The Water Trilogy Box Set

Chapter Five

I was all of six when I had my first encounter with a monster. It was a Tuesday, laundry day, and I was home from school sick. That afternoon, I was awoken by my mother’s screams, and shortly after I came face to face with evil. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, suddenly, I was alert as I’d ever been. I don’t think you register right away the difference in the way a scream can sound, maybe that comes in hindsight because I still remember thinking that it was probably another scorpion. My mother hated scorpions. And Dad refused to let pest control in the house—or anyone else for that matter. But I do know that something seemed different, and I thought maybe, this time, she’d gotten stung.

somethingHoping this wasn’t the case, I rounded the corner and headed for the first aid kit my father kept under the bathroom sink. Only when I peered down the hall, I could see it was worse—much worse. I could see my mother scuffling with a man I did not know.

I took a deep breath and crossed the hall into my parent’s bedroom, without hesitation, feeling boyhood draining from me with each step. By the time I grabbed my dad’s .45, any trace of youth I’d had left was gone completely. I put eight rounds into that man. He lived.

It was no secret in our community that my dad was gone a lot. Criminals pay attention to these things. Joe Luis just so happened to be the first of them to find us. Luis was a drifter who hung around outside of our local gas station, and on more than one occasion, I watched as my mom placed her change in the cup he held. Unfortunately for her, Joe Luis knew a pretty lady when he saw one.

My mother was a Good Samaritan and Good Samaritans are easy targets for violent criminals, and this one deserved to die—only he didn’t. Instead, he spent sixteen days in the hospital on the taxpayer’s dime (something I learned about later) before he was released back onto the streets where he evaded authorities for six months. In the meantime, he committed two additional violent crimes and was well on his way toward the next when he was picked up during a routine traffic stop.

I don’t know what you know of karma, and it’s funny how things sometimes work out, but for me, I’ve always preferred not to leave matters as serious as Joe Luis to silly platitudes like karma.

I prefer to take fate into my own hands—I prefer loading the g*n and pulling the trigger—if it means one less man out there like him, one less man not hurting more women like my mother, destroying entire families in the process. Thankfully, my father felt the same way and allowed me another stab (pun intended) at ol’ Joe. I think you would have been proud of me had you known me then. Joe understood pain in his final hours, and it was almost enough penance for what he did to my mother—but not quite.

almost Even though I promised my mom that I’d always take care of her, and my father that I’d be a better shot the next time, she was never the same after Joe kicked in our door, putting a hole in it and straight through our lives. It mattered little that my father and I took care of Joe. By that point, the damage had been done. From that day on, everything changed. First, my training took an accelerated path and my once carefree and capable mother became skittish and withdrawn. Eventually, she withdrew into herself so far that it was clear even to me she would never find her way out.

You’re probably wondering how a six-year-old knew how to shoot a g*n, albeit not well, and that would be thanks to Rudy. My father taught me everything I know about everything. He, and in a sense the monsters of this world, molded me into who I am today. I am a killer, Kate. Not so very different from yourself. I make a living delivering justice to those who deserve it. But truth be told, I would do it for free, and justice is best when it’s handled swiftly. This is why I left South America when I did. I know you think it’s because you weren’t important enough to stay—but that’s where you are wrong. I left because there are other mothers and little boys out there who shouldn’t have to suffer because some low-life thinks he can take what isn’t his.

* * *

I’ve been thinking a lot about it, Kate, and you know why most people don’t get ahead? It’s because they’re s**t at listening. These days, everyone just wants to be heard—to be known—but when everyone is so busy trying to be known—then who’s listening?

to be knownI’ll tell you who. People like me. People behind the scenes who work tirelessly to keep people like them safe. Despite the fact that they mess things up on the daily—despite the fact that they refuse to stop vomiting their entire lives all over the internet.

