Page 54

N ight had swallowed the day, the sky bruised to ash when I logged into Violet's game. The screen's glow painted my face in cold light. The loading music crawled through my ears; oddly soothing, yet strangely haunting.

The kids were at Dawn's for some action-assassin movie marathon which Liam had talked of nothing else all week.

Violet tagged along just to be one of the 'big kids' and Sloane worked the evening shift, covering for a tech who'd called out.

Just me and the game that took Violet from me. Me and my thoughts.

My fingers froze above the mouse. A pixelated fox trotted circles beside a mushroom house. This had been Violet's refuge during the divorce in my previous life. Robot Blocks had served as her escape when the world crashed against her too hard, too loud.

Memory dragged me backward to that other life.

That future where technology became poison in our veins.

Where data proved, without mercy, the damage of social media, smartphones, reality TV, the constant and incessant noise of it all.

Artificial connections breeding real isolation.

Social media promising connection but delivering loneliness wrapped in perfect filters.

We'd invited it all in. Every algorithm, every infinite doom scroll. We thought we were evolving. Instead, we were distractedly dying.

How different would that world have been if we hadn't collectively surrendered our attention like lambs to slaughter? Would Violet even have needed this digital escape if the world outside hadn't fractured into jagged, screaming pieces?

Pain spread beneath my ribs as I pushed the thoughts away. The narrative in this life was already moving a different direction from the one I knew. Regardless, I knew I wasn't the hero of her story. But maybe keeping the monsters out was enough.

The pixel character sat on screen, blinking up expectantly. I didn't move.

I skimmed the chat log, my plan already spreading its roots. For weeks, I'd lurked, watching every interaction from the shadows. Violet had sworn not to reveal I was a parent in the channel. To her, it was a game. Our little secret joke.

She didn't know the truth: that her father haunted her game's chat channel, tracking every username that lingered too long, said too little, said too much.

Most chats were harmless. A few weird ones I shut down fast. Then I saw it. The one I'd been waiting for.

Prince_Harming has sent you a direct message.

My pulse quickened. There's my monster.

Prince_Harming: Hey! Love your screen name DogsRbetta. Wanna play together?

I stared at the message. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

DogsRbetta: Prefer to hang out lrl insted .

The reply came fast.

Prince_Harming: Let’s hang out!

There it was. The hook. Swallowed whole by a monster who took Violet away in my previous life.

Things unfolded quickly after that. Men like him always hunt, always hunger for the next easy target. I fed him a fake age, told him I was alone, and could find a ride. After a brief dance of messages, he dropped a GPS pin. It was bold, sloppy and disgusting.

I checked the forecast. Rain was coming. Perfect.

I grabbed my phone, my pulse steady now, sharpened to purpose. I dialed the number burned into my memory and waited. One ring. Two. Three.

"Levi, it's late for a call. Is everything okay?" Charlie's voice cut through, calm but edged.

"He took the bait." Silence stretched between us. I could practically hear him calculating, already working out his side of the alibi if shit turned sideways.

Finally, he breathed out. "Understood. When?"

"Tonight." I pulled the small duffel from its hiding place behind shoe boxes. Packed months ago when this seed first took root. Tactical boots and balaclava. Black thermal gear. Gloves. A burner phone.

Things I'd never imagined seeing outside of a suspense thriller. But thanks to Sloane's true crime obsession, I knew the setup.

Charlie said, "Forecast for tomorrow calls for heavy rain around that warehouse and the surrounding county. Should cover your tracks. If you run into trouble, call my burner. I'll keep it turned on."

"Sure. I don't think I'll need it." I zipped the bag closed with one clean pull, and caught my reflection in the mirror. A stranger stared back. I looked like a commando going to infiltrate a foreign country .

Good god, I look like one of Sloane's book boyfriends.

"Fuck me, I don’t even recognize myself."

There was a pause before Charlie said, "I imagine you finally look useful. Sloane would be so proud."

I snorted. “She’d kill us both if she knew.”

"That is why I said 'proud' and not 'happy.'" I heard the smirk in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah. Preach to the choir buddy."

"Levi?" Charlie’s voice dropped back into seriousness. "You are only going to get one chance at this. Do not hesitate. Between the two of us, you are the only one who could… do this." He cleared his throat. "This is one of the reasons I conceded Sloane was safer with you."

