Page 61 of Terror Tuesday

She freezes as she spies the gift I left on her bed. Moving around it carefully, she reaches out to see if it’s real. Satisfied that it is, she pulls it into her chest and rocks, then lets loose a sob. It was difficult to find a replica of her favorite childhood stuffed fox. The one she wrote about destroying after Reggie raped her. But I found one just like it. Only took a few years.

The note falls onto the bed, and she reads it through tears.

Innocence is not lost. Only forgotten.Now you remember.

With a sniff, she hurries toward the balcony, and I jump onto the far platform to hide behind a shrub.

“Vanq?” she whispers. “I know you’re there. I know you did this.” She waits while I slow my breathing. This ishermoment. I don’t want to make it aboutme.

She turns back to her room, and I almost relax, but breathy words come through before she goes inside. “His name is Felix.”

It’s an offering. A gift. Something she had never uttered in those words she wrote…

Olivia Marie Cardell just gave a piece of herself to me willingly.

My heart pounds harder, warmth spreading through me despite the biting cold now that she’s wearing my hoodie. Is it better than a blowjob? Perhaps…

I linger in the shadows until she’s deeply asleep before slipping silently inside. Marking the quiet conclusion to our bizarre evening, I press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Leaning close, my whisper promises what awaits her next: “Sleep now. Another trial and more answers will come soon, my beautiful Monarch.”

seventeen

Sheila only operates at night.She’s got her kids all day, is what she says. Perfect for me because I hate being out in the daylight. Plus, it makes sense, given her line of work.

Tugging my mask down after pulling off my helmet, I kick the stand on my blue Suzuki Boulevard and slip the key into my pocket. It’s a chilly October evening, but not enough for me to bother with a coat.

Sheila’s apartment building is fancier than I thought it would be, considering the chaotic life she leads. But it’s about to get a lot less hectic once she finishes her job and I wire her the money.

The streetlight glistens off the asphalt as I hurry toward the alley between her place and the Italian restaurant next door. My stomach squeezes at the smell of yeasty bread and tomato sauce. I should probably eat something.

Poor woman must be cold on a night like tonight, but she’s a pro and still wearing a tiny dress, her blonde hair perfectly curled and tucked under an umbrella.

“You’re Vanq?” she asks as I approach, likely looking like a robber with my hoodie and mask.

“Yeah.”

Her mauve lips purse as she looks me over, scrutinizing my clothes. She tilts her head. “You always make deals in person?”

“When I can.” I shrug. “This needs to be untraceable.”

If the society knew I had my own footage—real, uncut footage—of that fat fuck carving up his victims during Terror Tuesday? They’d silence me faster than they tried to do with Malik.

With a soft snort, she replies, “Honey, for the amount of money you promised? Believe me, no one will ever find out shit.”

“Good. Check your account for part one.”

“Right now?”

I nod, crossing my arms, glancing cautiously back over my shoulder toward the street. Cars pass slowly up ahead, the city’s noise a distant blur. I track each vehicle, alert for anything unusual or repetitive.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “You’re serious. This is life changing. I won’t have to do this line of work anymore.”

“Yeah, so that’s just the first. You’ll get part two after completing the job and part three if it’s successful. Then retire. Take your kids some place else.”

She smiles. “Tommy wants to go to NU…”

Tommy’s a fucking moron.