Page 1 of Devil Inside: Green

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DANNI

“Daniella,” my boss, Mr. Sasquatch, calls over to me through his hairy mouth after popping his hairy, no-necked head out of his office. I cringe while trying to discern what he wants from me now. Martek Industries, my wonderful employer, needs to rethink middle management as a concept. Hell, all corporations need to rethink middle management as a concept. In the long tradition of middle managers, Mr. Sasquatch loves to assert his power over the peons under him. Calling him “Mr. Sasquatch” behind his back will probably come back to bite me one of these days. It’s Mr. Sawkowski, but “Sasquatch” seems a better fit. “Come into my office, please.”

He hurries back to his desk so he can look all official when I get there. He’s had it out for me since the day a year ago when he tried to cop a feel in the copy room, and I stomped on his foot hard enough to break his toe.

“Yes, Mr. Sas—erm—Sawkowski—” Fake smile plastered on my face. Check. “What can I do for you today?”Phew!It almost bit me.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.”

Talk about a gut punch. I need this job. “Let me go?” I ask. “Why?”

“Excessive absences from work.”

Wait—he better check again. “All the time off I’ve taken fell within my PTO and the Family and Medical Leave Act after my mother was killed.”

His hairy lip pulls tight, and he drops his gaze down to the papers in front of him rather than look me in the eye. The little weasel—wait, do sasquatch come in a weasel variety? He might possibly be the first sasquatch-weasel hybrid. I should contactScientific Americanbecause I think I just discovered a new species. “You’ve taken it at very inconvenient times,” he says, “which put the stress of heavier workloads onto the rest of the team.”

“It’s a call center. Their workload is no harder when anyone is gone than when they’re here. They take as many calls in a day as they usually take.”

“Listen, I don’t want to argue…”

“Then don’t. You know you don’t have grounds to fire me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Well, take it up with HR if you feel that way. Finish out your day.”

“You must be high if you think I’m going to just finish out my day. I’ll be down in HR if you need me.”

I log off my computer, grab my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk, and grab the few mementos hanging up around my cubicle in case he decides to be more of a vindictive asshole and get rid of my stuff while I’m gone. It’s a short elevator ride down to HR but a fifteen-minute wait for someone to help me.

Dominique takes my case. She helps me fill out the paperwork to lodge my complaint. I’ve never met Dominique before, but she has great style. She wears her hair free and curly. She has on a satiny wrap blouse and black, wide-legged slacks with these killer heels and gold hoop earrings. I want to be Dominique when I grow up.Oh—and she knows her job. I’ll go as far as to say Dominique is an HR rock star.

At the end of the meeting, she places her hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but I’m putting you on paid leave until we render a decision. I don’t think there will be an issue, though.”

“What can I do about Sawkowski?”

She leans in close. “I didn’t tell you this, but we’re building a case against him for his inappropriate behavior with the female staff under him. We have to go in for a surprise attack because he’s like a second cousin to Mr. Jamison.” Mr. Jamison’s bigwig status at the company does pose a few potential roadblocks. I drag my pinched-together finger and thumb across my closed mouth in that universally accepted gesture for zipping my lips.

“Right. Then we’ll be in touch,” she says.

More time off. I don’t know what to do with the rest of my day.

On the drive back to my apartment, I take a detour, ending up atthedump site. The place that son-of-a-bitch Bible Belt Killer dumped my mother’s body like she was trash. Why do I do this to myself? Coming here won’t bring her back. It won’t put my family back together.

The yellow police tape has long since been taken down. Animal and human tracks trample the dirt and grass where there used to be an indentation of Mom’s body. I couldn’t have asked for a better mom. She was as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside, and that woman would give you the shirt off her back in the middle of winter if she thought you needed it. Her one vice—she liked to play the slots at the casino once every other month—the nickel and quarter slots, at that. Mom never bet like she was trying to win big. She didn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. Sometimes she’d meet her girlfriends at the casino after work. They’d have a nice dinner and gamble for a few hours.Thatgot her dead. A stupid night out with friends cost her her life and cost me my family.

It had always been the three of us. My mom, me, and my younger sister, Misty. Now Misty lives across the state with her dad and his new family. She can’t stand her stepmom or her bratty, entitled brothers. Our nightly phone calls break my heart. Without Mom around, she has to live with them until her eighteenth birthday, which is almost a year away. Mom would be so disappointed in me for losing my sister, but the courts said I didn’t earn enough to take care of both Misty and myself. What more could I do?

Six damn months and I’ve yet to hear from the Bedlam Horde president again. Normally, I don’t associate with motorcycle clubs, but the Bedlam Horde MC out of Kentucky made national news after helping the FBI in their search for the Bible Belt Killer.

Six months since I sought them out. Six months since they agreed to help me find him. Six months of nothing. The universe works in mysterious ways. This paid leave from work is the sign I’ve been waiting for to hit hard again.

“I will find him, Mom.” I squat down to place my hand in the muddy grass where she once lay. “I’ll find him and make him pay for what he’s done.Promise.”

On the way home, my brain fills with item after item placed on my new to-do list—the things I need to do to get the search going again. After a quick lunch of crackers, hard salami, and cheese, I fire up my laptop in the office I’ve created in my bedroom.

Maps tacked across the wall fill one half of the room. Every kill spot has a pushpin to track his past movements in hopes of anticipating his future movements. That bastard is called the Bible Belt killer because he moves up and down the Bible Belt section of the country killing women he’s decided are sinners. Bullshit excuses from a coward who hides behind the ruse of sinfulness as his excuse to feel powerful. Thou shalt not kill, asshole—the number six commandment.

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