People these days, they give every single detail away—all for the sake of being connected. Nothing it seems is off limits—from their whereabouts—to their favorite things. It doesn’t seem to matter in the least that other people (their “friends”) don’t actually care about every single trivial aspect of their lives. They keep at it.

connected. (their “friends”)But some people do care, and those people are criminals, and they are the ones who stand to gain the most.

doIdiots like these are what make me work so hard. Because behind every moron wanting to be connected is a victim waiting to be taken. Sometimes, these victims are among the most vulnerable in our society, little boys and girls whose parents cared more about their “friends” knowing all the details of their lives than they do about them.

connected “friends”This is why the world needs more people like me out there taking out the garbage, doing my best to slow the fall down the rabbit hole our society is quickly falling down. And it’s a slippery slope, Kate, let me tell you. Nothing seems all that bad until it happens to you. People—they think bad things won’t happen to them. But they are morons, trying to be connected, and they are wrong.

you.connected,Criminals happen to everyone; I can tell you from experience, they happen, even to hit men and their families, even before the internet. These days, it’s just easier.

On the other hand, I can’t be too mad about morons or the internet since it led me to you. It leads me to most people, to tell you the truth. It led me to Amy. She was a tyrant. But she is a story for another day.

You are a tyrant too—but at least you choose well. You choose victims that are far from innocent. But then no one is, not really. You have a method of going about things which I find interesting. In fact, to be blunt, I am captivated. You are forcing me to ask questions I never thought I’d ask.

Still, there’s the other matter. I have a job to do, and as Rudy would say—a criminal is a criminal. I’ve been poring over every last detail, trying to justify my failure to do my job where you are concerned, because you’re different, and rarely do I meet women who kill. Women are life-givers, through and through. They don’t take lives, they give birth to life, and this makes them innately value life more. This is why it’s rare to see a woman kill—it usually only occurs as an outcome of being provoked. Most often, you’ll find it’s a crime of passion. Those I can appreciate. And, if you ask me, even though I’m only one small cog in the wheel of the justice system, it’s almost always deserved. But then, that’s easy for me to say because I believe in killing when it’s warranted. Not everyone deserves to live, and there is a higher order this world would do better to understand.

Speaking of order, this is why I had to get back to the States. This is why I disappeared the way I did. I had a job more pressing than you. A hit on an arms dealer that couldn’t wait. The transaction he had in mind—it couldn’t be made. Men like him put innocent people at risk for the sake of making a buck. One bullet straight to the heart of the matter—that’s all it took. Order was restored—for the moment, at least. But make no mistake, Kate. There will be others.

I’m sorry for leaving before you and I had our shot. But it’s important you see the bigger picture in life, Kate. It’s important you understand order. You don’t realize it quite yet, but I will help you.

* * *

As of four days ago, you have settled back in Austin, Texas. You didn’t need work done, and I didn’t think it was possible, but you look better than ever. You’re skinnier than the last time I saw you, but you didn’t lose your curves, and I hope you never do. All I know is you’re testing the theory that blondes have more fun, and I want in on your game.

In the meantime, you’ve rented a funky little apartment in a funky part of town, and I watch. You have come home. This seemed an odd choice, coming home, even for you, out of character—given your crimes and the proximity you’ve just put yourself to the people who know who and what you are.

Yesterday, I watched as you met someone, a man, who I figured was to be your next victim. Only I was wrong, and I hate being wrong—and look at what you’re doing to me. So far, he’s still alive, and if you’re planning on killing this guy, you haven’t made your move yet.

Why I’m not sure… the two of you spent the night together so you certainly had the opportunity, and you should know there’s nothing worse than wasted opportunities. It’s a bummer, really—I didn’t think you were that kind of girl. But what do I know? Well, I’ll tell you. Actually, I know a lot. I know that you are playing Russian roulette with your life, and you are lucky to have me watching out for you.

I also know from watching this isn’t your typical MO—it isn’t like you to drag things out. Usually, you’re quick—succinct—which only makes this development all the more perplexing. I hate to consider it, but I do—maybe you like this guy, and this is why I have to get closer. Sure, it’s dangerous. Rudy would even go so far as to say stupid—but I need a face-to-face with you. I realize now this is inevitable. I need to talk to you, Kate. I need to understand what makes you tick. Mostly, I need to know why I haven’t completed this job.

