Page 31 of Vipers & Roses

Imagining planting a bullet in his head does make me feel a little better after I killed The Lion, but Gavin’s connection to my family creates a complication. But that’s for another day to plot because my head can’t handle more than one action plan.

Reaching for my bag on the passenger seat, I hunt blindly for a Kleenex to blow my snotty nose after crying like a weakling. If I’m going to be a serial killer, I need to pull my emotions together. Being pitiful and frail and crying like a child before I pull the trigger will not work. If I’m an emotional mess, I’m more likely to dissuade myself from pulling the trigger.

But in my defense, it was a shock to see Gavin standing there, and I was not prepared emotionally for it. Note to self: Internal training for the next few weeks to learn to cool and control those emotions is imperative.

I can’t find the dang Kleenex, so I pull up on the side of the road, halt the engine, and dive into my bag for a thorough look. The Kleenex packet is at the bottom of my bag, and as I drag it out, a white envelope escapes from the bag and drifts to the floor. Assuming it’s just more junk that I keep in my bag for fear that one day I’ll get stranded somewhere and need a white envelope to write my shopping list on or hit list. Ha! Joke. Yep, I see my Mom in me quite a bit, as she has a bottomless bag of everything, including the kitchen sink.

Blowing my snotty nose, I already feel better, although I’m still a little shaky. Maybe I should message Max to instruct him not to give Gavin my number or address in Torres Island. Again, I dive back into my bag, find my phone, and pause to consider my wording. No, I’ll shoot from the hip.

Me: Please don’t give my number and address to Gavin. I’m not interested.

I don’t expect him to answer immediately as he’s probably still on the beach playing football, where I should be if I were a loyal family member. Tossing the phone and other bits that fell out when I dragged the Kleenex out, I pause again at the envelope. It’s sealed, which I hadn’t initially noticed, and appears to have something inside. This is not the first time Dad has slipped an envelope of cash in my bag without me knowing. And then, when I call him to confront him about it, he plays dumb for about ten seconds before he cracks.

Financially, I’m doing well, thanks to Z and Smiler, so whatever he’s stashed away here, I will FedEx back to him. Ripping open the envelope, I’m surprised to find that it’s not cash but a single leaf of paper. Weird. This is unfamiliar, and I wonder if I accidentally picked it up from somewhere while grabbing other things.

Feeling like I’m intruding on someone’s privacy, I close the envelope again and toss it into my bag. Starting my engine up again, I’m about to put my yellow Corolla into gear, but the mysterious envelope keeps poking me in the brain. It won’t hurt if I take a peek. Besides, it might give me a clue as to who it belongs to so I can send whatever it is back to them.

I drag the single leaf of paper out of the envelope and peer curiously at it. It’s a photograph copied onto paper, and the peachy color of bare flesh is evident, making my skin crawl. What the fuck?

A naked girl spread eagle with four men surrounding her.

Their faces are deliberately blanked out, but the girl…

Her face.

My face.

The photograph falls from my hand as blood drains from my skull, rendering me weak behind the eyes. Nausea rises expectantly, and I have to open the door and vomit onto the road, hollowing out every inch of my soul.

If I ever needed extra ammunition to pursue my hitlist and turn my thoughts and plans into reality, this is it.

16

In a past life, I would’ve screwed up into and pathetic little ball and blubbered the entire night. Instead, I curled into a little ball and cried for only half the night. I’ve made progress. In a past life, I would’ve set that photo of me on fire and vomited my entire lunch into the toilet bowl. But I had already spewed my lunch on the road a block from my parents’ house, so I had nothing left.

The photograph of me unconscious on a bed with four dead men surrounding me is pinned on the wall above my dresser, so I see it every day as a reminder of what my objective must be. Whenever I become weak and indecisive, perhaps talk myself out of my task, I’ll look at this photograph, and my rage to kill will stir once more.

I need a drink. No, don’t drink. Besides, it’s just after 8 am. Only drunks drink that early. Keep your head clear.

Z is supposed to organize a fake ID for me so I can buy booze without relying on her. So, in a way, I’m glad she hasn’t done that yet, and I’m wondering if I should tell her not to bother. The urge to sneak down to the liquor store can be overwhelming on days and nights when I’m feeling low and empty inside.

Lying in my warm bed, I stare at the shadows on the wall cast by the sun peeking through the curtain. I need to get up and water the tomato plant and the pineapple experiment, and I’m sure I left a tiny blunt in the rim of the potplant. But I don’t have the stomach for that right now. Instead, I’ll lie here and figure out where I went wrong in my life.

My phone beeps, and I’m relieved to be pulled out of my tedious self-pity. There’s only so long I listen to my inner chatter berating the younger me for everything bad that’s occurred in my life. My thoughts bore me to tears some days.

Max: WTF is the matter with you?

Me: I’m sorry for the urgent way I left.

Max: Yesterday wasn’t about you. It was about Dad’s birthday. You need to apologize to him and Rory for your fucking rudeness.

Max: I wouldn’t set a lunatic like you up with a good man like Gav anyway. Get over yourself.

I cringe at the words “good man like Gav.” Piss off. A small part of me knows life would be better for everyone if I drop my attitude and get over it. But I can’t. It’s almost as if there’s a tall stone wall stopping me from moving forward to a better life, and I can’t access the key to open the door to pass through until all who remain of that week of torture are gone.

Me: So, you haven’t given him my number or address?

Max: No!

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