by Staci Hart
Dita pressed her hands to her heart, and her voice wavered as she begged, “Please, don’t take it from me. It’s all I have.”
“It is not all you have,” Perry answered heavily, forcefully. “You have me. You have Heff. There are people here who love you, who care for you, but you’re wallowing in your pain, wanting something you can never, ever have. Can’t you see how fucked up this is?”
“What am I supposed to do? If you lost Hades, wouldn’t you do the same?”
Perry shook her head. “This isn’t the same as me and Hades, and you know it. Dita, you can’t have the mirror.”
“You don’t get to make that decision,” Dita fired back.
“Stop it. You know this is wrong. Look at you.” Perry motioned to her. “When was the last time you showered? You haven’t even changed your clothes. When was the last time you even got out of bed?”
Dita said nothing.
Perry stared, her eyes burning into Dita. “I won’t let you do this to yourself.” She held up the mirror then released it, and it hovered in front of her. Perry closed her eyes as black smoke crawled up her body in tendrils, and the mirror rose, spinning slowly, shining brighter and brighter as Dita watched in horror. It spun faster and faster until it burst, the fragments so fine that they rained down like glitter.
“No,” Dita whispered. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held out her hands to catch the sparkling pieces of her heart. “No.” She dropped her face into her palms, as destroyed as the mirror.
“I’m sorry,” Perry said, her voice laden with a dozen emotions, but Dita didn’t care.
“No, you’re not.” Dita looked up with hot, fat tears speeding down her cheeks.
Perry’s face wrenched. “How can you say that?”
“You’ve ruined it,” Dita whispered. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Perry’s cheeks were red, her words low and harsh. “I can’t believe you would ever say that to me. I can’t believe you would hide this from me. Or, I guess I can because you will have your way, no matter the cost.” She turned and slipped off the bed, pausing to look down at Dita. “I’m trying to help you. Are you so blind? Gods, Dita.” Perry laid a hard look on her. “You have got to find a way to see yourself. You have to, because you will never get past this if you don’t.”
She turned and took a few steps, stopping in the doorway to address Dita a final time. “I am sorry, and you know that, but he’s gone. Let him go.” And with that, she was gone.
Dita took a breath that caught in her throat as she lay down in her bed, not able to feel anything past her pain as she curled up into a small ball, clutching her bedding to her chest, alone.
Ares buried his face in her golden hair as his hands roamed down her naked body. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, needing her as he slammed into her again and again.
“Aphrodite,” he whispered in her ear.
Anaideia shifted from underneath him. “Fuck you, Ares,” she panted and shoved him. He rolled off of her.
“Ana, wait.”
She slipped out of bed, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she picked up the trail of clothes scattered all over his floor. “Why? I never expect you to be over her, but I walk the minute you call me by her name.” She pulled her jeans on, then her shirt, walking away with the parting words, “At least I got off first.”
“Come on, don’t leave.”
She spun around smiling, her blue eyes flashing in her heart-shaped face. “Go fuck yourself. I hope you and your fist are real happy together.” Her smile promised his offense wouldn’t go unpunished. “See ‘ya next time. Practice keeping your mouth shut, because you ruin it for everybody when you open it.”
Her hips swayed as she walked away and to the elevator, and he propped his head on his hand to watch. He and Ana had a long standing arrangement, one that involved more fucking than talking. She was the goddess of all things shameless, ruthless, and unforgiving. All traits he admired, but in that moment he wondered how he’d pay for calling her by Dita’s name.
Ares sighed and stretched out in bed, folding his hands under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Ana was right. He wasn’t over Dita. He’d never be over Dita. But he couldn’t even talk to her, not with everyone watching him like he was going to start flipping tables at any given moment. He couldn’t show up at her place, either, because if Zeus found out, shit would get ugly, fast.
So, he’d been hanging out in the common rooms, hoping to catch her alone, but his patience was wearing thin.
He wasn’t sure what he’d say to her, though he knew it was too soon for anything to make a difference. Not after everything. He tried to practice restraint, but it was never easy for him. What his heart wanted overrode anything his head had to say on the matter.
He wouldn’t wait, if he got the opportunity.
She’d barely left her room since her return from Greece, which only sparked more chatter about her. She was nowhere, absent, and the gossip flew along with the jokes and insults. The longer she hid, the more they considered it confirmation of their rumors, but no one brought it up around him, not after he threw a lesser god through a wall for making a joke about her.
Ares wondered what she was doing right then, if she was sleeping or planning for the competition. The match was one he was interested in, not because of the players, but because Rhodes was involved. The psycho bastard was one of his own, and had been inspired to kill by Ares more than a few times.
Rhodes was calculating and methodical, feeling nothing but apathy outside of each kill. Something in him was twisted and sideways, and he knew he didn’t belong, only tried to live life in a way that he could go about unnoticed, living every day for the time he could kill again, a compulsive ritual that completed a cycle for a sociopathic killer.
Yes, Ares liked him very much.
He looked in on Rhodes, who was descending the stairs into his dark basement.
