around his neck implies that he holds this brotherhood conformity in high regard, meaning he likely prizes his little college life exponentially.”

Ariella raised her brows in surprise, Lumis nodding along with every word.

“You think he prizes his college life enough to kill his son?” Lumis wondered. “He’d have more time for his college life without the responsibility of raising a child. That would be motive.”

“Maybe,” Vance mumbled, his eyes still fixated on the dribbling coffee. “The evidence of frequent physical activity is indicative of a high testosterone level, and that combined with drinking all the time—there’s a higher chance of him having issues regarding anger management and self-control. Especially with a suspect on the younger side.”

“So… short answer… yes,” Lumis muttered. “Where’d you get all that info?”

“Newspaper.”

“It says all that in the newspaper?”

“No.”

Lumis’s eyes narrowed at Vance from behind. “Okay. Then… how’d you drum up all those little conclusions?”

Vance sighed at the coffee pot impatiently, turning away and marching into the living room. He collected yesterday’s newspaper from the coffee table, approached Lumis, and held it upright, showing the front page; the main headline was in great bold letters, reading PRE-LAW FRATERNITY BROTHER ACCUSED OF MURDER. Beneath the headline was a picture of Joseph Wick, a muscular individual with a buzz-cut and a toothy grin on his face. In this picture, he was holding a bottle of liquor, posing shirtless, and wearing a shiny gold fraternity necklace. A few of his friends were leaning into the picture as well, and Joseph’s hand was raised, as he was giving a thumbs-up to whoever had photographed him.

Lumis and Ariella stared at the newspaper, swapped glimpses, and faced Vance again.

“Did you read any of the article?” Lumis inquired, tapping the newspaper lightly.

“No,” Vance replied dismissively, tossing the paper onto the table. “I didn’t have to. They have a picture.”

Lumis laughed as Vance wandered back over to the coffee pot.

“He deciphers all that before he even has his coffee,” the detective cackled, shaking his head. “Fucking unbelievable…”

“And that’s why I’m majoring in psychology, right there,” Ariella grinned, leaping up from her seat and hugging her father from behind. “I wanna have that same crazy superpower.”

“Morning, sweety,” Vance mumbled, patting her arm.

“Morning,” Ariella beamed, resting her chin on his shoulder. “My summer job is officially over, so… can I have some…?”

“What… money?” Vance asked. “For what?”

“For the party,” Ariella told him. “I just need a little bit of pocket money, not much.”

“You’re going to a party tonight…?”

“Yeah. I told you that last week. And yesterday…”

“Oh… okay. With who?”

“Some friends from school.”

“Okay. Don’t get hammered.”

“I promise to only get half-drunk. Half-drunk is fun. Blackout drunk is freaking awful.”

“Ah-huh. And how do you know that…?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Vance scoffed out a laugh and scooped her into a hug, and Ariella embraced him tightly. Then, he slid his wallet from his pocket, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and handed it to her.

“Damn, Dad. I didn’t need this much,” Ariella uttered.

“Yeah, well… you oughta enjoy your time before you end up slaving away in school again,” Vance told her, flashing a smile, a rare expression for him—one that was almost exclusively reserved for his daughter.

Ariella grinned and hugged him again, pecking him on the cheek and sauntering off. She vanished into her room to get properly dressed, collected her jean bag—a purse fashioned like a backpack—and strapped it on. After giving her father and the detective her goodbyes, she then marched out of the house and closed the front door behind her.

Vance and Lumis stared at the door for a moment. Then, Vance noticed that the steaming and trickling had stopped, and the coffee was finally ready, so he turned to the counter and grabbed a mug, eager to have his first cup of the day.

“She’s doing well nowadays,” Lumis remarked. “I don’t remember her having a bunch of friends in high school. Or middle school…”

“She didn’t, really,” Vance replied, pouring sugar into his coffee. “None that she kept for long, anyway. Her boyfriends didn’t last, either. They were just a couple of little horn-dog dipshits… sorry gaggle of deadbeats you’ll never meet. Ari doesn’t take unserious people seriously.”

“Well… you better be grateful for that. Last thing you need is her maturing too fast. Seems like everyone in her generation gives it up way too early—”

“Bill. Please.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t need to think about that shit right now…”

“Well… you’re gonna have to think about it sooner or later. I know you raised her right, but she’s not in high school anymore, which means she’s not dealing with your average horn-dog dipshits anymore. It’s gonna happen someday soon. Hell, maybe it’s happening already—”

“Bill.”

