Page 43

Veronica

“H ave you still not heard from Marlene?” The words tumble out, scattered and disjointed before they even make it to Veronica’s ears.

‘As a tested and certified slut, it shouldn’t be so hard for you to keep my cock busy, am I right?’

“How can a responsible mother leave the house for days and not bother to reach out, huh?”

‘I keep your dirty secret, and you be my little fuck hole’

“Are you sure she doesn’t have a friend you know about?”

‘You be my little fuck hole’

“You disrespectful child! I’m asking you a question.”

‘—my little fuck hole’

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

‘You be my little fuck hole.’

“Veronica?”

“...Veronica!”

Veronica barely registers the violent pull on her shoulder before she is spun around, face-to-face with Carla. Irritation tightens the woman’s brow, but her kind brown eyes flicker downward, widening in horror.

“Blood of Jesus!” Carla flinches, taking a giant step back. Finally, a bit oriented, Veronica follows Carla’s gaze to find her hand in a death grip with the kitchen knife, which is now slick with blood. Too much blood. The blade has dug deep, its cruel edge biting through the first layer of flesh. Yet, she feels nothing.

“May God not let our eyes see evil,” Carla whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding silence between them.

Still dazed, Veronica turns from the untouched slab of frozen chicken on the counter that she was prepping for dinner. Moving across the kitchen like a ghost, she leaves behind trails of red. The knife clatters into the sink, a sharp sound that ricochets through the quiet house. Then without a word, she disappears down the hall, into the bathroom.

She confronts the mirror immediately, the girl staring back at her barely recognizable. Hollow eyes, a face haunted by a ghost she can’t escape.

Jack Griffin.

The name alone makes bile rise in her throat. The phantom of his touch crawls over her skin, burning. Even with her eyes open, she feels him. She smells the acrid stink of tobacco laced with coffee. She hears the rasp of his voice, sickly sweet as he touches her like she belongs to him.

Her stomach twists, her breath stuttering.

She turns on the faucet, shoving her hand beneath the icy stream. The pain awakens instantly, fire blazing through her nerves. A sharp hiss escapes her lips. But it’s nothing compared to the scar carved deep in her bones.

She didn’t realize it on time but she is unraveling. Between years of abuse, Marlene’s sudden disappearance, her entangled relationship with a man harboring two personalities, and the man who holds her darkest secret, she is breaking apart.

Though Shiro barged in and dragged her out. Jack Griffin already made it clear. Either she gives in to his demands and gives him her body, or he tells her secret to Pennsylvania and destroy her completely.

She is tired and she can’t hide it any more. She can no longer smile it off like it’s nothing. She is tired, and she feels like crying, and this time, she doesn’t hold back. She does.

The sob breaks free before she can stop it. And then another. Her body shakes as she folds over the sink, sobbing into the rush of water, letting it conceal the sound of this vulnerable moment.

She doesn’t know how long she stayed like that. But when she lifts her head, her reflection is shattered, eyes red and swollen, cheeks damp, lips trembling.

A knock at the door startles her. She wipes her face with trembling hands.

“Are you okay in there?” Carla’s voice echoes from behind the door.

“I’m fine.” Veronica takes in a sharp breath. She hears the sound of Carla’s footsteps receding.

After a few minutes, she finally steps out of the bathroom. When she reaches her room, Carla sits by the edge of her bed, a first aid kit resting on her lap. Her expression is unreadable. But her eyes seem to see everything.

“That must be deep,” she says, patting the space next to her on the bed. “Come, let me have a look.”

Veronica sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

Carla doesn’t budge. “That wasn’t a request.”

The authority in her voice leaves no room for argument. Hesitant, Veronica crosses the room and sinks into the space next to her on the bed.

Carla takes her hand with surprising gentleness, placing it on her lap. “You might need a doctor.” She pulls out cotton wool, soaking it in antiseptic. “This isn’t just a minor scratch.”

“This is fine.”

But the moment the ethanol-soaked cotton touches her skin, she flinches, a sharp hiss slipping through her teeth.

Carla doesn’t ease up. She holds her hand firmly, her grip stronger than it should be for someone her age.

“I was in the army, you know,” she casually says as if reading Veronica’s thoughts. “That’s why I am this strong.”

What?

“I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, child.”

Veronica stares at her for a while, her mind spiraling. If she was in the army, she must have been such a cold and strict mother. She wonders if she hits Marlene when she doesn’t do something right. And if that’s why Marlene grew up thinking hitting people is the solution to all her problems.

“I don’t know what you are going through.” Carla cuts through her thoughts as she wraps the hand with a bandage. “But it’s obvious your heart is troubled. Thankfully…” she sighs as she seals the ends of the bandage with a plaster. “I know a man who can help you. You don’t even have to do anything. Just tell him everything that is in your heart, and he’ll take away all the burden you are carrying on your chest.”

Even though she has a faint idea of who this selfless, magical wonder-working man is, Veronica still takes the humor in asking. “Who is he?”

Dramatically, Carla lifts her eyes to the ceiling, her voice taking a reverent lilt. “Jesus Christ, son—”

“I know him.” Veronica stifles a sigh, cutting in before she launches into a full sermon. “Hallelujah?”

Carla’s lips curve into a knowing smile. With a heavy sigh, she rises, patting Veronica’s arm in quiet comfort.

Reaching the door, her hand resting on the knob, she turns. “You have no idea how long a prayer within the corner of your room can go, child. He can hear you, you know. And he answers too.”

