Violet Grenade

by Victoria Scott

  I close my eyes. Come into me, Wilson. Do the things I cannot while I turn away. Use my body and mind as your own.

  No sooner do I think this than Wilson wraps himself around my head, soothing fingers of black stretching over my brain. He shushes me and hugs me close, reassuring. Goose bumps race across my skin, and my knees wobble.

  I’ll show them what it means to suffer, he says. I will avenge you. I will love you. I will protect you.

  Now go to sleep.

  “Domino, talk to me,” Cain says. “What’s happening?”

  My head whips backward, and I scream.

  Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here.Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here. Wilson is here.

  I am here.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Here Comes the Thunder

  My name is Domino Ray, but I am not Domino Ray. I am Wilson. I remember the things we did. The torture we inflicted on those men. The ways we made them scream. I remember watching as the last shovel of dirt fell over their faces, as their cars sunk into secluded lakes. I remember cement being poured over their bodies by unsuspecting construction workers and wringing our hands at the sight. I remember all the things we did.

  And I will do them again.

  I speed down the highway, the sun setting in the distance. Reds and purples spill over one another like a stomach split down the middle, innards everywhere. Look at me. I’m a poet!

  Cain sits next to me, stoic. He’s holding a backpack full of tools I bought from Home Depot—serrated knives, rope, masking tape…and a can of red spray paint, because old habits die hard. I threw in a few other toys for good measure to produce when the time is right. Cain didn’t ask questions as we shopped for these things, Michael Jackson playing overhead while we pushed an orange cart down the aisles. He understands I’m gone. Or rather, that the new me has arrived. What really gets me going is that the dude took one look at my vacant eyes and seemed to disappear into his own head. Two can play at that game, he said without speaking.

  See, that’s why I like the kid.

  He knows how screwed up I am. That I have two sides. Domino the Gentle, Domino the Feared. And when he saw I’d flipped my switch, it’s like he thought, Screw it. Let’s do this thing.

  He could have run.

  He could have backstepped out of sight.

  But instead he let his crazy flag fly and took my hand.

  That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit right there.

  The car I stole is lime green and one of the front headlights is busted. But the driver left the keys tucked above the sunshade, and they slid into my hand like a favor from above. Or below. Whatever. And you know what I did before we took off across New Mexico on our way back to Pox? Ask me. Go on, ask me!

  I spray-painted HERE COMES THE THUNDER on the side of this lime green car.

  Unlike Domino the Gentle, I’m one for theatrics.

  Cain turns on the radio and finds a song that matches our rage and frustration and fear. Scratch that last word. I’m not afraid. I don’t do fear. I’m the one who inflicts pain. I’m the monster beneath your bed, in your closet, in your head. There’re some lyrics for you. Name that song.

  The hours pass quickly, and the moon takes flight. Not too much longer. Even now I can smell the scent of poverty and lies at the tail end of this Texas summer. Almost fall now. Almost the gateway to death and destruction and bleakness.

  “Do you remember what I told you?” I ask Cain.

  “I remember.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  He turns toward me. “Yes, I do.”

  Cain is pissed, too. He’s got months of backlogged anger toward Madam Karina, Mr. Hodge, and Eric. Sigh too heavily and that combustible dude will blow. I grip the steering wheel, and when I see the road that will take us to Madam Karina’s House for Bullcrap and Lies, I shiver with delight. As we pass over the railroad tracks, I throw deuces to my old friend.

  Thanks for the ride out of this crap hole, even if it didn’t stick.

  My pulse picks up as we bump over the rocky road, closer and closer. I can hardly contain my excitement. Here comes little ol’ Domino to gather her friend. My hot pink wig lies on the side of the interstate. Don’t need that protection anymore. Don’t need anything but me.

  Cain tells me again, for the fifteenth time, that we should roll up on the house slowly. Maybe walk from a distance so we’re unseen. But that’s not my style.

  We’re a few yards away when I roll down the windows and press harder on the accelerator. Turn up the volume. Blast that metal. And lay on the horn.

  Beep-beep, beep-beep, beeeeeeep-beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeee-eeeeeeeeep!

  I stick my head out the window, suck in a lungful of Texas air, and scream, “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” I laugh at the night sky. “Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin,” I add in a high-pitched voice.

  I jerk the steering wheel and plow through the gate. Then, hitting the breaks too late, we slam into the black rental car and my air bags deploy. Crap. Didn’t see that one coming. Not in this piece.

  “Come on, come on,” I yell at Cain, tossing the keys into the driver’s seat.

  He grabs the things we need from the car, and I skip toward the back of the house, banging on the windows as I go.

  “Come out and play. Come out and play, little girls!”

  The sound of the front door bursting open greets my ears. Perfect. I grab one of the white plastic chairs from the back, and Cain grabs the other. We pull them toward the closest window and slide the glass open. Such shoddy security. But of course, who would dare break in to Madam Karina’s house?