Lumis choked on a laugh, quickly stopping and shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry…”

Vance spared him a brief glare, sinking into the nearest seat and sipping on his fresh coffee.

Just when Lumis opened his mouth to speak on, he was interrupted by the muffled ringing of his phone. Sighing, he reached into his overcoat, pulled out his smartphone, and answered the call.

“’Lo?”

“Billy,” a shrewd woman’s voice hissed from the phone. “Where are you?”

Vance and Lumis traded eyes across the table.

“Ah… lunch break,” Lumis told the phone, checking his watch. “Why?”

“Because I’m at the precinct, and you’re not here,” the woman reported, her tone dripping with severity. “Where are you?”

Lumis paused, looking to Vance for assistance.

Vance merely shrugged with disinterest, taking a sip and glaring downward. “Tell her I’m holding you hostage because the voices told me to.”

“Helpful,” Lumis griped. “Very helpful.”

“What?” the woman shrieked, suddenly sounding alarmed. “Who was—was that Vance? Did I just hear Vance?”

“Honey, listen—he’s helping me with a case,” Lumis stated. “Not to mention—”

“I told you—I don’t want you hanging around with that fucking psycho,” the woman growled. “How many times are we gonna have this argument, Billy? That guy is off his rocker—”

“Marissa, he’s just a private investigator.”

“And a war veteran, Billy—do I need to remind you—?!”

“No, you don’t.”

Lumis hung up on her, stuffing the phone away and sighing deeply.

Vance perched his brows at him. “You’re gonna pay for that later.”

Lumis scoffed. “Tell me what else is new.”

The two of them were silent momentarily, pondering on the shrill, toxic voice of the woman named Marissa. Marissa Lumis was the detective’s wife, a judgmental woman who seemed to hate Vance for no reason in particular. Granted, there were always a few people in town who believed that Vance was strange or insane—but those few were a minority in Gates Mill, and besides, Lumis never thought him dangerous. Aside from his hound dog instincts and his habit of zoning out, he seemed as normal as could be.

Vance, on the other hand, harbored a bit more distaste for Marissa. After all, he wasn’t married to the woman—and he took the brunt of her unjustified attitude numerous times in the past. In his opinion, Marissa was just your stereotypical bitter woman of the modern age, an upper-middle-class suburban housewife with too much time on her hands, which left her with a fervent need to conjure up new and imaginary problems. But, regardless of how annoying he found her to be, he was certain that she simply wasn’t worth much of his energy or disdain—so, he shook the thought of her away, meeting Lumis’s eyes and thinking of the Joseph Wick case again.

“Forensics come back with anything yet?” Vance inquired.

Lumis shook his head. “Not yet. I tried to surprise Joseph with a visit yesterday, but he wasn’t home. Wasn’t home this morning, either.”

“Warrant?”

“No, no warrant yet—I just wanted to ask him a few questions, see if he slips up.”

“You have any idea of where he’s gonna be today?”

“We can stop by his house again. His father is there. We can ask him.”

“Good. We can track him from there.”

“You think so?”

Vance gave Lumis a smug, caustic smirk. “Yes. Because I’ll be there.”

Lumis breathed out a laugh. “Cocky son of a bitch…”

The two of them stood, Vance finishing his coffee and slipping into his long tan overcoat. They headed out of the house shortly after Ariella’s departure.

Just when Ariella marched around the corner on Gleason Avenue—the main road stretching through town—her phone made a faint ping from her pocket. She’d received a text from one of her friends, informing her that they were all waiting to meet up with her at the diner.

Ariella grinned at her phone, pocketing it and marching onward.

Farther down the sidewalk was the Hub, a thrift store, and a gas station, and on the corner was the diner that she and her friends often visited. Across the street from her sat the coffee shop that had been there for as long as she remembered, right beside the Asian market and the other stores she never really visited, though the sight of them was as commonplace as every other in her life-long hometown.

The diner had a fifties theme, and its parking lot was rounded and expansive compared to the others on the main road.

