Page 6 of Judas

She was fighting him? That’s my girl.

I can’t help but smile at knowing she was putting up a fight. It took some digging but my lawyer was able to pull up enough information on Lucien, and hand it over to me. It didn’t take a scientist to find his MO, and his pattern. He wouldn’t kill Sadie, no. Harm her, yeah, but she would still be breathing by the end of it and that’s better than burying your child. At least I hope now that she belongs to me—a different variable as compared to his earlier kills.

“Anything else?” I ask, attempting to keep the melancholic-glee out of my voice.

“No, not from what I can see. I’ll drop down a few cities and see if I can get another visual. I’m going to send someone your way with a vehicle, that way you don’t draw attention to yourself. You remember how to drive?”

“Boy, shut the fuck up.” I bristle. “I’ve been locked up, not shoved under a rock and left for…”

“For what, smart ass?” I can hear the absolute anger in his voice now. I wonder which part got to him this time. Was it the ‘shut the fuck up’ or the ‘boy?’ Ten dollars says it was the ‘boy.’ “Almost two decades? While driving is the same, other shit has changed. Most cars are—“

“Ra, I swear to God. If you talk to me like I’m ancient. I’ll beat the shit out of you. Condescending prick.” My tone morphs intoone that resembles his own. Impatient and teetering on the edge of cussing him the hell out.

“What did I tell you about watching your mouth? You walk this fucking planet like there isn’t a single consequence for your actions or that cocksucker of yours. You may have a good ten years on me, according to Fury, but I’ll throw you across my lap and spank your ass black and blue if you keep testing my patience, little girl.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to!?” Shouting into the receiver.

“You! You need to be a ghost and to keep your fucking head down, stop yelling and listen to me. This bickering and fighting bullshit is going to get old real fast and my patience is already thin as it is. As I said, I have transportation on the way to you, you will get in the vehicle and follow my every instruction or we will lose your daughter. Now, keep your damn mouth shut. I’ll be in touch.”

Click.

As much as I adore Fury, I’m never taking her help again.

This dude has lost his damn mind, talking to me the way he does. I have more pressing matters to concern myself with than respecting his delicate sensibilities. Asshole. Against my every instinct to leave and do things my way, I stay put and keep my head down. Last thing I need to do is steal a car and have someone put an APB out on it. That’s only asking for more trouble, the kind I’d rather not be in. If the law catches up, I’m going back to fucking jail.

That’d ruin everything.

With this being my last shred of hope for any sort of normal life I suppose I’ll listen. Even if every fiber of my being wants to pull that fucker through the phone by his still-wet ears and show him a whole new meaning of ‘yes ma’am.’

To keep myself occupied, I walk around the building and scope out the perimeter—seeing if there is any surveillance. Hopefully dodging any curious glances from bystanders.

I think the kids say ‘no face, no case.’

Luckily, I don’t see any as I peek around the corner—only junk. Broken down vending machines, old shelving, tin barrels, stacked trash cans, and one hell of an overflowing dumpster. Now, I’m not about to dig through the trash but as I move about, I do notice a folding chair close by and sit down on it. The metal groaning under my weight, one of the legs is shorter than the other of course. My soul nearly leaves my body when I tilt over the stubby leg and almost fall over.

Swallowing my soul down, I lean forward and press my elbows to my knees—staring at my hands that now worry themselves. I take a moment to feel the smoothness of the skin between my fingers and the rougher pads, residual evidence of my time in Bluitt. Traveling up my arms, they’re bare aside from a tiny ‘K’ tattoo on the side of my right wrist. Outside of scars, it’s the only part of me that’s been marked by anything permanent.

If you forget about all my trauma, that is.

Looking at it, it’s nothing. No one would expect anything and though tattoos are not my thing, I wanted it. It had to be in a spot where it could be covered by clothing, but still accessible where I can look at it and gather comfort from the way he’s marked me tangibly and not just in my heart.

Kace is etched into my soul, of course I’d carve him into my skin.

One of the girls gave me the tattoo when I first got to Bluitt. She had been practicing on herself for a while, and though everything in me told me to avoid getting prison ink—avoid any chances of contracting hepatitis—I couldn’t stop myself.

I needed it.

I needed him.

No matter how big or small it is.

I sit here and stare down at the small, speck like, thing. Recalling the evening, Kace and I stood in the rec-yard, just outside of the camera range, and looked up at the sky. The irony in that conversation, about how we are so tiny, now compared to the small blot of ink in my skin. Still, we are minuscule in comparison to the world but our problems consume our whole existence.

Funny things we are, humans that is.

It’s a hard thought to get past, it leaves me feeling a certain way. Like there is more out there, and I had unlimited possibilities yet here I am. Sitting behind an old gas station in the middle of Michigan, trying to find the daughter that I was forced to give up.

Wondering if Sadie hates who I am haunts me and has since the moment I was told she existed. I’ve beat myself up one too many times over whether or not she loathes the idea of coming from not just one criminal, but two. The countless nights I sat on my bunk, unable to sleep, despising my whole existence for putting her in a home with people who she has no blood relation to. Worried that she’d be brought up in a life where someone pointed out mine and Kace’s court proceedings and used them to ridicule her.

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