  I would.

  Me!

  We abandon the chairs and window, making it appear as if we’ve gone through the Carnation’s entertainment room window when in fact it’s a diversion. Instead, we jog toward the basement window and push it open. Cain shoves himself through and offers an arm to help me in.

  Don’t mind if I do.

  Then he tugs the black backpack on, and I pat it twice. I am bouncing with excitement, clapping my hands noiselessly, a grin parting my mouth. Cain is my polar opposite—hard lines, firm feet, calculating eyes. We are a pair of
misfits if I’ve ever seen one.

  Cain starts to move toward the door, but I stop him.

  “Give me the paint samples.”

  He hands them to me—black and red. I draw two black lines on my face, one beneath each eye, and a red stripe down my nose. I hold them out to him, but he shakes his head. I can’t say I’m not disappointed he won’t wear his war paint, but hey, to each his own. Cain hands me a length of rope and swings the pack onto his back again. I hold up my fingers and count down.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  We rush up the stairs and, as God is my witness, the first person I see is Mercy. It’s late in the night, almost early morning, and her hair stands up around her head.

  “You,” she says.

  “Me!” I roar.

  I leap on her like a lion would a gazelle, take her to the ground. Her head hits the floor, and I wrap the rope swiftly around her hands. She looks up at me, bewildered, but she shouldn’t be. She’s met me before. Remember the fork? I drag her across the floor toward the entryway and tie her hands to the stairwell. Then I wrap the rest around her ankles as she screams. When I’m done with her, she’s on all fours, masking tape over her mouth.

  As I work on Mercy, a half dozen girls race through the entryway, terrified out of their minds because they see the emptiness in my eyes. And they see Cain, yelling at them to get out or they’ll get worse. He’s incredible, that Cain. Growling and throwing his fists into walls and asking if the girls want to tease him now.

  We’ve lost our ever-loving minds, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

  Finally, the person I want to see most strolls in from the back room where we opened the first window. The look on her face is one I’ll treasure all of my days. She’s dressed in nightclothes; the blond hair she usually wears pulled back spills over her shoulders. Madam Karina looks shockingly young in this warm light. Young and susceptible.

  I open my arms. “I’ve come home to you.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Molars

  Cain grabs Madam Karina from behind and cranks her head back. “Don’t say a word,” he breathes into her ear. “And make sure no one else comes through here.”

  Girls continue to dart in and out, screaming, though I don’t know what all the ruckus is about. Madam Karina yells for them to return to their beds at once, and they follow her orders like good little ducks.

  I slink around Madam Karina until I find her wrists and then bind them. “Let’s go in the front room, shall we? Away from this horse here.” I kick Mercy in the ribs and tell her I’ll catch her later. Maybe Ruby, too, if I can find that wench. Cain drags Madam Karina after him and follows me into the sitting room, the first place I stepped foot when we arrived.

  “Have a seat,” I tell Madam Karina, and Cain throws her onto the couch.

  “You are not what you pretended to be,” the madam snarls.

  “I am exactly as I am. You have two faces, and so do I.” I clasp my hands behind me and walk the space before her. Turn on my heels, and pace back. “You are a manipulator. And you are a liar. You brought us here to serve as your property, and I don’t believe you’ve ever once paid a girl the money she deserved.”

  Madam Karina averts her gaze and works her arms against the binds. “You stupid, stupid girl. If you wanted to leave, all you had to do was apply, and the money would’ve been yours.”

  I ignore her. “You put a tracking device in Poppet’s pink elephant, the one you knew she’d take, and you lock up any girl who leaves you.” I swivel on Madam Karina. “Is that where she is now?”

  Shock colors the madam’s face, but not for long. A shadow passes over her features, and her mouth forms a tight line. “That girl had two choices, and she chose wrong. Now she’s paying for her poor decisions.”

  “Where is she?”

  Madam Karina smiles. “Not where you’d think.”

  “Not at the jailhouse.”

  Madam Karina turns her head away and barely suppresses a smile. It’s eerily quiet in the house—all the girls huddled in their rooms, doors locked—when I rear back and slap Madam Karina cold across her face. Her hair whips over her cheek, and she glares up at me, anger boiling behind those blue hooded eyes.

  “Feels kind of good, doesn’t it?” I say. “The snap of being woken up?”

  I glance through the windows that lead outside. Mr. Hodge is no doubt out with his mistress, and Eric’s gold sedan is nowhere in sight. It seems luck is on our side. Not that I need it. I motion to Cain, and he opens the black bag.

  I select my first instrument.

  The pliers sparkle, even in the dull light, and the smile slips from the madam’s mouth. “Oh, no more smirking?” I push the pliers toward Madam Karina’s mouth and Cain yanks her head back. “Tell me where Poppet is.”

  Instead of addressing me, the madam turns her attention to Cain. “I’ll tell Eric what you did. Murderer! You killed your own brother. Know what they’ll do if they find out?”

