Page 75 of Vipers & Roses

I take a deep breath, hoping that I sound relatively normal. “Sorry, I dropped the phone. My battery is running out, so I can’t stay on longer. But please give my love to Lucy and Josh.”

“Yeah. Ah, are you okay?” he asks confused.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I beg. “Focus on your friends, and I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, beautiful. It was nice to hear your voice,” he says softly. “Like a remedy for my soul.”

I cut the call and stare at the wall for several minutes, frozen and buried under the weight of my thoughts. Finally, I get up, step to my clothes closet, crouch down, grab the cardboard box shoved at the back, drag it out, and place it on my bed.

Slowly, I peel the box flaps open and reach inside. I have planned for this day for a long time, storing away items to use at the exact moment when the imagined becomes real. I take you three masks and place them neatly on my bed.

Simba-Lion King. Porky Pig. Looney Tunes Crow. Rattlesnake Jake.

Four headpieces—bald skin, purple, curly wig, orange-haired comb-over, and a black bowler hat with long red hair streaming down. Shoulder padding to make me seem more significant and leather gloves so I don’t leave fingerprints.

I turn back into the bathroom, turn the shower water on, and strip my clothes off. As the warm water covers my naked body, I go over my plan in my head with each meticulous detail. I have gone over this a thousand times in my mind and on paper, only to be burnt into ashes.

The time is now.

34

Simba is the first to be sacrificed, and along with Til, the purple-haired wig will be stashed in my bag. After the deed is done, I’ll burn them using the matches in my glove box.

Sweat pours down my back, and I’m uncomfortably hot from the shoulder pads, winter-weight black sweatpants, and hooded sweater as I sit in the dark in my Corolla parked down the street from the Olympic Pool for Lyons to arrive.

Training starts at 6 AM; if he sticks to his schedule, he will arrive at approximately 5:35 AM. At this time in the morning, it’s still and quiet, but the sun is starting to rise, casting light onto the day. So, hopefully, he’ll arrive at his usual time before it gets too light.

I take deep breaths to calm my nerves as a truck passes with headlights on full, and I slink down in my seat to avoid being seen. The missing piece to my meticulous plan is a second car that I was going to buy cheaply and use as my getaway vehicle, then dump it afterward. I didn’t get around to doing that because of the lack of funds and not having anywhere to store it.

It’s almost time, so I fit the Simba mask over my head and secure the purple wig over my hair tied in a bun. I check the magazine in my Glock is loaded, although I plan on using only one bullet, but if he runs, I might have to plant holes in him.

As predicted, Lyons’ silver Buick drives past and turns into the Olympic Pool car park right on time. I need to move fast. I slide out of my car, leaving the door unlocked for faster entry, and start running towards the car park with Til in my hot little hand.

Sweat pours, and it’s hard to see through the narrow eyelets of the rubber mask sticking to my skin. The car park is virtually empty apart from about four vehicles, including his. He finds a parking spot toward the front near the pool entrance as I run to his driver's door, puffing and wet with sweat.

Tapping on his window with my Glock, he gets a hell of a fright when he sees the horror before him. I motion for him to buzz the window down, and he does it without hesitation, trembling like a frightened field mouse.

Raising his hands to show that he’s not armed, he says, “Do you want money? I have money. Let me reach for my wallet in the glove compartment. Okay, I’m gonna reach slowly for my wallet.”

I shake my lion’s purple mane disapprovingly. “I don’t want your money,” I say muffledly. “But what I do want is information.”

His eyes narrow, and I’m constantly aware that security cameras are here, and I need to hurry this along.

“Anything,” he gasps. “What information do you need?”

“Did you try to kill Lucy?”The words out of my mouth so fast from behind this mask that I’m unsure if he heard correctly.

His eyes narrow, and his mood changes from fear to irritation. “Who are you?”

“Finger marks on her neck, Lyons. Now, tell me the truth. Did you try to kill her?” I keep my voice steady, but I need to hurry this along. “Answer me. Did you try to kill her by forcing ketamine down her throat to make it look like a suicide?”

A car turns into the expansive parking lot with its headlights on full beam, and I know I have to finish this.

Lyons opens his mouth to speak, and those evil fucking slits in his skull hone in on me as if he knows who is behind this ridiculous outfit. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he snarls, and a shiver runs down my spine when a momentary lapse of reason takes me back in time two years ago.

“Don’t I? And you still haven't answered my question,” I point out. “Did you try to kill Lucy? Did she know too much? Or were you done abusing her, so you decided to discard her by tossing her in the trash.”

He’s clamming up, but those evil eyes tell me everything I need to know.

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