Carla’s words carry a quiet conviction, enough to make Veronica hesitate. A part of her almost believes it, makes her want to fall to her knees and beg for something—anything—to take away the ache. But Carla’s God is a God of rules, of right and wrong. And she has done too many wrongs, stained herself in ways no prayer can cleanse. In the eyes of Carla’s God, she is dirty and unworthy. She bet the old man doesn’t even know her name.

At the corner of the room, her phone vibrates. A welcome distraction. Her eyes snap to the blinking light on her study desk where she had abandoned the phone since she got back from school.

She braces her hands on the bed to push herself up, forgetting the fresh wound on her palm. The instant pressure sends a sharp sting up her arm, and she flinches, brows knitted in pain. She waves her hand instinctively as if shaking the pain off will do any good. It never does.

Reaching the desk, she snatches up the phone just as the screen dims. The call times out before she can answer. But it’s Shiro. He will call back.

And he does after a beat.

“Hi.” Her voice sounds dry.

“Are you okay?” Ever so kind and attentive, Shiro senses the atmosphere.

“Yeah,” she says, then clears her throat. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he demands again.

“I’m fine, really.” Veronica presses two fingers to her temple, feeling a ghostly throb creeping in. “I just—wait, did you find out about the necklace?”

After everything that happened with Jack Griffin, they completely forgot about investigating the necklace Kael gave her. Their only shot at confirming if she is being tracked or not. But when Shiro dropped her earlier, his eyes caught the glinting emerald tucking out of her collar. So he took it home to have a look at it.

As Veronica waits for his reply, she can’t help the panic weaving into her nerves. But she isn’t sure why her heart is racing so fast. Is it fear? It barely feels like fear. But then again, she has been a bit confused with emotions lately—like mistaking infatuation and darkness for love.

“So…” she prompts when he hesitates. “Did you find anything? Is that where the tracker is?”

“Yup,” Shiro replies. “But it’s more than just the tracker.”

“What?” Veronica feels like she needs to sit for this as her body suddenly lowers itself to the chair next to her desk.

“Tracker, camera, and motion detector.” Shiro lists out, his tone growing irritated at every word.

“Huh?” Veronica doesn’t quite catch the words at first. What’s he saying? Tracker and motion what again? It doesn’t make sense to her ears. To be honest, anything that has gone beyond the axis of stylus, canvases, and brushstrokes is not comprehensible enough.

“He didn’t just put a tracker in the necklace. There was a camera too with a motion detector.” Shiro’s voice slices through the speaker like a blade, anger simmering in every word. “That fucking boyfriend or whatever the heck he is hasn’t just been tracking you, but he has also been watching you like a fucking creep and he records everything you say as far as it’s not a thought in your head.”

“What?!” Veronica freezes in her seat, her eyes wide with horror. That doesn’t sound right. None of this makes any sense.

This is wrong, right? No one should ever think as far as stalking someone in such a manner. This is madness, insanity, everything that defines wrong and illegal.

“I told you I didn’t trust him,” Shiro says in a clipped tone. “I knew it. I just knew there was something off about that man.”

Veronica opens her mouth. But when it feels like whatever she’s about to say will amount to an excuse, she snaps them shut.

What is all this madness? How did she find herself in this mess?

What if all along, they have both been playing games with her? What if this has always been a case of good cop back cop thing? One trying to act good to win her trust while the other sticks to using force as they wait for who amongst them gets to win her trust first? What if the one she thinks is human enough is equally as evil as the other?

What if it’s one person pretending to have two personalities just to toy with her?

As questions build a fortress in her mind, Veronica feels a squeezing in her chest, her heart pounding so fast. Sweat coats her skin even though the temperature doesn’t demand such. She feels dizzy, a weight pressing into her skull.

She wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like.

“I’ve disabled them, though,” Shiro says, unaware of her mental turmoil. “Please stay away from him, Vee.”

“I can’t,” she murmurs softly, her teeth biting into her thumb, her body quivering. “I-I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” She almost jolts at the rise in Shiro’s tone. “That guy is crazy. He’s a creep and a fucking stalker. And for all we know, a killer, maybe. You should be a million miles away from him.”

“He won’t let me go,” she says, recalling all the cold promises Kael has whispered into her ears every time they were together. “He swore, Shiro. I don’t think they plan on letting me go.”

“They?” He sounds irritated but very confused. “What does that mean? Hey, what are you saying for God’s sake?”

Veronica can almost imagine him pulling at his blonde hair again. Shiro has a very zero tolerance level. Little frustration sets him on edge.

“You don’t know anything,” she tells him. Indeed, he knows nothing. Neither does he know how deep she has walked into this perfectly woven web.

“Look, Vee…” He starts with that persuasive tone, like a therapist who is about to manipulate your thoughts. “You can leave him. You can report him to the cops. We can put a restraining order. Heck, we can even get him arrested. We still have the evidence.”

“He’s more powerful than you think.”

“He can’t be more powerful than the law,” Shiro counters.

“See?” She rises to her feet, crossing the room to her little vanity table where the sketch of Raidon that she just randomly made is, lifting it into her hand. “You don’t know anything.”

Indeed, he really knows nothing about Raidon Volkov or Kael Volkov. As Veronica stares at the artwork that doesn’t come close to as perfect as how his creator has made him, she wonders, too; Did I ever really know you at all?