by Mason, V. F.
And I let them, because by this point, my heart belonged to them.
They at least never betrayed my trust.
Until my monsters wanted something else.
A devil who threatened to destroy my carefully placed deceit.
From the memories of Arianna Griffin…
Knocking on the heavy office door, I wait for the deep baritone to bark, “Come in,” before I twist the knob and enter, smiling brightly at Lachlan, who sips whiskey while sitting on his chair.
His brows lift at me, and he rests his back on the chair that looks more like a throne and greets me. “Cassandra.”
Saluting him, I reply, “Lachlan,” imitating his stern voice, but I’m not very amusing to him it seems.
Not that I expected a warm welcome after my latest stunt, but still a girl could hope, right? “I’m glad you find humor in the current situation.”
Dropping onto the chair opposite him, I rest my chin on my palm and huff. “Oh please. So I bought a house? Big deal.”
“And studio,” he adds, his stare drilling into me, and I groan inwardly at this.
Lachlan has different levels of anger that I’ve discovered through the years. There is the slight one, which usually means he will bark an order or kill someone quickly, too bored with the victim to waste much time.
Mild angry mood involves more torture, usually with knives and his cane while the victim begs for hours for mercy, and he still kills them, piercing their hearts. In normal everyday relationships, it means he will shout his ass off at us.
And then it’s the high-as-hell level, where he tortures the victim to the breaking point, lets them heal just a little, and tortures them again. The cycle goes on and on for months until he gets bored. His tone usually in such situations is low and brooding.
Just like right now.
Damage control is on. “Okay, and the studio. But I had to buy it quickly before Patricia turned it into a gym.” It takes me much schooling and extreme patience from my training through all the years to not show how much I hate her. “So it was desperate timing and all that jazz.”
He twists his glass in his hand, studying it as if thinking, but I know he doesn’t. I sit uncomfortably in this prolonged silence, and finally his ice-cold blue eyes are back on me. “Remember what I told you?” he asks, pressing his finger to his temple. “Revenge has to come from the mind, not from the heart.”
“This was planned.” What’s the big deal anyway? So I bought a house without his permission, but it’s not like I have to answer for every dollar spent.
He gave me a trust fund ten years ago, and I’ve never asked for anything or used much of it if it didn’t have to do with my revenge. I first worked as a waitress while getting my dancing degree, then taught kids at school, and even assisted some dancers on tour.
“You had to run it by Arson first, but you didn’t. Why?”
“Because it’s not something that requires his intervention. I’m capable of taking care of myself.” Twisting my fingers on my lap, I take a deep breath and say, “I’m not that helpless girl in a hospital anymore, Lachlan. I grew up.” Ugh, it feels good letting it out, because lately they’ve all acted ridiculous toward me.
As if there is someone who knows my true identity and who has the power to hurt me, and they are hovering over me like a bunch of mother hens.
Lachlan’s laughter rocks off the walls and amusement flickers in his gaze as he takes a large sip and places the glass on the table, rattling ice in it a little. “No matter how old you are”—his finger trails the rim of the glass, emitting a high-pitched sound that hurts my ears, making me wince—“you are ruled by the monster living inside you, wanting an outlet.”
Seriously? Those are the words spoken by the underground king of New York? “Well, if we gonna talk about monsters, then—”
“But if they are not controlled, they might rule you,” he interrupts me, ignoring whatever I wanted to say. “Then they become dangerous. Don’t allow them to consume you, Cassandra. You might regret ever awakening them.” Despite his stern voice, there’s something there akin to softness, which is such a contrast to his overall demeanor.
I haven’t seen him much this year, usually only during our monthly check-ins, and I’ve interacted more with his protégés. Lachlan has always been an enigma with so many secrets I was afraid to even ask about his life.
But I knew about his obsession with a famous ballerina—hard not to when I mingle in the same circles.
And even though I’m slightly annoyed that he summoned me here from the town… my chest warms through the care he is showing me.
“I know you care about me, and I’m grateful for the support.” I clasp my hands together. “For everything you’ve done for me. Giving me an opportunity to live and then to take what I need.” He watches me, still trailing the freaking rim. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ve prepared for this for ten years. My demons don’t have power over me, and besides, I’ll give them victims to feast on.” With that, I get up, nodding at him. “I’ll keep in touch with you and Arson, and I promise if I need help, you’ll be the first one I call.” I rush to the door, wanting to bolt from here as soon as possible, but his question stops me dead in my tracks.
“Do you still love him?”
Freezing, I barely find strength to control my breathing and keep my back relaxed so he won’t know the emotional turmoil I’m experiencing from this question.
Plastering a smile on my face, I look over my shoulder at him. “Who?”
“Whatever Campbell twin you had a crush on.” The smile almost slips from my lips, but I laugh it off. “Oh please. Of course not. Besides, Eachann is one of the seven on my list.” I turn around to face the door and take a step toward it, but he is not done with me.
“What about Eudard? He had nothing to do with that night. Except of course not picking up the phone.” I sway to the side when the memory of that day comes crashing back, and acid fills my mouth. “What will happen when you see him?”