Ariella sauntered into the parking lot, spotting her friends instantly; they were all in a large black pickup truck, the driver door hanging open, music blaring from the speakers inside the vehicle. She felt a spark of excitement, her smile widening as she waved and quickened her pace. It felt delightful to enter such a new and adventurous phase of life. In the past, she was always far too anxious or avoidant—but nowadays, she had all the friends she ever wanted.

There were five people before her—three guys and two girls. The biggest guy was a charismatic soul named Jaxson; he had a round, ovular face, large dark eyes, and wavy black hair that was just long enough to cover his forehead, a hint of a beard growing at the tip of his chin, and a belly that was just the slightest bit chubby. He was placing a few bags of food into the back of the truck, presumably from the diner.

The second guy was of average height and build, a guy named Zane; he sat lazily in the corner of the truck’s bed, his arm outstretched along the edge, his blond hair combed over half of his face. His gothic comb-over had three black streaks dyed into it, and like always, he wore a somewhat detached and apathetic expression, looking as if he couldn’t care less about anything in the world, as was his usual demeanor.

One of the girls was curled up closely beside Zane; this girl’s name was Lucy, a bubbly and somewhat airheaded girl who always seemed to stick by Zane’s side at all times. She, too, was of average size, and her hair was dark and shoulder-length, invaded by a few pink streaks, which were currently pulled back into a ponytail.

The other girl was Tammy—a noticeably small girl with an alternative fashion sense—and she was sitting on the edge of the truck’s bed across from Zane and Lucy, head-banging along with the music. Tammy was a fun-loving rocker chick, the most extroverted and hardheaded of the girls, sporting a tight leather jacket and a unique hairstyle. Her short blonde hair was completely slicked back, barely reaching the back of her neck, much of it fashioned into waves of thin yellow braids, her face smooth and beautiful, two axe-shaped earrings dangling from her ears.

And the final friend was someone Ariella was most pleased to see—the guy standing in the back of the truck between all the others, moving in rhythm to the music and beaming away. His name was Arkus, and he, like Tammy, wore a black leather jacket—but his was considerably longer and roomier, complete with silver buttons and studs. His lean body moved to and fro up and down the truck’s bed, nodding and reciting the song lyrics to the best of his ability. He had a somewhat narrow visage, a messy brown fohawk, and a pair of shiny brown eyes that Ariella always secretly admired.

This guy—Arkus Faulkner—suddenly stopped when he spotted Ariella standing down below.

He paused, locked eyes with her, and revealed another beaming grin—and Ariella giggled in response, feeling a faint flutter in her chest.

“You!” Arkus exclaimed, jabbing a finger dramatically at her. “D’you know what time it is?”

“Time for you to shut up and sit down!” Tammy yelled at him, leaping closer and slapping him hard on the arm. “Because I gotta drive now—it’s party time.”

“Aye, well, yeah—that is where I was gonna end up, yes,” Arkus snarked at her. “Thanks for ruining my dramatic intro.”

“You look like the king of all rednecks, dancing around in the back of a pickup,” Ariella laughed. “I swear to God… looking at you right now, nobody would ever, ever guess that you’re from Scotland.”

“Where d’you think rednecks came from?” Arkus snickered.

“Dude—you’re thinking of Vikings,” Jaxson chuckled. “Not rednecks.”

“Nooo—the Irish and the Scottish imported rednecks here, fucker. I know my history,” Arkus ranted. “There aren’t any Vikings here in Texas.”

“Oh, okay—so your people imported rednecks here?” Jaxson scoffed with a laugh. “They didn’t bring them here, or predate them here—they imported them here like freaking cargo. They just packed up whole barrels full of rednecks and sailed ’em all here.”

“Yes…!” Arkus yelled so insistently, all the girls erupted with laughter.

“Yeah, okay, that’s hilarious—shut up,” Tammy griped sarcastically. “Get in the truck! Party time! Let’s gooo!”

She clapped conclusively and leaped out of the truck, heading for the driver seat.

“Ari, hop in the back,” Tammy suggested just before climbing inside and pulling the door shut.

Jaxson entered the passenger side, and Arkus, Zane, and Lucy settled themselves in the bed of the truck, Ariella climbing in to join them.

Just when Tammy started the engine, Ariella found herself sitting with her back against the truck’s rear window, Arkus snugly beside her. It was the best place to sit in Arkus’s truck bed, as it was the only way to avoid the whipping winds once the vehicle was mobile.

Tammy slowly drove in a circle, preparing to head toward the main road.