After all, I’ve spent weeks studying your crimes, and it didn’t take me long to figure out how you work. You stalk your targets well—you seduce them—and you murder them shortly thereafter. Usually, within a day or two. The most I’ve seen you wait was three. You’re good at making your kills appear as though they were suicides, and this makes you different than most serial killers. But then, this much I knew the first time I laid eyes on you. You don’t flaunt your kills—you hide them well. You’re clever—entertaining to watch, and I wonder if you work as hard as I do. I wonder if you still have love for the game, or if like me, it’s wearing on you.

Maybe the money helps—or maybe, for you, it’s about winning. Admittedly, at first, I was convinced robbery was your motive. Because that would make sense.

But, now, I realize it’s more than that.

And this is the part I’m dying to figure out.

* * *

I follow you to a coffee shop where you meet another man—which should make me angry. But it doesn’t. In part, because it isn’t the same man as before, which tells me you like variety, and this is good. But also because seeing the two of you together, this is how I guess at what you’re doing.

I realize now you’re meeting your targets online. A hunch tells me likely on a dating site. This is a development I hadn’t expected. You are a beautiful woman. The kind men and women flock to, and so I have to know, why are you sinking this low? I can’t stop watching because I have to know how low you’re willing to go, Kate. Tell me. No, show me—where exactly is rock bottom for you? I hope for your sake this is it, and this is why I have to find out which site.

is So I keep watching even though it makes me sick. I’m not used to feeling this way and let me tell you, I deal in some messed up s**t. I watch you play cat and mouse. But there are bigger cats than you, Kate. It would do you well to remember that. You’re practically a kitten sitting there. I see the way you look as you chat the guy up, all flirty and charming in the way you laugh. You touch his arm as you speak, and you are so good at pretending that, for a moment, even I have a tough time telling whether you’re playing him or not. But you have to be because, aside from having shifty eyes—which makes it obvious that he is hiding something (who isn’t)—he seems rather plain. Too plain for a girl like you and why are you staying so long? You’re leaving the door open, you’re inviting him in, and you should have shut the door sooner. You should have walked out that door and into my life because I am not plain, and look at you wasting time. Women. I swear, I’ll never understand what makes them tick. Luckily for you, part of my job is figuring out what makes people do what they do, and from now on, I intend to make a better effort.

Women. I swear, I’ll never understand what makes them tick. You’ve dressed up for him too, in a t-shirt dress and fancy sandals. I know when women are trying to make an impression, and Kate, you are trying too hard. But I would be lying if I said you look anything less than stunning—and I must say I’m impressed with your resourcefulness.

Even after all this time, this is the thing that always surprises me about killers—how very, very smart they are.

You, though, you take the cake. You’re brilliant—even at rock bottom, and I need to know more. I need to be inside your head. I need to see what makes you, you.

youWhich is why I don’t go at all easy on ‘shifty eyes’ when I finally make his acquaintance. To save myself a few hours of internet research and even more time spent creating fake personas, I decide to take the road less traveled. I follow him into the parking garage where I grab him from behind. People really should be more aware of their surroundings. He isn’t your type, Kate. You need a challenge, and you should know that he didn’t even put up a fight, and seriously, this is the kind of guy you’re into? I hate thinking of you this way, as easy, but I can’t help it. It’s irritating, and so I let off steam by pressing against his carotid artery. I don’t let go until he is close to passing out, and then, because I can relate to the fellow—after all, it is hard to resist your charm—I release the choke-hold, and I demand to know how he knows you.

it isYou should also know that the poor bastard told me what I needed to know without the slightest hint of hesitation, which was an excellent sign for me but terrible for you. He sold you out, Kate. What kind of man gives information to an attacker about someone they care about? I’ll tell you—the kind who doesn’t deserve you, and you have to know this.

And you will, thanks to the fact that cowards in this world are a dime a dozen—and thanks to the information this one so effortlessly offered up, lo and behold, three days from now… you and I have a date.

* * *