The Haunting of Secrets (18 page)

Chapter
Thirty

~ Cloaked Monsters ~

Rain comes down in sheets as I stare out of
the hole that used to be my bedroom window. I sit among the charred
remains of what was once my room, surrounded by the darkness I
crave. The blackness comforts me somehow, allows me to hope that
sometime soon the world will make sense again. Then the thought of
a deranged killer hunting me, creeps back into my mind and the hope
burns up just like my room did. I sit in my blood stained clothes
with my legs curled up and my arms wrapped around them, willing the
killer to come and find me. Enough bad has happened these past few
weeks that I feel like I could just sit here until I petrify.
Vampires can do it, why not me? I’ve been here for more than three
hours now and sadly, my heart still feels raw from Leah’s
death.

Tears flow freely down my face mirroring the
rain outside. I’m not sure when I started crying. I feel numb,
detached even from the events of tonight, the small stains of water
apparent in the black wood beneath my feet are evidence of my
grief. It isn’t that I’ve never seen or experienced death, I have,
but only in memories. Death was something I watched like a movie,
something intangible that I could judge from afar. However, seeing
it firsthand, doing all I could to stop the inevitable, changes
everything. Watching allows your mind to process the death as
fiction, an irrelevant event that has no personal effect or
connection. But actually experiencing death, watching the spark of
life leaving the eyes of that person, causes your heart to break
and bleed. The pain freeflows like a broken dam and I have no idea
how to fix it.

My phone vibrates next to me, but I ignore
it. Just a few short hours ago in her back yard, I gave Dejana the
bloody flash drive and told her to find out what information Leah
uncovered about the killer. Leah obviously found something and
wanted us to know about it, to use it to finish this guy once and
for all. I tried to slip out before anyone noticed me; the blood on
my clothes however, was of great interest to the police. I was a
key witness to a horrible crime. They asked me tons of questions,
the most obvious being if I knew the killer. That was the only
question where I lied. I could honestly answer all the other
questions, because I knew nothing. I wasn’t sure what led the
killer to Dejana’s house, but he seems to know everything else
about me so why not say that I am staying with Dejana? It isn’t
that I don’t want to talk to her; I’m worried about her and I am
itching to know what’s on that flash drive. However, I have other
pressing things on my mind right now. Though I didn’t realize it at
the time, Brenda’s murder has created quite a problem for me:
possible exposure. I came to this city to hide. The more exposure
this small town gets, the greater the chance my past has to catch
up with me. I’ve been running from it for as long as I can
remember.

After Mary adopted me, she gave me permission
to change my name. It was then that we moved here to Bartow,
Georgia, a small town in the middle of nowhere. It was the only
place I could think of where he wouldn’t look, the boy I touched
when I was seven. His name was David, a bully who terrorized the
schoolyard every day at our elementary school. One day, the gym
teacher decided to challenge all the second graders to a game of
dodge ball. Since this was long before I realized what was wrong
with me or how to control it, I was chosen to play. I became part
of the team that was to go against David’s much stronger team. Even
that young, he was always a leader; a large boy who used either
charm or intimidation to get whatever he wanted. Being the biggest
of us, David was excellent at the game of dodge ball. Slowly but
surely, he alone dispatched my teammates until only I remained. The
only reason I was last was because he didn’t see me as a
threat.

Staring each other down in the middle of the
court, he and I faced off. His body exuded confidence, mine fear.
Suddenly, we both lunged for the closest ball. We reached it at the
same moment and his hand touched mine. Instead of being flooded
with memories, I saw nothing but a dark, black void. He broke
contact quickly and when our eyes met, I didn’t see anger or fear.
What I saw scared me even more—a smile. One filled with recognition
and elation. Fear and anger I can deal with, but exhilaration when
faced with my curse was just too strange for me. Regardless of his
response, the isolation I required to live my life was gone with
that one touch. I ran out of the gym and never returned to that
school. I have no idea what David found so enchanting about my
curse after it was revealed. Regardless it made no difference. He
harbored no memories. And a boy with an empty head that should be
inundated with seven years of memories was as much a threat to me
as a boy living the secret life of a murderer.