Ariella folded her arms over her knees, turning and stealing a glimpse of Arkus, and he did the same. The two met eyes for a split second, both of them releasing a breathless laugh as Tammy’s blaring music echoed behind their heads, the truck cruising out of the parking lot.

“Hey—where’re we going?” Zane spoke up, Lucy curling more firmly into his stomach, trying to duck away from the wind.

“Party time!” Arkus hollered.

Zane scoffed and nodded sideways. “I know that, dipshit—but Chelsea’s party doesn’t start until like six. We got some time to kill.”

“That’s why we’re going bar-hopping first,” Arkus grinned, facing Ariella again. “You got your ID? ’Cause you’re gonna need it.”

“Hell yeah,” Ariella smirked.

Arkus smiled, and the truck sped off to the first bar of the evening, Ariella nodding to the music alongside her friends.

She’d been hanging around with this gang ever since starting at the university two years ago, and she knew them fairly well now, but this was the first time she ever spent time with them in the summer, and she’d never actually visited any bars or clubs before. She couldn’t help but grow more excited with every passing second.

And her excitement wasn’t wasted in the slightest.

As the day carried on, Ariella wandered into various new places without knowing how to act or feel—but observing her friends and their aloof behavior, she soon adjusted. The bars were filled with swiveling and flashing neon lights, as well as blasting music that practically shook the walls, yelling karaoke singers and applauding drunks spinning around on their stools, playing pool, throwing darts, and moving wildly across the various dance floors. At first, Ariella felt her heart jolt—as all the noises and crowds set off her anxiety—but she quickly recomposed, joining the fun with her friends and ordering whatever drinks she felt like. After a couple, her mind began to soften, her anxiety gone without a trace, and the drinking, singing, joking, laughing, and traveling all came in stride.

During their time at the first bar—a small bar that seemed to cater to older country boys—Arkus and Jaxson were having a blast pretending to be gay in front of the nearby strangers, grabbing one another’s thighs and making lewd comments. Zane repeatedly covered his mouth, hiding his smiles and chuckles, though the girls all laughed explosively as they watched from the pool tables. The men sitting nearest Arkus and Jaxson were noticeably cringing and trading strange looks, and one of them even left the bar, shaking his head and muttering something about fruitcakes as he stormed out the door. Ariella and her friends were suffocating under their own chortles when they finally decided to venture off to bar number two.

The second bar was on the outskirts of Gates Mill, down south toward Dallas—and, ironically, it was a gay bar, and it was filled with numerous bright pinks and purples. Arkus and Jaxson didn’t dare repeat to their prank here—instead, they decided to make a contest of the fruity drinks, competing to see who could order the strangest one. The girls joined in, and surprisingly, so did Zane. Lucy smirked, holding up her phone and snapping a picture of Zane, who was sipping on a massive and fluffy pink beverage with a pricelessly apathetic expression strewn across his face.

By the time they all decided to leave bar number two, most of them were fairly buzzed, and the late afternoon was setting in. At some point, Ariella found herself wandering down a wide, vacant sidewalk alongside her friends, Arkus and Jaxson on either side of her, their arms draped around her shoulders. The three of them walked in a crooked line, Zane laughing at them and Tammy leading the gang. Arkus, Ariella, and Jaxson were all howling the lyrics of a song that had recently played inside the last bar, yowling their slurred and flawed song lyrics into the sunset above.

Tammy, being the designated driver of the day, remained mostly sober until reaching their final destination, the party at Chelsea Mendez’s house.

She drove her drunken friends back into town, the sky darkening as the truck coasted into the suburbs of Gates Mill, stopping at the obvious house of the party; this home was gigantic and elegant, much like all the others in this neighborhood, but this one was surrounded by numerous vehicles that took up the entire driveway and much of the street, music echoing from some of the windows, a couple of cars parked crookedly on the lawn. Ariella and her friends had to walk a fourth of a mile from their parking spot in order to reach the party house. When they did, Ariella and Arkus were both still singing, grinning stupidly and walking in a zig-zag up the side of the driveway, Arkus’s arm draped comfortably around her. Her mind lost amidst a cozy fog of complacency, Ariella slowly fell silent, inhaling a deep whiff of Arkus’s scent, the faint smell of cologne and warm leather…

Tammy led them all to the front porch, Zane, Jaxson, and Lucy close behind her. Ariella and Arkus were at the back of the group, and after Tammy knocked a few times, the front door flew open. A skinny brunette with long curly hair revealed herself in the doorway, and the music inside suddenly seemed deafening now that the door had opened.