  Cain’s eyes enlarge, but he doesn’t release her.

  I grab Madam Karina’s chin and jerk it forward. “It’s time to pay penance for many things. Making Cain believe he’s guilty is but one of your sins. Open wide, sugar.”

  Madam Karina screams.

  Oh, she screams.

  The front lateral incisor pops out as if it never wanted to be there in the first place. Good riddance, it says with a backward wave. I hold the tooth in front of her face as she drools and whimpers. “This one isn’t that painful to have removed, believe it or not. And it doesn’t contribute much functionality. More a cosmetic concern, really. Next time I’ll pull a molar, and let me tell you, that won’t be nearly as pleasant.”

  A Tulip tiptoes down the stairs, the same girl who took the teakettle from me when I needed it. I wave the tooth at her. “You see me now, Tulip?” I motion toward the open seat next to Madam Karina. “Step right up! Got room for one more.”

  The girl races up the stairs, a scream ripping from her throat.

  “You see?” I get close to Madam Karina’s face. “No one is coming to save you. So, tell me where Poppet is, and I’ll bring you a towel.”

  Madam Karina, lady that she is, rears her head back and spits on me. “I should have known better than to bring in Detroit street trash. Eric should have left you for my sister to scoop off the sidewalk.”

  I palm her face and shove backward. She moans and clenches her eyes shut. “I’ll tell you a secret, madam. I am more than mere street trash. I’m a killer. Me. Not Cain.” I nod to show her it’s true. “That’s right. These two hands killed half a dozen men. Maybe more. I lost count after a while. One could say I’m a man-killing connoisseur.”

  Cain growls and throws a fist into the couch near the madam’s head. “Just tell us where Poppet is and we’ll leave.”

  I’ll do no such thing, but I still raise my hands and wave toward the kitchen. “Get this scoundrel a kitchen towel. I can’t stand her drooling.”

  Cain starts to leave, but I stop him with a word. “Bag.”

  He pauses, wondering how far I’ll go without him there to supervise. In the end, he tosses me the backpack and leaves the room.

  I withdraw the smaller knife and lay it across my hands on display. “I’ll start by cutting you on the hands and arms. You’ll bleed a lot, and it will certainly hurt. But it won’t do too much damage. You can trust me on this.” I show her the inside of my forearm as evidence—the Xs crossing my skin, the scars that memorialize the men I killed. I kept accurate count…for a while. “Where’s Poppet?” I ask, giving her one more chance.

  “You’ll never make it out of here,” Madam Karina growls, blood dripping down her chin. “I’ll have you in the end. Another jailbird to sing for me.”

  I round her body and drag the blade across the back of her left hand. It opens without complaint and drips scarlet onto the wood floor. Madam Karina cries for me to stop. But I can’t. Not until there’s a matching one on the other hand
.

  There we go.

  Much better.

  Cain reappears with the dishtowel and tosses it into Madam Karina’s lap.

  “Go ahead, pick it up,” I laugh. “What, you don’t want it?”

  Madam Karina hangs her head. “You have my hands tied, you dirt. You filth. Tell me, Domino, did you wonder who took the money from your dresser drawer? Did you think Mr. Hodge wouldn’t find it?”

  This takes me by surprise for a moment, but the reaction doesn’t stick. I flip the knife in my hand like a skilled butcher and take it to her forearm this time, press the point against her age-marked skin, but don’t press down. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you. Where is Poppet?”

  She shakes her head as her blood drip-drops.

  “What I did to your mouth? To your hands? That was child’s play. I’m gonna show you how I really make people hurt.”

  I push the knife a touch in as Cain watches, face twisted with horror and desire. He’s disgusted by what I’m doing, and yet he wants this as much as I do. Kick a dog one too many times…

  I begin dragging the knife up her arm—

  The front door crashes open.

  In walks Eric, arm around Poppet’s waist, gun held to her head.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Deal with the Devil

  When Madam Karina sees him, she laughs, blood dripping from between her lips. “What perfect timing, Eric, my dear. Most dramatic.”

  “Don’t touch her.” I take a step toward Eric, but he jabs the barrel of his gun deeper into Poppet’s side, causing the girl to whimper.

  Cain attempts to creep around the perimeter of the room unseen, but it’s like trying to ignore an avalanche. Eric points the gun at Cain. “Don’t even think about it. I’d like nothing more than to hurt you right now. My patroller told me what you did to him.”

  “Tell us what you want,” I say to Madam Karina.

  She grimaces. “You pulled out my damn tooth, and now you want to negotiate?”

  There’s no telling how sinister a proposal the madam would offer, but now that the idea’s presented, I jump. I’m not afraid of her. I’m not afraid of anyone. I’m not even afraid of death, and that’s a marvelous thing. You are never more lethal than when you hold death in your lap, kiss its sickly forehead, and smooth back its hair.