I went home, packed my clothes, and was gone
within the hour. That was the beginning of my shuffle through the
foster care system. I had no idea what kind of person has no past,
nor did I ever want to know. It didn’t matter what new town I ran
to, he always found me. Whether it took a month or a year, he’d
always just appeared one day. It’s only by the grace of luck that
he has never seen me as he was roaming around school or buying
something in a random aisle at the grocery store. It doesn’t seem
to matter where I go, he always manages to track me down. David is
the boy I have spent my life in isolation to avoid, the main reason
I choose to be ignored. If I don’t exist, then he can’t find me.
But now, with the national news inundated with stories of the
bombing, the missing kids, the murders, he will come. He won’t be
able to avoid it. David was always drawn to suffering and
bloodshed. I am not naïve enough to think that he has grown out of
that. So tonight, I will use myself as bait. To put an end to this
killer so I can leave Bartow and find another safe place to build a
life. I will miss Dejana and Logan more than I can bear to think
about. In order to protect them, however, I have to disappear once
this is over. I need to find some way to say goodbye.

So here I sit, avoiding Dejana’s calls and
waiting for the killer to come and get me. I know he’s watching me;
I’m just not sure what he’s waiting for. Behind me, I hear a
creaking noise; someone is trying to make it up the stairs. I stand
and turn around to face what used to be my door. My hand curls
around the knife I got from the kitchen. Since I know the killer
loves knives, I made sure this one is extra sharp. I try to control
my breathing, slow down my heart as I wait for the killer to make
it to my door. The creaking noise grows louder as he gets closer to
the top of the stairs. Blood roars in my ears, but it helps me
focus on the door, focus on what is to come.

I hear a loud bump just outside my door
followed by a familiar voice shouting “ouch” very loudly. Logan. I
see him come around the corner, an annoyed expression on his face
as he rubs his right knee. “Was there always a large, black table
at the top of the stairs blocking the way?” Logan asks, clearly
frustrated.

“That’s what you get for not coming in
through the window,” I say sarcastically, despite the happiness
that I feel seeing him. I was so sure that I would never have the
chance again. Yet here he is, alive and attractive as ever in his
low-cut jeans and a white t-shirt with some kind of basketball logo
on the front. His hair is a mess, as if he had just gotten out of
bed and ran his hands through it to compensate for lack of a brush.
It should make him appear disheveled, but he totally rocks the
rugged look. My eyes are finally drawn to his and in the soft glow
of the flashlight. I can see the gold sparkle in his hazel
eyes.

Embarrassed at being caught staring, I look
away, back to the rain cascading down and drowning out the world.
My mind is a cesspool of emotions. I’m happy to see Logan here,
relieved even to not have to go through all of this alone. Yet, the
flip side of my psyche is terrified for his safety. I scramble to
find a way to get him out of here quickly. “What are you doing here
Logan? Better yet, how did you find me? Why aren’t you home
sleeping like a normal person?”

“Geez, Aim, slow down. Which question should
I answer first?” he asks folding his arms together across his
chest.

“All of them,” I say mimicking his stance.
Exasperated he throws his hands up, walks back and forth on the
charred floorboards of my room muttering something about girls that
I can’t understand.

“I couldn’t sleep after you left my house
tonight. I wanted to go after you, but I didn’t know what to say. I
have feelings for you, strong ones, but loving someone like you
takes commitment and I didn’t want to go there until I was certain
of my feelings. I was in my bedroom playing my guitar, wondering
what I was going to say to you when I saw you next. Then I heard
the sirens. I looked out my window and saw the flames in the sky
above the tree line. I was worried so I snuck out and followed the
chaos. Not surprisingly, it led me to Dejana’s house. I tried to
find you amongst all the police officers and firefighters, but I
couldn’t. That was when I saw Dejana with her parents sitting in
the front yard. While her parents were distracted talking to some
cops, I waved her over to ask her what happened. She told me about
Leah being killed by some intruder. She said you had run off, but
she didn’t know where. Somehow, I knew this is where you would
come, so I grabbed my bike and peddled over here as fast as I
could. I didn’t realize it would take this long, but here I am,” he
finishes, a proud look on his face for figuring everything out.