“Hey—I’m Tammy, Chelsea’s friend,” Tammy told the brunette. “And I brought my other friends, too. I’m the one Chelsea always tries to force into her sorority.”

“Oooh, right, Tammy,” the brunette nodded and smiled. “Okay, but listen… it’s Chelsea’s birthday today, so… if you talk to her, don’t bring up her son. We’re all trying to throw her a good birthday party so she can be distracted from that for a little bit…”

“I know,” Tammy said, frowning deeply. “I won’t bring it up to her.”

The brunette nodded again, then stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. Tammy began to march into the house, her friends following suit.

Ariella squinted at the brunette, sensing that something was amiss.

“What’s that about?” she whispered to Arkus.

“What’s what about?” Arkus replied.

“That sorority girl, Chelsea… I don’t really know her,” Ariella uttered. “I didn’t know she had a son. What happened to him…?”

As their friends vanished into the house, Ariella and Arkus slowed to a stop on the porch, pausing for a brief moment. Then, Arkus sighed deeply, giving Ariella an uncharacteristically serious look.

“I don’t know her, either… but Tammy told me,” Arkus murmured, his tone soft and severe. “Chelsea and her boyfriend had a son until a few days ago. Their son died.”

Ariella took back, her complacency seeming to fade away for a few seconds, replaced by a sense of grim surprise. “Holy shit…”

“Yeah,” Arkus nodded gravely. “So… if we see her… we don’t bring it up. We just party and try to keep everything happy.”

Ariella nodded in agreement, following Arkus into the house and feeling the strangest, darkest churning in her stomach, an odd feeling that felt entirely out of place—a bizarre, mild dread that spread throughout her entire being as she crossed the threshold into the Mendez home.

She’d only ever felt such a gaunt, awful feeling once before in her life.

But, that was a very long time ago. Many wonderfully peaceful years had passed since then, and Ariella felt unusually blissful on this night of drunken serenity and bombastic camaraderie. She shook it all away, vanishing into the party alongside Arkus and the others.

It wasn’t long before the atmosphere melted away every dark and troubling thought. The interior of the home seemed even bigger than it did from the outside, a grand and spacious living room with two leather couches on either side, a massive flat screen on the wall, a huge rounded coffee table in the middle, and various neon lights sweeping over the scene, as the karaoke machine was hooked up to the TV, and numerous drunkards in the crowd were taking turns singing into the microphone and dancing insanely across the expansive living room floor. The kitchen was in the front of the house, facing the living room perfectly, and the bar counter was filled with sodas, liquors, and snacks of all kinds; Tammy and Lucy headed straight for the kitchen’s bar, Tammy glad to be relieved of her designated driver position, finally freeing her to drink as much as she liked. The two girls fashioned themselves drinks while the boys leaped into the crowd. There was an in-ground swimming pool out back, where many more of the partyers were hanging around, sitting, dancing, and swimming without a care in the world. The pool was visible out the sliding glass doors, directly across the living room where Arkus was shoving his way through the crowd, Jaxson and Zane at his heels. The moment he reached the crowd’s center, his mouth unraveled into an ear-to-ear grin.

“Jax, my good man—shall we venture to L.A.?” Arkus asked loudly, turning to Jaxson and smiling broadly.

Jaxson seemed to understand instantly, returning his childlike grin in full.

“Oy—you gotta join us,” Arkus demanded, facing Zane. “The three of us—c’mon. We’re all wasted. We can do it.”

“What—me? I can’t fucking sing, dude,” Zane griped.

Arkus didn’t seem to hear him—and, just when the current song ended, he erupted out of the crowd and snatched up the microphone, seizing control of the karaoke machine.

After briefly searching for the song he wanted on the screen, the music began to play—and Arkus sang along with it flawlessly, hitting every lyric with surprising accuracy. The crowd began clapping and yelling along with him, as it was a fast-paced song that seemed to inspire everyone’s inner partyer.

When the main chorus struck—Arkus and Jaxson both sang.

