Page 43 of Serial Love

Her expression, a mixture of understanding andfear, tore at him. She held his gaze bravely and asked, “What about in the future? Other victims? Other cases? You say you want this but Jack, if I give my heart to you and we have our future, I don’t want to live in fear that you’ll decide to give up on us again.”

“Your doubt cuts deep and that’s on me. I created those feelings in you and I’m the only one who can take them away. I promise you that I’ll work every day to make sure you know that we’re in this together.”

Smiling, she cupped his bearded face, pulling in his lips, this time offering more than a chaste kiss. And he was more than willing to participate.

Visiting the old homestead always made him cringe. The shutters hung askew on the windows. He glanced upward recognizing the roof needed new shingles.Maybe it’ll fall in on the old bat.Sighing, he moved through the front door, seeing that nothing had changed, of course. The old furniture, old rug, old everything. His mother sat in her familiar chair nearest the TV as it blared an old game show re-run.

Her eyes, sharp as always, looked up. “Didn’t say you were coming by,” she remarked.

“No, ma. I was traveling nearby and thought I’d see how you were.”

“Humph, like you care. You were probably out looking for some girl last night and couldn’t get lucky, so you came by here.”

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Now, ma. You know I don’t do that. I had business to take care of.”

Her eyes looked him up and down. “Your father had business he used to take care of and don’t think I didn’t know he was cattin’ around town.”

“Well, that was dad, but not me.” He sat on the sofa, pretending to watch TV with her for a few minutes, all the while fighting the urge. His hands knotted into fists, wishing for the familiar feel of his knife.Well, dad's knife.

He had watched his old man filet fish from the time he could first remember. The sharp blade making an easy slit through the fish’s gut. A quick slice across the head. It seemed the older the knife was, the sharper it became. His dad took care of it—cleaning and oiling it when necessary. Such a delicate instrument. And so clean a slice.

Suddenly speaking again, his mom said, “If you’d followed in your dad’s footsteps, you’d be here all the time to take care of me.”

“Ma, you know fishing for a living wasn’t what I wanted to do. Anyway, you always fussed about dad not making enough money.”

“He barely made enough to keep this roof over our heads, and then went and spent it on his whores.”

Her words weighed heavily on him, taking him back to a time he did not want to remember.The first one. So pretty. I’d seen her around. Such a nice girl. Always smiled and talked to me when she saw me. One day walking into the shed on the back of their little property when his mom was at the store. The girl’s naked body as his dad bucked into her. I stoodand watched for a while. She had huge breasts…much bigger than mom’s. Dad’s bare ass kept moving as her legs lifted in the air. I tried to be quiet, keeping my hand in my pants. My cock got hard, and I wanted to pound into her also. Dad had no idea I was there, but the girl turned her eyes toward me. At first, she looked surprised. Then she smiled at me and brought her hands up to her breasts, playing with them.

He had gone back into the house and when his mother returned, she took one look and knew he was hiding something. Pursing her lips, she bit out, “Your father was with some woman, wasn’t he?”

He did not answer, but she had already known. The silence stretched out between them. His mother finally, said, “I’d get rid of them if I could.” Spearing him with a stony gaze, she added, “At least that’d be something you could do right.”

Now, his mother, too old to do much on her own except wallow in her own misery, stood and moved to the kitchen. “Want some coffee?” she called out.

Grimacing at the thought of the bitter brew, he just said, “Sure, ma. That’d be good.” Fighting the urge, he rubbed his hand over his face.I need to find a new good girl.

The Saints once again gathered in the command center. As soon as they entered, they could tell that something had changed with Jack.

“Boss? You’re kinda scaring us,” Cam commented.Seeing Jack’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “You seem sort of happy.”

Jack caught the smirks of the others around the table and hung his head chuckling. “Okay, okay, have your fun.” Looking back at them, he said, “If you bunch of women want your gossip then here it is. I have approached Ms. Bridwell about renewing our relationship and she agreed. There. Now are you happy?”

The men offered congratulations accompanied with head jerks in approval before they got down to business.

Luke flashed on their tablets the latest list that he had compiled from all the data. “Let’s take a look at the victims because I have finally come up with a common thread among them all.”

The men eagerly looked at him, elated for the first opportunity to find a tie between the victims.

“Okay, bear with me,” Luke began. “We know the victims have had virtually nothing in common, from ethnicity, socio-economic backgrounds, jobs, majors, religions, grades…nothing. But the one word that popped up in every report from their friends and relatives—good.”

“Good?” Bart asked. Bart, known for believing in what he could see, hear, taste, and touch was not one for accepting things outside the measurable.

“Every single girl was described as a good girl by someone,” Luke continued.

“Yeah, but don’t you think that’s something that anyone would say about someone who’s died?” Marcasked. “You know, ‘Oh, he was a good man’, or ‘She was such a sweetie’.”

“Sure,” Luke agreed, “but take it a step further. None of the evidence supports any of these victims as partiers. None of them hung around bars, went clubbing, were in a sorority, visited frat houses. Not one.”

---