Chapter 17

17

Evil

T he icy night air feels invigorating, and with each breath pluming from my lips, it's a reminder of the control I have, firmly within my grasp.

A smile curls on my lips as the fate of both Damien and Lydia comes to mind, with each scenario more satisfying than the last.

Damien, with his hollow charm, and Lydia so blissfully unaware of the true nature of the beast she had fed by her side.

Or maybe she was aware?

Maybe she was on the cusp of figuring it all out.

Oh, to think of the pleasure I would have derived to see their perfect blessed union shatter to pieces. She knew he was a monster, but I don't believe for a second that she knew how deep those waters ran.

Who am I kidding?

They're both monsters, cut from the same cloth. He just wields his horns a little more prominently. Lydia knows enough about his schemes to be culpable in a court of law. But since the legal wheels churn slowly, I'm more than glad to take things into my own hands.

I'm more than competent to right the wrongs they've dealt me. They believed they could tread on lives like mine without consequence, weaving their deceit and manipulation into the fabric of my daily existence. But no longer. The scales are about to tip, and justice, my justice, will be grand, and perfect, and right.

I make my way to the shelter where I have that wicked witch holed up, and my thoughts turn to the plans I've laid out for Damien.

He will suffer, of course, but his punishment must be more intricate, far more drawn out. He thinks he knows how this ends. And he's about to learn he's dead wrong.

Lydia's fate was meant to be nothing more than a warning to him. But that couple that got in the way?

As soon as that man sat up in bed I realized it wasn't Damien. I've memorized Damien's frame, his every nuanced movement, the sound of his voice. Without giving it a thought, I pumped him with a bullet. Then his wife had to rouse herself—so she needed to go, too.

Switching bedrooms.

I shake my head.

That was something I hadn't planned on.

I knew they were there. I figured I'd hobble them in the hall at best. I wanted to hobble Damien in that bed. The plan was to shoot low, aim for his lower torso. Something he could survive. Then stun him with the taser.

Tase Lydia. Throw a pillowcase over her head, fling her over my shoulder, and flee.

The Becks would have been cowering, calling for help while I slinked out and drove off with the loot.

But plans changed. Death was an option I had to explore. Deep down, I knew it would be. I didn't want to go in thinking I was a killer. But I knew it all along. The Becks just so happened to prove me right.

I had to shoot my way out of that cabin. I had to.

I imagine the future, the moment when they realize who has been orchestrating their downfall. I picture Damien's face, contorted with the agony mirroring the anguish he once inflicted upon me. And Lydia with her broken spirit, finally understanding the cost of her blind loyalty to a man unworthy of it.

But what of my own future?

Once the deed is done, once Damien and Lydia have paid their dues, where will I stand?

A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I'll finally be free from the horror of my past, able to move forward without the heavy chains of their treachery weighing me down.

The path before me is clear as if it's lit by the moon's pale glow.

I will emerge from this not as a victim, but as a victor, reshaped and hardened by the fire of my vengeance.

I am the architect of my fate, and both Damien and Lydia know that no deed—no matter how deeply buried—remains unpunished.

This new season marks the beginning of the end for Damien and Lydia Cole. But as for me, it is not an end but a glorious beginning, the first page of a new chapter written in the ink of my retribution. I am the darkness in their world, and I have come to reclaim the light they stole from me.

The night stills around me as I move toward the small, dimly lit space that holds Lydia Cole.

My heart beats with both fury and satisfaction.

"I hope you're hungry," I say it low, my voice hardly audible over the crunch of gravel under my feet.

I clutch the bag of cat food tightly as I ready to remove the board from the small window that sits above the door. I delivered a box crate next to the door the day I broke out that window, knowing full well what I would need it for. The window itself is less than a foot tall and wide, but it's far too tall over the frame of the door without me having the crate to stand on.

Yes, the window doesn't have any glass. I've thought maybe Lydia could crawl out of it if she tried, but I don't think she'd make it. It's too narrow.

Although it would be comical for me to find her dead from an attempt to crawl her way to freedom. Stuck halfway between freedom and captivity, and dying on the spot. But then, someone would inevitably hear her and that's why I've boarded it up.

I don my ski mask, climb onto the crate, and carefully twist the nails securing the small board in place. The bag full of cat kibble is about to slip from my hands before I make the drop, then I think better of it.

Why make it easy? Instead, I dump the contents from the bag and listen as it rains down cat food, eliciting a scream from my captive.

I can't help but laugh as I land the board back in place.

No light for you, Lydia.

No help, no freedom.

You've written your last story. And now it's time for me to write mine.

"What do you want from me?" Lydia's voice is hoarse and weak, although I can still sense a note of defiance in there. She will never learn.

"You know exactly what I want," I growl it out with a hiss in an effort to cloak my voice. "You and Damien have taken everything from me. And it's all coming back to you now." I pause, giving her a minute to drink down my words. "Eat up," I snap. "You'll need your strength."

"Please, I don't understand why you're doing this. We never meant to hurt anyone."

A laugh trembles in my chest.

Oh, but they did hurt someone. They hurt me. And now, they're going to pay for everything.

"Enjoy your meal," I whisper, trying to maintain my composure. It would be so easy to yank open the door and knock the life out of her with a shovel. "I'll be back soon enough, and we'll discuss just how you're going to make amends."

Lydia's fearful sobs echo in my skull as I make my way back up the trail.

Her pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears.

They never offered me an ounce of mercy when they shattered my world.

And now it's time for me to return the favor.

Come night one of Thriller Fest, that's exactly what I'm going to do.