Page 30 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)
Chapter sixteen
Judas
Y ou know, I can’t remember the last time I went on a road trip.
Oh, that’s right, I haven’t . Unless you consider my delivery from county jail to Darkwater, and the one from Darkwater to Sortiger, well-secured travel plans.
I can see why some people enjoy such a simple task—driving.
Of course, there are the subconscious movements you must maintain to keep the vehicle safely in the center of the lane.
All while still dodging other drivers and debris on the highway.
The music, superb. Lowered windows allowing the air to blow through the cab unobstructed.
Sun shining on me through the glass, and crying from the trunk.
It’s an ebb and flow situation with the girl, I realize.
One moment she’s silent and I think she’s done me a favor and bashed her head into the floor.
Then I can hear her screaming in what sounds like tongues—half deep and unintelligible, half at the top of her lungs.
She’s going to have one sore throat when she finally makes it out of there, not that she will need it, at least until I slice it from ear to ear.
I should do this more often, it’s relaxing.
We have been on the road for entirely too many days with no particular destination in mind.
I just want to get her away from everything and everyone she knows.
Isolate her where she can’t run—well, won’t run to anyone.
As well as Nadia. She will follow her offspring, I know she will.
That’s why I’ve not been the least bit careful in avoiding surveillance or the public eye.
Running from the law will teach you quite a bit about avoiding certain places and areas; especially when you're out murdering people. Ingrains a hare’s concept of fight, flight or freeze.
It kept me out of jail, and most trouble, until I went hunting it down, of course.
Now that all is said and done, it’s time to frolic in the public eye.
Allow people to see the type of monsters that live amongst them.
Show the world that the ghouls and goblins they fear are nothing compared to the faceless ones walking amongst them.
The ones like me who blend in and function as well as your typical person.
Demons such as the normal, everyday-looking family who hides a son’s immoral relationships with the young.
Those who cover the business man’s excessive skin purchases.
Ones who turn a blind eye to the mother who harms the very children she birthed, all in the sake of ‘she was troubled.’ We’re all troubled; most of them get to pick and choose when they decide to be displeased while others become provoked to act.
We’re all the same but that’s the difference between displeased and provoked?
Morality.
Are you the type of creature who sits there, counting to ten, urging yourself to remain calm so you can avoid anger management classes? Or are you the type of beast who, when provoked, curls the stripped copper of an extension cords around the appendages of an unfortunate and flip the switch?
I’m neither.
Instead, my type of devil is grossly misunderstood.
We’re always teetering the fence between displeased and provoked with a niggling third influence—premeditation.
For example, I watched Sadie for about a week or so once I was ejected from prison.
Observing the way she acted with the people she was around frequently, and those that were strangers.
She’s cautious, rightfully so. Especially after experiencing the way in which she fights and isn’t afraid to go up against someone twice her size.
A trait, I am sure, her adopted parents drilled into her head.
When you have a judgmental support system, you turn into some of the worst aspects of those who influence you. While she picked up a predator's sense of fight, that wasn’t a variable I was prepared for. Observing her, outside of a threatening situation, placed me in a precarious position.
Sadie trusts no one, like she shouldn’t.
Instances where she was surrounded by peers her age, she was the center of attention. Sticking out like a hammered thumb, relying on the praise and worship of her fellowship to mask the true being within. Then, when she was alone, she crumbled.
She’s the beast type of ‘troubled.’
Sadie’s parents took her to a psychologist a few times during my covert shadowing.
All three of them would enter into the office tense and not speaking, yet when they exited, my sweet girl seemed more—just more .
There was an aura about her I can’t quite put into words.
She seemed more sure of herself—strong, her backbone straighter, and the gait of her walk way more confident.
Even as her parents bickered back and forth to one another.
Their eyes shifting over to the young girl then returning—reluctant and fearful body language.
The day I got close enough to see more details of my little beast, I noted that she has Nadia’s jaw structure, her nose, her height, complexion, and stature too.
Everything else made me seethe—Kace. Between the two of them, I can’t decide who I hate more.
The nuisance that continues to plague me even years later, or the Babylonian whore.
I had high hopes I would never have to lay eyes on Kace again; that I could have Nadia to myself and his bastard child.
The displeased, provoked, and premeditated— all three monsters in one happy family.
Yet to my dismay, there he stood. In the visage of a teenage girl—I want to gouge that part of him out of her.
Starting with those maddening blue eyes.
Move on, Lulu.
Mother.
She’s still with me, chiming in on occasion, but the Lord has more or less abandoned me.
I’ve not heard much of anything from God since my interrogation with the good detective.
Only speaking to me a handful of times while I waited for this moment.
It angers me, truthfully. I moved the very grounds his pathetic sacrifices walk, fulfilled his wishes, and he has forsaken me.
Ever since, I chose to do what pleases me—as I was promised.
Deciphering the Lord's silence as his reluctant permission.
Once upon a time, I longed to be with family who had never harmed or tormented me.
Equally troubled individuals who would eventually understand my inner workings, despite being forced to learn them.
Initially, that was Nadia for me. A sister I had remembered from my days as a small boy, watching her cry in her room and scribbling over the sun I drew for her princesses.
The day I witnessed her do that, destroy the pretty things I gave out of the kindness of my heart, the rage which built inside of me yearned to throw her into a hole with an assortment of nightmarish critters.
But, there came a day where I understood her brand of pain, finding more kinship in a sibling the Lord promised I would have again.
I had her, at times at the end of my fingertips, and still chose not to touch her.
Decided to not make her uncomfortable, pass her off as payment, but I was always going to go back to her.
Even forgave her for cracking my skull open with her baton, for disobeying my single rule of not allowing other men to paw at her body.
It was supposed to be us until the bloodline came to a halt, then she went off and got knocked up with the abomination sniveling in the trunk.
As angry I may be, I know forgiveness is part of being a true man of God. Nadia gave me a gift, even if she doesn’t know it yet. In the end, my work will be complete, and his word will be fulfilled.
Don’t kid yourself, Lucien. There are things you cannot comprehend.
That voice has become bold during my incarceration.
Defying my demands, logic, and questioning my expertise.
Perhaps it has been too long since repentance and that would do him some good—remind him of his subservience.
All it would take is one or two good switches.
Yes, that is a fantastic idea. I can kneel inside the tree line, away from the road, seek strength and forgiveness, then lash the branchlet along my leather-like scarred flesh.
Maybe once we get to where we are going, I have a terror packed away that requires my attention and I mustn’t deviate.
Focusing on the road, I see a ‘Welcome to Garibaldi Park’ sign.
It’s beautiful up here with snow already blanketing the mountains.
The uncovered trees are well into their cycle of oranges, reds and golds.
Contrasting that of the blue and white capped peaks.
Being this far north, autumn comes quickly and leaves even faster.
Either way, the view is breathtaking. A checkpoint comes into view, perverting God’s creation stretching as far as my eye can see.
Too bad my sweet girl can’t experience the same joy of beholding this view for the first time—sucks being in the trunk.
Rolling up to the turnpike, I push gently on the brake pedal and bring the car to a creep, finally a stop as a park ranger approaches and looks down at me over his mirrored aviators.
“Purpose of entering the park today?” he probes.
“Recreation.”