“Nothing,” I grit through my teeth. “It won’t be a big deal.”
“You want to punish his brother and create chaos in his town. You think he will be fucking delighted by that?” Lachlan rises, walks to the window opening onto his maze garden, and rests his elbow on it. “He is your weakness.”
“No, he is not. I never loved him,” I tell him, even as my heart squeezes inside my chest in a twisted knot.
Our night together was my only magical feeling back then, and in a way, I am grateful I gave my virginity to him. Because that was not stolen from me along with everything else.
But Eudard is like a dark angel who graced my life. He tormented me in school, loved me in the forest, and then haunted me in my dreams.
Through it all though, Eudard stayed one piece that connected Cassandra and Arianna, because the old me didn’t want to let him go or punish him.
“You loved Eachann though, and you are willing to hurt him. Who is to say your emotions won’t change?”
“Because they won’t.” My body is dead to the male touch; there is a reason I avoided them like the plague.
I don’t want anyone’s hands on me.
I open the door wide, wanting to run as far away from this conversation as possible so it won’t confuse me or let the images of twin boys pop into my head along with the beautiful memories that surround them.
After all, all my happy moments involved them.
“You can’t run away from the past.” Lachlan’s voice follows me all the way to the exit, but I avoid giving them power.
I don’t intend to run away from the past.
I will meet it head on and then stomp on those who hurt me.
Eudard Campbell will just have to deal with it.
If I only knew what was really going on, maybe I would have paid better attention to Lachlan.
Maybe I would have listened to Arson, who warned me to be careful.
But I didn’t and, in this, fell right into the madm
an’s trap.
Cassandra
Pulling my car up to the church, I park among several other cars.
Glancing in the rearview mirror one last time, making sure my lipstick and makeup are on point, I plaster on the saddest face I can muster in the moment.
This whole acting sad at funerals while you feel anything but bad is a hard job.
Thunder echoes in the air as gloomy clouds smash together high in the sky. The wind blasts me when I get out of the vehicle and move down the concrete path leading to the back of the church where the only cemetery in town is located. “It’s so quiet,” I murmur to myself, expecting at least half the town to be attending this funeral.
After all, shouldn’t everyone be crying over the blondie, shouting that he was taken from them too soon?
Although the town is still in an uproar after what happened, the police didn't find any evidence supporting Ethan’s words. It’s impossible for them to examine my body and the doctor’s reports were inconclusive. According to them, it was clear Arianna Griffin was raped, but since traces of DNA or anything else weren’t found, everyone decided it was just Ethan’s imagination.
Or rather, the man who killed him was classified as a serial killer with a deep desire for justice, killing those he sees fit based on his own rules. The police put out a search for him, and they even surveyed the town, providing police protection to the other founding five, because the authorities suspect the killer has a grudge against them.
It’s always the darkest under the spotlight, meaning they can search for a serial killer till they turn blue. It won’t change the fact that another kind of danger will creep up on the founding five.
Needless to say, after all their names were cleared, I expected to see this place packed. It always is when someone dies, since one way or the other, everyone living here is somehow connected to the deceased.
However, another picture greets me, and I’m so taken aback I halt my movements, cocking my head to the side as I study it.
In the distance, among the Whites’ part of the cemetery, as the founding five have specific plots reserved for them, I see around ten people gathered.
Father Campbell stands at the graveside, reading a Bible verse while Dorothy sobs on the ground, her shoulders shaking.
A few feet from them are Martha, James, Cole’s mom, and sister, Laura, and finally at the very back, the rest of the founding five kids, who look like they wish they were anywhere but here.
Coming closer, I can hear their hushed voices. Patricia keeps her back rigid, tension emanating from them so strongly it’s almost tangible.
So weird.
Shouldn't they be relaxed since all suspicions were dropped?
Frank is the first one to see me and nods in greeting. Patricia glances over her shoulder, gasping and rushing to me, hugging me close. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your message,” I reply and then press the roses in my hands to my chest, sighing sadly. “This is such a tragedy.”
“Yes, Ethan died, and we lost our peace,” she says disgustedly, and my brows arch at such a quick change of tune. Weren't they all devastated by his death just five days ago? Besides, guilty or not, I expected some compassion for one of their oldest friends.
Apparently, these people still have the ability to surprise me.
“I can’t believe the shit we are going through because of him,” Cole says, annoyance coating his voice. “If he was about to die by a serial killer, why the fuck did he feel the need to write that letter?” He wiggles his fingers, his foot tapping nervously while his eyes frantically dart from one person to another.
Oh my.
Are they all losing it?
“The police cleared your names though,” I remind them as I rub the petals over my chin. “No one believed it anyway.”
Patricia gives an unladylike snort. “It’s a small town, Cassandra. In people’s minds, Ethan will always be a rapist who killed their precious Arianna.” She doesn't even try to hide the hatred that my name inspires in her and continues. “And since he mentioned those initials and we were friends, everyone thinks we were involved too. See?” She points at the small crowd. “No one showed up. You know why? Because we have come under public scrutiny, although no one has any proof.”