Well, so much for abrupt. It seems no matter
what I do I can’t get rid of Logan, even to save him from himself.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to get
rid of him. I see him standing there with his rustled hair and
lopsided grin; the melancholy that had gripped me earlier, fades
away. I should feel guilty for allowing my grief to ebb, but I
don’t. All I can feel is this overwhelming desire. This fierce need
to feel what it is like to love before my chance is gone.

Slowly, I walk over to Logan, removing my
gloves as I do. I see his face register shock at seeing my bare
hands. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.
Never, not once since he has known me, has he seen my bare hands.
Logan unwraps his arms from where they were crossed at his chest
and lets them fall to his side. We’re so close now that I can feel
the heat emanating from his body. In the face of an uncertain
future, one that will no longer include him, fear is no longer an
obstacle for me. I reach up to touch his face, my fingertips
tingling with unkempt desire. I am seconds away from feeling his
soft skin when the vertigo suddenly hits. There is no time to run;
no time to even breathe a warning to Logan before I crash to the
floor and the darkness of another memory envelops me.

* * * *

I sit alone in the corner of the same dark,
torture room. My knife, never far from my side, is sharpened and
ready to play. It is an extension of my arm, a part of me now.
Without it, I am incomplete, lost, misguided, and enraged. It calms
me to feel it within my grasps, to know of the power that it
invokes. I have my flashlight beside me, but I make no move to
grasp it. The truth is I prefer the dark, seek out any and every
dark part of nature that hates the light. In the light, I have to
pretend, I have to play the role of a person I have no wish to be.
It’s the dark that allows me to see myself for what I really am: an
extinguisher of light. There were many that came before me and
still many more that will carry on long after I am dead. Until
then, I take my craft seriously, each angel deserving of her end.
Each girl has to be perfect or I would not be able to see the light
as it leaves her eyes in death.

Above me, I hear the creaking of the door. I
look up to see a sliver of light illuminate my dark room. I see my
partner laughing with the chosen one; playing very well the role he
was assigned. Per our usual scenario, the girl is blindfolded. He
leads her down the steps, playing the game so well that the chosen
one has no idea that she’s in any danger. I move silently to the
center of the room, my feet light with anticipation. My partner
twirls her around, promises a night she will never forget as he
steps away and I take over. Both of us are happy, playful even,
since to us this is the ultimate game. I hear him chuckle softly in
the darkness, a knowing sound of a person that appreciates the
purpose, the goal of the hunt.

The three of us stand cloaked in darkness,
ready to go on to the next phase of our routine when suddenly an
unusually bright light floods the room. Both of us turn to the
light, our eyes hurting from the intensity of it. The door at the
top of the stairs opens wide, swinging on its hinges. We realize
with horror that someone else is here; an impossibility since no
one else knows where the lair is located. The light doesn’t belong
here; it is foreign to this place of darkness. Fury fills me. I
point my knife up towards the light, motioning for my partner to
take care of the problem. No one is allowed inside my sanctuary of
darkness,
no one
.

My partner runs up the stairs and stops at
the threshold, his entire posture a statue of surprise and
confusion. He is motioning violently with his hands, talking to
someone I can’t see. His stance mirrors my anger at the
interruption to our ritual. The girl whimpers beside me. I turn to
see her blind face register fear. She must hear the hushed voices
arguing from afar. She’s beginning to understand that something is
not right with the situation. I have no time to deal with two
crises at once, so I punch her hard in the face and she goes down
quickly and quietly to the hard floor.