Page 63 of Unhinged Cain

“Maybe I need to hire you to keep them off my property,” I said as Betty took the keys from my hand.

“You betcha I would.” Betty reached up and patted my cheek. It was something she had done for as long as I’d known her. She moved to the area shortly after Abel killed our mother, and she was the first person I befriended as Cain, the sole owner of the farm. Even someone like Abel and me needed to have character witnesses. It was one of those just-in-case things. “See ya later, handsome.”

Stepping out of the way, I waved as both cars disappeared down the driveway, and I could finally let the forced smile on my face fall. It took way too much work pretending. It was just another thing that annoyed me about my brother. Acting always came so easily to him. Whereas I had to focus hard on every word and twitch my body made. I looked up at the camera in the corner, and my smile was real this time.

Making sure that all the vehicles were indeed gone, I hit the button for the lock on the gate and closed the garage door, locking both the man door and bay door in place before I stripped off the coveralls and washed my hands.

Heading inside, I wandered down to the room that Sunshine was in and unlocked the metal door. Before it was even open an inch, I could hear the cursing and yelling.

KIRBY

It had been the weirdest and quietest twenty-four hours since Barbara had been murdered. I couldn’t help but watch a little when Cain was doing what he was…doing. He was oddly kind. I hadn’t expected to think that he’d been “kind” after seeing the photos of the bodies, but that was the only word for it. He spoke to her mostly like they were friends, sat quietly as he worked on his art, and then told her, ‘it was time,’ before he stabbed her through the heart. It was sick and so not right. Yet, the scene was strangely beautiful, like a ballet with death.

To add more confusion to my already muddled brain, Cain had carried Barbara out and then cleaned his work area as if it was a normal job. He then disappeared and returned with my favorite dinner, sketchbook, and paints. Then he handed me an ointment for my wrists. They had begun to rub raw. Once more, the vortex of emotions whipped me around until I was too tired even to understand if I was horrified, angry, felt invaded, or flattered that he was putting this much effort into taking care of me after what I’d seen.

I knew for certain that I would’ve already been dead if he wanted me to be. I also knew that there was something seriously wrong with me. I felt emotions. I wasn’t like him, and yet…there was something in the way he spoke and talked about what I liked and needed that rang so true.

Sitting on the foam bed with the purple blanket wrapped around my waist, I was currently painting a portrait as I sang along to the endless loop of “You Are My Sunshine.” Just another thing that was growing on me as time passed. I didn’t know what day of the week it was or what time of day it was in this windowless space, but it felt like daytime. It felt like early afternoon, and I missed going for my daily runs and sipping on my favorite coffee. I wondered if Jorge was worried about where I’d gone.

Kind of a sad thought that Jorge, someone I barely knew, may worry more about my sudden disappearance than my own mother. The television screen flashed in the corner, making me jerk.

“Get ready for an Oscar-winning performance, Sunshine,” Cain’s voice came through a speaker in the wall.

He was standing in the garage and looked like the sexiest mechanic in the world as he wiped off his hands. The sun beamed into the open bay door and smiled at seeing those golden rays. Placing the painting aside, I stood and moved as close to the screen as the chains would allow.

A black vehicle pulled into view. As soon as I spotted it, I knew it was an FBI-issued car. I’d become accustomed to that exact vehicle pulling into my driveway. The driver’s side door opened, and a moment later, there she was.

“Mom,” I said, the word coming out as a whisper. Was I really seeing this?

“Hi there, I don’t see too many FBI agents out my way. This must be pretty important,” Cain said as he wiped the grease off his hands.

“My name is detective Lawson, and this is my partner Hanson,” my mom said as she pulled out her credentials and flipped them open for Cain to see.

“This is not happening,” I mumbled as I watched the screen. Cain glanced up in my direction again, and I wanted to throw something at him. He was taunting me like a bad joke.

“We won’t take up too much of your time, Mister….”

“Buchanan. You go ahead and fire away. I’ve been livin’ here my whole life and my parents and grandparents before me. If there is anything I can do to help you out, I’m happy to answer.”

“Oh my fucking god,” I said as I watched the show.

He could’ve played the part of the friendly neighbor in any movie and would’ve convinced the Pope himself that he was a loving country guy, just living a quiet life. My mouth fell to the floor as the exchange continued.

“What the hell am I doing?”

Without wasting another second, I began screaming. I slammed the chains off the rails and hollered at the top of my lungs, but they never flinched. Whatever hole he had me in was unbelievably soundproof. That didn’t stop me, though. I continued to scream and swear at the top of my lungs long after the cars disappeared and the television screen went dark. I’d become the girl on the other side of the mirror.

I was no more than a reflection of who I used to be.

The door opened, and as soon as my eyes found Cain, I snatched the sketch pad off the floor and threw it at him.

“Why? Why would you show me that? Why do you want to hurt me? I don’t get you! You say I do, but I don’t. I’m nothing like you!”

Reaching for the paints, I brought them up to throw as well but stopped as Cain bent over and picked up the pad. He stared at what I’d been working on, and I was humiliated that he had been the model my mind chose to paint. His eyes roamed all over the paper before he looked up at me.

“This is magnificent,” he said, and I rolled my eyes, but the stupid butterflies fluttered around in my stomach regardless of what my brain thought.

Painting had always been my escape. It was the one thing I really wanted to do, but I’d always been told it wasn’t a career choice. It was a hobby. I should’ve followed my dreams and lived off the streets until I made it. I envied those that were that brave. Leave home and jet off to wherever to make their dream a reality. I’d always been too scared, but looking back, I could’ve traveled the world or gone to see my dad, and I hated myself so much that I let my mother control me with her purse strings. I also wouldn’t have ended up attached to a wall with a serial killer as my host.