Sucks doesn’t it?
“Last night, someone threw rocks at my studio!” Cole exclaims. “Wrote rapist on my doors with red paint.” He fumes, kicking the rocks at his feet, and I blink at this.
The quiet little town is this mad at them?
Color me surprised, and I'm not sure what to make of it. Shouldn't they have shown me support when I was alive… not now?
They don't have proof either way, but I guess their guilt goes a long way.
“This is a disgrace to everyone,” Frank mutters, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “We are only here for Ralph,” he tells me, and I squeeze the rose in my hands so hard, the thorns dig into my skin and draw blood.
Just like he did all those years ago with the knife, but apparently right now, it’s all Ethan’s fault. Did he know that his best friends would turn their backs on him so easily?
I bet not.
“I understand. It must be awful being blamed for that hideous crime.” I pat his arm, and he relaxes a bit, nodding.
“Yes, but especially how he framed us at the end of the letter. We all loved Arianna.” He places his splayed palm on his chest, leaning toward me, and his cologne hits my nostrils, triggering my gag reflex, so I press my lips together. “How could he have hurt her like this?”
So now all of a sudden they agree that he is guilty?
“She was my best friend,” Patricia says, stepping next to us, her green dress blowing back while she keeps her black hat on her head. “And to think that he hurt her like that and killed her parents…” Her voice hitches, and for a second, genuine regret crosses her face, her eyes watering, but it doesn’t move me.
Kind of late to be sorry for a tragedy that destroyed an entire family due to her selfish desires.
At least Ethan tried to stop them all those years ago from damaging me further, but Ralph and Frank wouldn’t listen.
How ironic that he died first, but nevertheless satisfying.
Taking out a handkerchief from my purse, I give it to her, and she wipes away her tears, blowing her nose into it. “And now the entire town thinks we were part of it.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Patricia,” Ralph snaps, and my brows rise at this, because during my stay here, I haven’t seen him lose his composure even once, but barely controlled rage flashes through him. “No one believes those lies.”
“They are enough for them to question us. And you can forget about your sheriff campaign.”
He pulls at his hair, groaning, and several people from the front turn toward us but then quickly go back to Eachann, who continues the funeral, his monotone voice mixing with Dorothy’s cries. It creates a rather depressing soundtrack although very suitable for the current situation. “Is that all you can think about?” he grits through his teeth. “Ethan is dead!” He roars the last part, and this time it stops Eachann, who glances our way, frowning.
He clears his throat. “Ralph, a moment of peace for your cousin one last time, please.” And continues that stupid speech that seems never ending.
God, the church apparently makes you quite the philosopher.
“Fuck this shit,” Ralph mutters again and then grabs Patricia by the elbow. I don’t miss how Frank’s eyes flare in anger, apparently not appreciating his manhandling.
Which is hilarious really, all things considered. “We are leaving. I’ll come back later. Ethan doesn’t need this.” And then without saying another word, he drags his wife in the direction of the car while she hisses something in his face. He jerks her a little, and she shuts up quickly, stumbling as her heels dip into the ground.
Frank is about to follow them, but my arm stops him, and I catch his annoyed stare at me.
“If you keep acting like that, he’ll know your true feelings.” His jaw twitches and thousands of emotions run in his eyes, maybe contemplating my words, but I see that the desire to save Patricia from Ralph is far greater than fear.
“He doesn’t appreciate her. Never has.”
“But she chose him.” He winces at my dig, so I probe deeper. “According to Sam, she has been rejecting you since high school.” I shrug. “I mean, you guys have an affair now, but she is married to him. They have kids. You are a third wheel.” I wait a minute before adding, “Always have been.”
He sighs, lacing his fingers into his hair before whispering, “He changed. She promised to leave him. She told me she loves me, that marrying him was a mistake.” A bullshit excuse that cheaters have been giving to their lovers since the beginning of time.
There is so much hope in his voice that it leaves no doubt he truly loves her.
Ah, it’s my duty then to reunite the lovers.
“Well, I hope she does.”
He huffs but then gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for my temper. I still haven’t said thank you for keeping our secret.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I subtly remove it from his grasp. “I know it’s a burden, but I promise she will leave him soon.”
“Of course.”
After all, I’ll help her to accomplish that very quickly.
Finally, the service ends, and the men with shovels step up, waiting for the mourners to leave so they can lower the coffin and fill the grave, all while Dorothy rocks back and forth on the ground, her hands wrapped around her knees and chanting Ethan’s name.
The few people who bothered to show up throw flowers into the hole and walk away in the direction of the church while Eachann kneels next to Dorothy, gently running his hand over her back. “Let’s go inside,” he tells her, but she rocks again, ignoring his words as if in a trance.
“How did you get here? If you want, I can drop you at home,” Frank offers, ready to bolt from here like everyone else, and I gasp, pointing at Dorothy.
“You are going to leave her here?”