Page 87 of My Girl

The husband opens his eyes, his mouth moving, but he’s too drugged to do anything. Tears start to fall, and a sense of satisfaction washes over me, warm and comforting.

He watches me. His eyes glassy and blue. Acknowledging that I’m in control. That I have the complete and total power in this house. A god looking down on his helpless mortals.

When the wife’s pussy loosens—relaxing into death—I come. I come so hard that my eyes go white, and everything blurs around me.

My head floats. My dick slides out.

I take out my pocketknife and jam it inside of her until the blood drips down, oozing like sludge.

I pull out Michael Hall’s cock. It’s bigger than mine. Anger floods me, pissed off that a perfect fucker like him also has a perfectly sized cock, but he’s about to die, and it’s not like his above-average dick will help him. I rub his wife’s blood on his dick like he fucked her bloody cunt too. The fucker gets hard, staring at his dead wife. He closes his eyes in shame.

I smirk to myself. We’re all fucked up, aren’t we? We can’t help it. Our bodies simply react.

The cops around here are tired, understaffed, and overworked. If they think this crime is unremarkable, they won’t look any further. A murder-suicide isn’t something they can prevent like other violent crime, and there’s enough to worry about in Nye County. A suicide note will seal the deal. I can even print it out from their home office.

I start laughing to myself. It’s the same day I killed the Galloways, almost like it’s fate. The cops will be too distracted to connect it all; it helps to commit crime in an understaffed town like this.

I put the gun in Michael’s hand. Tears run down his cheeks. He’s too tired to say a word.

“Hold it like this,” I say, helping him hold the gun to his temple. I have to clutch both of our hands around it. Eventually, he tightens his grasp. “There you go,” I say using the same tone Mrs. Galloway used with Gage. “Such a good boy.”

Then I pull the trigger.

* * *

Age 42

“Craven Gaines,” Ned, the mall owner, says. “How’s the Galloway House looking?”

The idiot mall owner shakes my hand like it means something, and most of the time, I return that respect. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get a job at the police department, but Ned trusts me to do his private security. Sometimes, he even lets me carry a gun. Most of the time, it’s a stun gun, like he thinks I’m a joke. A stun gun can’t kill anyone.

But I can. And Ihave.

“Officer Gaines,” I correct him in my fake Southern accent.

He pats me on the shoulder. “Officer Gaines, my man.”

“I recommend a fence,” I say. I put my hands on my hips, emphasizing the stun gun stowed on my side. “Security cameras. Something to make sure the kids aren’t messing around over here.”

“All for a little spray paint?”

I furrow my brows. It’s a little paint for him, but a goddamn liability for me. The Vegas death tour buses finally lost interest in the Galloway House, but the local kids still think it’s fun to play truth or dare in a haunted house. I can’t have extra visitors when it’s my favorite place to experiment with my victims.

“You don’t want it to get worse,” I warn.

Ned nods. “All right. Research it. Send me what you think is best.”

I wander around hardware store, idly searching for a fence. But when I see a hacksaw, my mind wanders to her.

Raven Sinclair. Her first name fits inside of mine.

I picture her with a hacksaw on her neck, blood squirting from the incisions. A pocket knife stabbed in her gut.

I buy the hacksaw.

When I had seen Rae for the first time waiting for a cab on the Strip years ago, she reminded me of Michael Hall. Her smile was perfect, comfortable, the ultimate picture of hopeful youth. That curiosity made me look into her life, which confirmed that she was sweetness and innocence personified.

At first, I wanted to analyze that. I promised myself I would keep my distance and observe her. With a mother who loves her, would Rae turn out normal, or would she turn out like me?