Page 36 of The Reaper
The sky was grey, and the clouds were circling, bringing with them the threat of an almighty downpour. I tilted my head back and felt the first drop of rain on my face.
“It’s going to tip it down soon, get in,” I told her, and without argument, she got into the passenger side and put her seatbelt on.
I got in too, and when I started the engine, she turned to me and said, “I’m not scared. I just wanted you to know that.”
I didn’t know what to say to her, so I kept quiet and drove slowly over the uneven rubble of the warehouse grounds, putting the windscreen wipers on a little faster as the drizzle became a steady beat of rain hitting the glass.
“And I want you to know,” she carried on, turning in her seat so she was sitting to the side to face me. “I saw what happened, but I wasn’t freaked out. I get it.”
That caught my attention, and I glanced sideways at her and asked, “You get what?” before turning my attention back to the road.
“It’s not a choice for you. This is who you are. Its your calling. You’re likeDexter, you have a dark passenger. I’ve watchedDexterat least three times… okay, maybe more like four or five, but he was never a bad guy. He was the good guy doing bad things to make it all right. That’s you. You’reDexter.”
I sighed and ran my hand over my face.
“This isn’t a fucking TV show, Leah. I’m notDexter. I’m not some kind of hero. It’s just my job.”
“A job you have to do. Like a doctor saves people by curing them. It’s your destiny. You save people too. You take the souls of those that don’t deserve to be here.”
I did. And I was also aware that ninety-nine percent of the population didn’t see it that way, not like I did. But for some reason, she saw it that way too. Maybe she just watched too much damn TV and didn’t see the harsh reality of what I did, but I stayed quiet and let her carry on.
“Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear a balaclava.” She smiled and then added, “And some girls like a balaclava.”
“You’re not some girl, Leah. This isn’t who you are.”
“How do you know who I am?” she replied defensively, and I could feel her eyes boring into the side of my face as I concentrated on the road ahead.
I sighed, trying to choose my words carefully. Words meant a lot to Leah May. I could tell they held a lot of power over her.
“I know that this world I live in, my life, it isn’t for you. You don’t belong here. You’re too good. You deserve better.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” She sighed right back at me and turned her body so that she was facing ahead. “You see hell all around you, it’s everywhere you look, but I don’t. I’m not stupid, Devon. I don’t use rose-tinted glasses in life, but when I look at you and your world, all I see are fragments of a twisted, contorted, self-inflicted hell that’s scattered on the floor. Broken pieces from your life that made you who you are, but they’re shattered and broken for a reason. You fought to make them that way. Scars show you’ve fought a battle and won. The destruction I see is beautiful, a beautiful chaos. I’d take those fractured parts a million times over some make believe heaven that doesn’t make me feel anything.”
She smoothed her hands down the thighs of her jeans, serenity and truth coming off her in waves. But in contrast, my heart was beating like a drum, my mind a ticking timebomb ready to explode after hearing her words. Serenity knew no place in my psyche.
“When I watch you,” she added. “I see it. I see how it affects you. For the others, it’s work, they’re doing their bit. Adam loves the rush of it all, the buzz, you can see it in his face. He lives for the adrenaline kick. Colton is the same, but he isn’t as serious as Adam. Tyler is precise in what he does, and Will is just… crazy.” She shrugged. “But you? To you, it’s like art. I see the concentration on your face, the satisfaction when it turns out the way you’ve envisioned it in your mind. You’re creating art from what you do. You study your canvas, and every stroke, slice, whatever it is you do, it’s done with thought and care. Meaning, almost. And I get it.”
I didn’t understand how she could get it. She was a vicar’s daughter. Raised in a Christian household with firm morals and principles. How could she get what I felt? How could she get me? Where were all these words coming from that seemed to be taken right from my own mind. Carved from my own moral compass.
“You’re painting me like I’m a character. But this is real life, Leah. Its dirty, filthy, savage––”
“And I’ve watched you long enough to know the difference between real evil and a necessary evil done by a good person. You are good, Devon.”
My heart stilled.
“What do you mean, you’ve watched me for long enough? How long has this been going on for?”
I felt her stiffen in her seat next to me.
“I don’t feel comfortable answering that question.”
“But you feel comfortable talking about torturing being art and necessary evils? What the fuck is going on here?”
“I’m just saying I know you, Devon. I see you. I’m not asking you to do anything with that information, but it makes me feel better to say it.”
We turned into the country lane where her house was, and I pulled up a little further down the road, so we weren’t right outside. I wanted to talk to her away from prying eyes. I wanted her to myself for just a moment longer.
I shut off the engine and we both sat in silence for a while.