"Yeah, well, we both know she gets better dickin’ from me anyway."

That'll shut him up.

"Levi, are you still upset I am better hung than you?"

"No," I said, my lie evident to both of us. "Size isn't everything."

We had taken the kids camping, and when nature called we answered out in the bushes away from Sloane and the kids. I couldn't help but take a peek; morbid curiosity to a question I wished I'd never had answered.

Charlie let out a low sigh, equal parts exasperated and amused. "Levi." His voice shifted again as he tried to maintain a calm I knew he didn't feel. "You are Sloane's choice. And with what you are about to do… it is a testament to a parent’s love."

I didn’t answer. Not because I disagreed. But because I was already slipping on the gloves.

Damn right, I won't hesitate.

Not when it comes to Violet or anybody I love. Not when I remembered her stuffed fox lying untouched in her room for years while Sloane tried to process the moment we realized our daughter was gone .

I tucked the burner phone into my pocket and slid the knife into its sheath. No gun: too loud, too quick, too distant. A blade gave me time to look into his eyes if he fought back. I wanted that. No, I needed that.

This wasn't revenge. This was an offering to whatever gods had granted me this second chance to fix my mistakes.

I'd spent most of my life breaking things: hearts, promises, Sloane's trust.

But tonight? Tonight I am going to unmake something that has no right breathing the same air as my children.

Outside, the storm whispered overhead. Ozone curled in my lungs. The bruised sky hung low, dark with thunder; the kind of night nightmares vanish into.

Gravel crunched under my boots as I climbed into my truck, keeping it quiet with no music to distract except for the thunder of my pulse. I needed the silence.

I parked a quarter of a mile from the meeting spot and walked through the lightly forested woods. The warehouse stood exactly as it had in my previous life; steel bones rusting into the earth, a hollow shell against a moonless sky. I waited.

Ten minutes early, headlights sliced through darkness.

A car pulled in as I crouched low, my heartbeat steady now.

Time stretched thin as the car rolled closer, tires crunching over gravel.

The engine died. A small man stepped out.

He was balding and wiry. He popped his trunk, searched the darkness, his flashlight catching rope, tape, and a tarp.

This sick fuck came prepared for her. For Violet.

I moved in, my tactical boots silent over sand and loose dirt.

My pulse quickened as I came up behind him. "Boo."

He spun around in time to meet the crowbar .

To my disappointment, he dropped instantly, a dull thud echoing through the night. I checked his pulse, making sure he'd live for what came next. His heart beat steady under my fingertips.

Still alive. Good.

The laptop sat open in his trunk, angled like he'd stepped away mid-task, screen glowing faintly. It looked ordinary. Innocent.

I pulled on my black gloves and clicked through desktop folders. It didn't take long. A few clicks, and truth spilled across the screen in flickering images.

Just as Charlie and I suspected, he'd hidden behind a VPN, cloaking his IP address with false countries and shell locations. End-to-end encrypted messaging apps, some banned in half the world, synced directly to his laptop. Layers of protection that made him untouchable.

Until they didn't.

The screen filled with thumbnails. Flickering, grotesque, blurred by speed and pixelation but unmistakable. Kids. Rooms. Chains. Grainy footage captured through webcams or phones. Some couldn't have been more than five or six. Some smiled, like they'd been told this was a game.

Revulsion hit, sharp and choking, followed by an incandescent fury that shredded my brain to ribbons. My vision blurred but I kept breathing as I chanted to myself. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Eventually, the rage quieted enough to think.

Good fucking god, how I would relish tearing him apart with my bare hands.

Not yet. Not here. I reined myself in. Justice would come on my terms .

With surgical precision, I closed the laptop, leaving behind whatever sickness he believed safely hidden, and turned away, every nerve burning with purpose.

I used his own tools against him; taped his mouth shut, bagged him like trash in the tarp, and left his wallet in the car. There would be neither screams nor words from him, only muffled whimpers whenever consciousness returned.

I had considered killing him there, but I wanted him to see his end; I wanted him to feel the same helpless dread those little boys and girls had felt because of him.

I dragged him back to my truck, dead weight through dirt and underbrush, then slung him in the back. The storm should cover my tracks, the wind and rain washing away any trace we'd been through here. All that would remain of this evening would be my memories of it.