Page 38 of The Monster I Loved
So did I.
He murdered my father and felt no remorse at all. It was only fair, and only right, that he shouldn’t be allowed to live. He was the one who preached fairness. And then saying that he wished I were dead? What kind of a fucked-up person said that?
The gun didn’t feel freeing as I walked. It felt like a heavy, oppressive shadow. But I knew what I needed to do, and I had to do it before I lost my nerve. Thaddeus would die. Then, I’d finally be free to get on with the rest of my life.
I glanced down at my outfit and grimaced. With the Joker paint smeared across my face, the expression came too easy. The costume had been a last-minute idea. Despite what I said before, I had no wish to spend a second behind bars, so I came up with the perfect disguise to keep anyone from recognizing me. A black wig, chalk-white face paint. I even wore my sneakers, just in case I had to run from the scene of the crime.
Maybe I’ve seen too many movies.
Chances were I wouldn’t be the only one there dressed like that. People wouldn’t be able to point out who killed Thaddeus.
A joker.
The moment I stepped inside, I remembered just how much Thaddeus and his mom loved Halloween. They always went above and beyond with decorations, and even I had to admit he’d done his mother proud. He ensured every inch of the Fitzgerald house was covered in cobwebs, graves, witches orghosts, black bats and ravens on top of bookshelves, and a string of glowing skeletons and pumpkins lined both sides of the stairs. It was like a Halloween fairy tale.
I poured myself some blood-red punch (from a smoking cauldron) to steady my nerves. I moved freely through the house, searching for the son of a bitch, certain no one knew it was me behind all the face paint. It was strange to be back here. I thought I’d never step through those doors again. I walked through three rooms: the dining room, the kitchen, and the living room, before realizing that each had a different theme. Thaddeus had really pulled out all the stops. He transformed the living room into a vampire’s lair. Smoke billowed out from a machine in the corner, and he lined coffins up against the bookshelves. I picked up an eyeball cake pop and a tombstone cookie. I was stress eating, but also, why shouldn’t I take advantage of what was offered?
I lifted both hands to my waist, wondering how much longer it would take to find the son of a bitch. I knew this house like the back of my hand. Which door led where, which stair creaked, and most importantly, where Thaddeus’s room was. I’d find his ass eventually and put a bullet in his back. Or maybe I should shoot him in the face. I wanted him to know who’d ended his life.
I would have to wash off all these layers of paint to reveal my face. Damn it, why didn’t I just wear a mask?
My heart banged in my chest as I strolled through the library, trying to act like I belonged. Each step I took tugged me closer to the release that I’d desired for years. It felt like fate was leading me to him. I skimmed my eyes over a tall man with broad shoulders in a carnival mask.Not him. I scanned each room, looking beyond masks and costumes. I’d know which monster he was when I saw him.
I’ll wipe that smugness off his fucking face when I pin him down.
I dreamt of shooting Thaddeus with such precision he’d never get the chance to open his cocky mouth before I stood over his body.
I felt like one of those assassins in an action movie. Swinging in and out of shadows, every last one of my senses on alert for a single target.
A dark, hooded pair of eyes, muscles impossibly large, and a smirk.
My thirst for revenge powered me across the house’s sprawling floor plan. But soon, I ran into a problem: a huge, gaping hole in my plan. Looking around the dark room with everyone in costume, I realized it would take me forever to find this man. I’d know when it was him. I had to. The man had ruined my life. We were connected in the darkest of ways.
I poured myself another glass of punch and took a sip. It burned going down.
Yuck.
This one tasted different. Whoever mixed it deserved to be fired. I took small sips and fought the urge to gag. I continued my search, frustration bubbling inside me with each minute of failing to find him. Thirty minutes later, I was on my third glass of punch, and the dark room seemed to be spinning. The pistol in my purse felt heavier than when I’d arrived. The plan was failing. Maybe Thaddeus skipped his own party. Or perhaps his costume was so good that I couldn’t recognize him.
I left the dance floor and headed to one of the downstairs bathrooms to splash water on my neck, afraid a single drop on my face would reveal my identity too soon.
A long line flowed from each. My head throbbed.What is in that punch?I felt dizzy, warm. My brain was foggy. Shit, the punch was spiked. It was stronger than before, hitting me harder than alcohol had ever done.
Ugh, this house has plenty of otherbathrooms upstairs.Cursing under my breath, I climbed up the sprawling staircase and headed into the first restroom before locking myself inside.
“Ah,” I breathed. The cool stream of water on my neck felt like heaven. I splashed myself some more, wiping away the sweat from my skin, then turned off the tap to look at my reflection in the mirror. I had to admit I hardly looked like a killer. Sweat blurred the black eye paint into the white until it looked like I was crying, my tears running dark.
A strange sensation swirled inside me. I felt off. The punch was the only logical explanation. We weren’t in high school anymore, so why would somebody spike it? I moved slowly as I left the bathroom. My knees and ankles weakened, and I stumbled. My brain wasn’t working right.
Where was I?
I knew I was somewhere familiar, but I couldn’t quite grasp where I was.
My sneakers dragged against the carpet more slowly than usual. I opened a door. In the dimly lit room, a man was changing. I began to mumble an apology but couldn’t look away. Swaying forward, I blinked, trying to get a better visual. All I could focus on was his chest, a lot of it. Hard. A six-pack. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out and touched him. God, he feltgood.
“Who are you? Why are you up here?” a rough voice asked.
When I finally tore my gaze off his chest, I lifted my eyes to his face. Any man with a chest like that had to be handsome. I sighed in disappointment. He had painted his face black, with sharp white lines contouring his bone structure to make him look skeletal.I’m at a costume party, I remembered through clouded thoughts.