———— New York ————
Rhodes flipped the switch on the wall, and the naked bulbs flickered to life from exposed beams. He descended the last steps and walked around his weight set to the crawl space behind the stairs. Folded up cardboard boxes were propped against the wall, and he knelt to slide them out of the way. When he reached between the beams, his fingers grazed the side of the cherry wood jewelry box hidden there.
He picked it up and carried it reverently to his old, tweed couch where he sat, laying the box on the table. Adrenaline pumped through him when he rested his palm on the top before opening it. Rhodes reached in and pulled out a thin, gold chain with a heart pendant dangling from it. She’d said her name was Cindy, and he could see her face as clearly as if he’d only killed her weeks ago, even though it had been years. He closed his eyes and smiled.
He laid it back in the drawer and ran his fingers over the collection of jewelry. There was one for each kill, and when he touched them, he was transported back to the moment he’d taken them from each girl. The images flashed through his mind like a flip book, each memory captured as he stood over them, looking down into his hand as he touched his keepsake at the height of his high. The bulk of his trophies were cheap and gaudy, nothing of monetary value, but it didn’t matter. They were worth far more to him than money.
Hookers were the easy choice, girls who were untraceable, expendable, women who no one looked for. Rhodes would pick them up and bring them to his house, through the attached garage, to the basement. He could always see it in their eyes when they knew, the second they figured it out. Sometimes it was before they’d even made it down the stairs. Sometimes it wasn’t until he had his hands around their neck.
Either way, the end was always the same.
He had a clean and efficient method. Always prostitutes. Only twice per year, at the most. Strangled on the cement floor of his basement, wrapped in plastic, dumped in a waterway. He never, ever strayed from his routine. Not until Hannah.
The first time he saw her was just after Labor Day the year before.
He was mowing his grass after he’d come home from work and remembered turning a corner to see a flash of red as she walked down the sidewalk in her cheerleading uniform. He realized that he’d stopped moving. The mower sat idle in front of him as he watched her, and he reached down and pulled the bag off, playing as if he’d meant to stop, even though he’d just emptied it a few minutes before. She gave him a small smile as she walked past his house with her ponytail swinging.
Hannah had just been more than he could resist. All he could see was Jane when he looked at her, and Jane …
Sweet Jane.
Rhodes smiled as he opened the bottom drawer of the jewelry box, which was empty save for Hannah’s small, diamond earrings and a necklace with a gold ‘J’ hanging from it. He’d given it to Jane on her birthday that year, 1984. She hadn’t even said thank you.
Jane made her way through a good portion of the football team, and when she asked him to homecoming, he couldn’t say no. She was ruthless, and he’d worked so hard to fit in, to play along. He’d always known he was different, and Jane held the power to ruin everything he’d built, explode his cover into dust with her rumors and gossip.
From the very start, she’d wanted to get into his pants, but he always held her off. It had never been easy for him to get hard, and Jane was vicious. He almost dumped her to avoid sleeping with her, but who knew what lies she would come up with if he had. A few times, he’d gotten a little turned on, which had given him hope. His best case scenario was one where he could get it up and get it over with, then break up with her and hope to get some semblance of normalcy back in his life.
They parked in the woods that night at the trails where the kids went to make out and anyone with 4x4 went after it rained to go mudding. It got hot and heavy fast, and he almost pulled away when she slipped her hand into his pants. She found him soft, but it didn’t faze her. At least at first. He stared at her tits, wishing for a miracle, but nothing happened, and after a few minutes she pulled back.
“What the fuck, Corey.” She pushed him off of her. “You should have just told me you were a fag, and we could have avoided all this.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Fuck you, Jane.”
“Apparently, you can’t.” She wiped her lips off, disgusted, and laughed. “I can’t fucking wait to tell everybody that Corey Rhodes can’t get it up. No wonder you’ve been pussing out about this. Have you always had your little problem? Maybe you should see someone about that.”
He clenched his jaw. “Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, asshole. Hand me my shirt.”
He looked her over for a moment, his rage rolling under the surface. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” She rolled her eyes and spoke to him like a child. “Just be the pussy you are, and hand me my shirt.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Shut the fuck up, Jane.”
“Let go of me,” she demanded, but his fist tightened.
“No.” His dick stirred in his pants, and he smiled when she tried to pull away.
“You’re hurting me.” A spark of fear lit behind her eyes.
“I don’t care.” His heart pumped hard in his chest as he pulled her to him.
“Take me home, asshole.” She tried to pull away again.
“We’re doing this Jane. Isn’t this what you wanted?” His hand trailed down her chest and he yanked her bra down, exposing her breasts. She jumped.
“Stop it, Corey.” Her voice wavered.
“You don’t want me to stop. Look at what you did.” He took her other hand and laid it on his bulge.
“You sick fuck,” she whispered. “I’m not fucking kidding. Let me go.”
“No,” he growled.
She slapped him hard, but he grabbed her forearms, threw her down on the bench seat, and gave her what she’d wanted all along. She didn’t stop fighting, not even when he wrapped his hands around her neck, but he barely felt as she scrabbled against him, not registering when she lie still, and he came so hard, he thought his heart would stop.
