Page 35 of I Dare You
I peer up at the mounted TV and see an anchor breaking the news of the unknown body the police found this morning.The footage is of the shitty roadside motel I was in last night.The room is secured with police tape.
It then cuts to footage of the coroner’s van, with two men wheeling a silver gurney with a black bag into the back.
It’s all for ratings.
There’s no need to show that as most would assume a dead body means a visit to the morgue.This is why I don’t feel a shred of guilt.These people don’t care about The Punisher.He’s just a story to bump up their ratings.
Besides, if they knew who he really was, they wouldn’t look so solemn.
Kids are funny.
They’re so innocent.They don’t have any ulterior motives.They’re too young to understand any of that, which is why it’s so important to give them the best start in life.If they are exposed to misfortune early on, it will most likely follow them into adulthood—like it did with me.
I was never told how to deal with the death of my parents, especially since everyone seemed to blame me.So I just pushed it aside and disconnected.It got worse when I moved in with my aunt and uncle.I understand why they never had kids.
Even now, I still feel so detached from life.I’m living it, but I don’t really feel a part of it, that is, until I’m with Jupiter.I feel like I belong then.
“I hope they find whoever is doing this and punish them accordingly.God is forever watching,” Sister Helen says, switching the channel to something a little more kid-friendly.
My cell dings, alerting me to a text.
Hardly anyone has my number, so I assume it’s Jupiter.
We cleaned the crime scene like any forensics team in the crime documentaries we studied for months before the “first time.”
We’ve come a long way since.
The thing about blood is that you can never really clean it all.What can’t be seen with the naked eye will be made visible with luminol—a chemical used to detect hidden bloodstains.We’re careful not to leave any DNA behind.The wigs come in handy to cover our hair.And the gloves ensure we don’t leave any fingerprints.
We check in and pay cash only, not that the uninterested clerks pay any attention.We’re all there wishing we weren’t.The motels are run-down shitholes with no surveillance.They barely have running water, so surveillance isn’t high on the list of essentials.
So far, the police have no leads.
It’s a little sexist that they haven’t thrown a female serial killer hat in the ring.They’ve speculated gang-related robberies gone wrong.We remove any evidence of sexual indications, and we steal whatever money they have, which usually isn’t much at all.
All in all, the police are clueless.
I discreetly pull my phone from my pocket.
I was right.
Blow.10pm
The text from Jupiter hints that we’re out hunting tonight.
I place my phone away and reach forward, passing the missing piece of the puzzle to Ronnie.He happily places it where it belongs.
It’s hard not to see the irony in that.We’re all missing pieces to a puzzle, hoping to one day belong.
Jupiter and I need to blend in, so I’m in a black strapless dress with boots, my hair in a messy bun, minimal makeup, and no designer labels or accessories.
I am no one.
The long line wraps around the block.I’ve never been to this club before, but judging by the clientele, it edges toward a darker vibe.
Men wearing cat collars, being handled by their “owners,” is a common sight, as are lots of fishnets, black eyeliner, and enough hairspray to put any ’80s hair band to shame.I faintly hear The Cure playing inside.
I keep my eyes ahead and avoid any conversation.I pay the cover charge, and the girl at the door, in a Sailor Moon outfit, stamps my wrist with a skull.
