Lloyd examines his surroundings, leaving the barrel of his gun pointing straight at Audra's head as he combs the mechanic's parking lot for me.
“Lucas,” he coos, leaning up on his toes like the few inches of clearance will help him spot me. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”
I grin and flip the knife around, keeping the blade at my side.
“I'm getting tired of waiting, pussycat. Either Lucas shows his face in the next two minutes or I'm taking you two beauties home with me.”
Luke tries to push my feet forward, to get me to rush out and play the hero I'll never be, but I let the darkness overwhelm me until all I can hear is the strangled breath of his dying cries. I can't be Luke. When Aliyah died, Luke died with her. There's no such thing as resurrection in this world, just pain and darkness and blood.
In my front right pocket, my phone buzzes, alerting me to an incoming call. Fortunately it's not enough to grab Lloyd's attention. He's too busy using the toe of his boot to tug down the top of Clarice's dress. The phone goes still and a second later, it starts up again. As my lip curls in disgust at Lloyd's actions, I snatch it out and turn it to silent. As I'm going through the motion, well aware that if the man looks my way, the light from the screen will give me away, I see an unfamiliar number on the screen. It's labeled The Carrells because, of course, when I moved into the neighborhood I gave all the neighbors my number and asked for theirs in case of an emergency. Because that's what good neighbors go. Because that's what Lucas Carter knew he had to do to keep the world at bay.
I hate how badly I want to answer that fucking phone and how horrible it feels to know that I can't. Even if I wasn't lurking in the shadows with a knife in my hand and murder in my heart, I couldn't answer it. Robbie. Heh. What the fuck would Robbie think of me if she could see me now? No, she didn't act disturbed about Mark, but that was only because she hadn't seen my rage, my pain, my violence, firsthand.
I finish switching the phone to silent and shove it back in my pocket.
“You got nice tits, little rabbit,” Lloyd says, running his tongue over his thin lips. Clarice is still moaning, the blood on the side of her face drying to a dark rust color while Audra looks on without much interest. At her sides, I see her fists clutched and shaking with the need for violence, but she's waiting for me and she knows I'm here. It's time for me to act. Half of me whispers get this over with while the other half howls with unrestrained joy. But it doesn't matter. Whether I like it or not, I'm doing this. Right here. Right now.
I step from the shadows at the same moment Clarice's blue eyes open wide and her hand comes up with a bottle of mace. I have no idea where she got it from but suddenly there's another knife in her hand, a pocketknife that's eerily similar to the one I'm holding. Mrs. Braxton the trophy wife lets out a strangled growl as she plunges the blade into Lloyd's calf a half second before he fires at the dirt beside her head.
Clarice screams, but the bullet hasn't hit her, smashing into the ground six or less inches from the side of her face. She puts her hands over her ears and kicks out with her white heels, hitting Lloyd in the crotch a breath before I come up behind him and wrap my arm around his throat. In another heartbeat, Audra Holiday is on her feet and swinging a punch at his face that connects with a sickening crunch.
The gun goes off again, in a completely random direction as Lloyd flails in my arms. In the back of my mind, my thoughts remain cool and collected. I realize that the sound of the weapon will draw people – if not cops in this particular neighborhood – towards us. This could turn a whole hell of a lot worse than a simple arrest if a gang gets involved. Maybe a group of men interested in Audra or Clarice? This has to end quickly, more quickly than I'd want given the freedom to choose. If I had my way, Lloyd would be strapped to a chair in a basement where I'd inflict any and all forms of torture my warped mind could come up with.
Touching my hands to Lloyd's pallid flesh however, has woken something strange inside of me. I'm panting and the air feels hard to breath. And it's not just the stench of old garbage and cooking grease, the danger, the gunfire, it's the very idea that I'm facing the monster who made my monsters. The mother of my pain. Even getting molested by my father, beaten by his rough hands, none of that was enough to break me. Just the loss, and the pain, and the love.
“Luke!” Audra's screaming at me, but I'm not listening. My mind is being twisted and warped by emotions. Somehow I feel the phone in my pocket ringing even though it's not making any sound. I hear Robbie's voice in my thoughts. Luke, I like you. I've always liked you.
Blood explodes across my shoes as the next gunshot hits Clarice in her upper thigh. Hot warmth oozes from the wound as she writhes and I struggle to maintain control of Lloyd. Time has slowed down so much for me that I see everything happening as if it's cloaked in fog. The knife in my left hand swings in close to Lloyd, burying itself to the hilt in his gut. Red spills down my hand like a waterfall, drowning me in the crying and screaming voices that fill my head.