“JUST ANOTHER L.A. DEVOTEE! JUST ANOTHER, JUST ANOTHER OH-OH—JUST ANOTHER, JUST ANOTHER OH-OH—JUST ANOTHER, JUST ANOTHER OH-OH—JUST ANOTHER L.A. DEVOTEE!”

The second time the chorus struck, even Zane joined in; the three of them bellowed the song, and Arkus leaped onto the coffee table, moving rhythmically and dancing lightly on his feet as he sang his heart out with style.

Ariella beamed as she watched, singing with the lyrics and clapping along with everyone else. Tammy and Lucy soon joined her, and for a little while, their group of friends solely controlled the karaoke machine.

None of them left the center of the crowd until the boys felt their buzzes beginning to lighten—so, they all made themselves into the kitchen and fashioned some drinks, just before they planned to swim in the pool.

During their time at the kitchen’s bar, Ariella spotted Chelsea Mendez nearby; the thin blonde Chelsea was sitting at the corner of the counter, drink in hand, a heavy frown on her face. Many of her sorority sisters were hovering over her, patting her gently and offering her comforting words. It was a shame that Chelsea couldn’t seem to enjoy her own party, but Ariella expected nothing less. The young woman had just lost her son, after all.

After a while, Ariella and all her friends were outside in the cool summer night; everyone outside was having fun, some gossiping at the patio tables while others yelled and ran around, jumping into the pool and shoving each other into the water. Arkus and Jaxson wrestled in the water various times, and Zane swam alone. Lucy traded grins with Tammy, and both girls peeled their clothes off, revealing their lacy bras and boy shorts. Zane spared Lucy a once-over, and Jaxson suddenly stopped in the pool, gaping up at Tammy as if he’d never seen anything quite like her before. Arkus quickly took advantage of this distraction—he dove on top of Jaxson and wrestled him underwater, making everyone nearby erupt with laughter.

Ariella didn’t bother with the pool just yet. She lay on one of the lawn chairs, her arms folded behind her head, enjoying the swift summer breeze and the lull of alcohol that had softened her mind into a state most peaceful. She’d spent so many years hiding, avoiding eye contact, never talking to anyone and never trying to make friends—but now, she couldn’t think why. This life was positively wonderful compared to the lonesome way she once was.

Time passed, and Ariella began to slip in and out of consciousness, despite the ambiance of party noises all around her. How easy it would be, just to slip into a deep and comfortable sleep right here, at a stranger’s house, at a wonderful party… such a nice life…

“Dude—did they really ask you that?”

“Who accused you, anyway?”

“Yeah—Chelsea didn’t do that, did she? Because that’d be fucked up.”

The sounds of a nearby conversation slowly began to stir Ariella out of her half-asleep state. Her head rolled to the side, gazing off to the right and seeing that a group of boys was marching out the sliding glass door, strolling outside and chatting quickly. They walked past Ariella, and all of them seemed to be questioning the man in the center, a shirtless frat boy with a buzz-cut and a shiny fraternity necklace hanging around his neck.

Ariella squinted tiredly at the man as he passed by, recognizing him vaguely, though she wasn’t sure where from.

“Man—Chelsea’s my four-year girlfriend,” Joseph told his friends. “I hope she didn’t tell the cops that BS. I don’t see why she’d accuse me of that fucked-up shit.”

“Maybe she found out about the other girl,” one of the skinnier frat boys said.

“Which one?” another frat boy asked, making them all erupt in joyful yells and high-fives.

Joseph smiled at all of the praise, walking off with his friends and vanishing from Ariella’s earshot. She stared after them sleepily for a moment, her eyes drifting closed again, her brain too weary to think.

“Blimey—he’s a charmer.”

Ariella blinked her eyes fully open again, turning the opposite direction and seeing that Arkus was standing over her lawn chair, his hair heavy with dripping water, his leather jacket draped over his damp, shirtless torso. He pocketed his hands in the jacket, eyeing Joseph Wick in the distance and wearing a thoughtful visage.

“Sounds like he’s been cheating on Chelsea for God knows how long,” Arkus uttered. “Doesn’t seem to care that his son’s dead, either…”

“Who…?” Ariella moaned tiredly.

“That guy—Joseph, Chelsea’s boyfriend,” Arkus clarified, narrowing his eyes down at her. “How drunk are you?”

Ariella paused in thought for a moment, then quickly gave up, as she couldn’t draw any logical conclusions as of now. So, she resolved to simply gaze upward, returning Arkus’s stare and revealing a faint, pleased smile at the sight of him.