When he came around, he looked down at Jane and unclenched his fingers, the skin underneath already turning from red to some strange, deeper shade of purple. Her mouth hung open, her hair across her face. He moved it away, tucking it behind her ear tenderly. Her necklace caught in her hair, and he smiled as he unclasped the chain and laid it in his palm. What was once a symbol of their relationship had become a symbol of something new. The rush he got as he touched it was almost more than he could stand, and for a long moment, he sat in the cab of his truck with his head against the back window and his eyes closed.
He glanced down at Jane again, knowing he should feel guilt and remorse, but he didn’t. He felt free, free from Jane, free from some unseen chains that bound him. He slid Jane across the bench seat and climbed over her to the driver’s side, turned the ignition, and drove deeper into the woods, more calm and satisfied than he’d ever been before.
Rhodes rubbed the necklace a last time before laying it back in its drawer. He picked up Hannah’s earrings and laid them in his hand, turning his head as he inspected them.
From the first time he saw her, he fantasized about her, but he couldn’t turn off the part of himself that wanted her. It whispered in his ear the things he could do to her, replaying Jane over and over again on a loop, and every time he saw her, the urge grew.
He always tried to make sure he was outside when she passed by in the evenings that she had cheerleading practice, and on the night he finally got his chance, it was by sheer luck.
He was in his driveway dragging his trashcans to the alley he when saw her hurrying through the dark, back street in the chilly autumn night. He froze, not expecting to see her so late, the disappointment at missing her earlier erased the second he spotted her. She gave him a wary smile as she walked toward him. Her eyes darted across the street, and he wondered if she was going to cross to avoid him.
“Hey,” he smiled as he tugged a trashcan up to the curb.
“Hey,” she said with her hands in the pockets of her oversized letter jacket and her ponytail bobbing.
He picked up another trashcan and banged it into the first. It hit the pavement with a thunk and a clatter, and his recycling skittered across the pavement in her path.
“Shit, I am so sorry.” He bent down to pick up cans.
“Here, let me help you.” She knelt next to him, close enough to touch. He glanced around and saw no one.
“Thanks,” he said as they stood.
She deposited an armful of cans into the trash and smiled up at him. “No problem.”
“It’s freezing out here. You don’t live far, do you?”
“No, I’m just around the corner.” She glanced down the street. “I was running late tonight, so I took a shortcut.”
“Ah.” He nodded and glanced down at her uniform. “So you’re a cheerleader?”
“Yeah. Go Bulldogs!” She propped a hand on her hip and threw the other in the air with mock enthusiasm.
He laughed, and she smiled back. “I’m Corey.”
“Hannah,” she said as she took his hand.
“Your hands are like ice cubes.” They were small, soft and cold in his. He rubbed her knuckle with his thumb, not even conscious that he was doing it. “Come on inside for some cider.”
Her eyes dropped to his hand. “I really should go.”
He squeezed. “I insist.”
She tried to pull away, and the look passed across her face. He pulled her into his chest and laid a hand over her mouth.
“Shhhh. Don’t fight, Hannah,” he said into her hair as he dragged her into his garage.
The memory was crisp, and he smiled as the light twinkled off her earrings in his hand. They didn’t find her body for weeks, and even though he had hoped for more time, he was satisfied. He’d had to switch up his routine for her, unable to use the secluded inlets to the river where he usually dumped the girls because his regular method would never work for Hannah. No one look
ed for prostitutes, but a sixteen-year-old girl would have all the patrols out.
So Rhodes drove into northern New Jersey to the Delaware Water Gap, through the winding path around the National Park. The night was black by the time he pulled into a small inlet to the river, surrounded by pines and maples. He opened his trunk, pulled out his waders, stepped into them. The plastic wrapped around her crinkled as he lifted her out, and her skin was already grey against her red uniform, her body stiff in his arms. He carried her into the lake like a child and took a last look at her before he let her go. She sank into the black water that swallowed her up, and then she was gone.
He’d acted on impulse, which was something he hadn’t done since Jane, and being out of his routine unnerved him, but by the time Hannah was found, if she was found, there would be no evidence. He wasn’t concerned, not even when the PI came asking around, not even when he realized that she knew something was up. There was nothing she could do, no evidence that she could dig up on him.
Or so he thought.
It was a few weeks after he’d killed Hannah when he got a call from Troy, an old high school friend who worked in the library in their home town. Troy filled him in: The same red-headed PI who had grilled him about Hannah a few days before had gone to Deer Lodge, and the librarian told her all about Jane and Sheriff Jackson. The investigator had photocopied all the old newspapers, and Rhodes could only assume she spoke to Jackson. Who knew what he told her. Out of everyone, the old Sheriff was the one person who was bound and determined to pin him for Jane’s death. Some days, Rhodes didn’t know how he’d gotten away with it.
Josie Campbell had something, and whatever it was, he wanted it. The thought consumed him as he staked out her apartment. She was easy enough to find, though he had no plan, just waited through most of the day and into the evening. He spotted her red hair as she walked up the sidewalk with a box under her arm marked with the name Bernard. The sight enraged him as he stood across the street watching her, realizing she had more than he anticipated.