Arkus spotted her lingering stare, smirking and sitting on the lawn chair beside her. He sat on the edge, facing her and clasping his hands together.

“So, ah… Jax keeps talking about his podcast,” Arkus said. “Apparently, he’s not gonna keep doing it this year.”

“What…?” Ariella mumbled in disappointment. “But I love his podcast…”

“Aye, well… he’s run out of things to talk about,” Arkus shrugged. “I told him he should start a brand new podcast this year, but he doesn’t have any idea what the new theme would be, so…”

There was a small pause, Ariella raising her brows at him, Arkus meeting her eyes and clearing his throat.

“Ahm…” Arkus muttered, gesturing to the pool. “You gonna get in the water?”

“I don’t know… I’m tired,” Ariella whined.

“Come ooon,” Arkus grinned, slowly reaching his feet. “Come swim with me—you and I can take Jax down easy. Maybe drown him. C’mon.”

“I don’t wanna…”

“Yeah ya’ do. C’mon.”

“Nooo…”

“Yes!”

“Nooo…”

“Yeees…!”

Arkus ripped his jacket off and grabbed Ariella by the wrist, yanking her out of the chair despite her protests. she began to laugh, playfully trying to break away—but Arkus succeeded in pulling her upright, twisting her around and grasping her arms viselike.

Both of them froze, their faces barely inches apart.

“F-fine,” Ariella gasped, a spike of nervousness shooting up and down her. “Fine!”

Arkus seemed mesmerized for a split second—then he grinned, releasing her and heading off to jump into the pool. “Well, c’mon!”

As Arkus dove into the pool again, Ariella sighed, slowly peeling off her jacket and preparing to down-dress. A swim would feel nice, and perhaps she’d get another close encounter with Arkus in the water…

While she approached the end of the pool and began peeling her shirt upright, the crowd around the pool continued chatting, horseplaying, and occasionally jumping into the water. Joseph was approaching the pool on the opposite side, he and his friends upturning shot glasses and yelling in triumph as they pounded their liquor.

And, as Ariella slowly ventured near the water’s edge, and as Joseph did the same directly adjascent to her, that grim, peculiar sensation of slow, gloomy dread emerged from the pit of her stomach once more, spreading throughout her body like a strange, cold fire.

Every drunken partyer and every distracted swimmer continued their fun time obliviously, and as they did, Ariella slowly raised her head, spotting Joseph on the other side—just when another man began to move through the small crowd behind him.

It appeared more shadow than man, a large black hat with a wide rim concealing his face, a dark, tattered overcoat shifting along at his heels. The shadowy figure wormed through the crowd, noticed by almost no one, approaching the frat boys from behind as his matted black hair blew lightly to the side in the late summer’s breeze. One by one, Joseph and his frat boys took their shots and cheered for one another, the harvest moon shining a deep red in the night sky above. At long last, Joseph lunged backward, swallowing his own shot of whiskey before tossing the glass and hollering victoriously into the sky, punching the air with delight.

When the shots were finished, the frat boys began diving into the pool—all except for Joseph.

An arm wrapped around him from behind, clamping powerfully onto him, a cold toothy metal pressing against his neck—and in one swift motion, the shadowy figure ripped Joseph’s throat into a frayed, bloody split.

Joseph’s mouth fell agape, his eyes tearing open as he sputtered helplessly at the water’s edge, trembling and choking, blood pouring down his front as the party continued on with nary an observant attendee—all except for Ariella, standing directly opposite Joseph Wick and watching from a distance in absolute awe.

The shadowy figure shoved Joseph forward, making him stagger into the pool with a splash.

The dying frat boy sank gently deeper into the water while the murderer faded into the shadows of the crowd, everyone around yelling, chatting, and playing without care.

Joseph’s friends began to resurface in the water, all of them wheeling around and calling to him—their expressions suddenly becoming horrorstricken.

Joseph’s body floated lifelessly to the top of the water, blood staining the chlorine in waves of crimson that shimmered beneath the moon.

And, as the screams of terror erupted, and as the partyers began to panic, the Cutthroat Killer vanished into the darkness of the trees beyond the yard—and Ariella stood stock still, the wind shifting her hair as she gazed vacantly into the scene before her, feeling as if she was lost to a childhood nightmare.