Deacon leaped to his feet. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” He was oblivious to the shooting pain in his stiff muscles.
“Well, well, a brave act at last. Welcome to the party, doll. Please don’t make any sudden movements. This lovely pistol of yours has such a hair-trigger. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, at least not until I’m ready. You must have so many questions.” She pivoted a quarter-turn, and glared at James David. “You’ve been asleep your whole fucking life.” She swung the pistol back and forth between Deacon and the Joneses as though she could not decide upon her target. “That, you stupid bastard, is your fucking problem.”
“Now, my dear, ridiculous marionette, come here. Let’s have a family reunion.”
Deacon inched toward the car.
“That’s it, just a little closer,” she said beckoning him with the pistol. “Where’s our beloved Doc?”
Concealed in the small of his back, the handle of Deacon’s open knife protruded slightly above his belt. The razor-sharp blade sliced through his shirt and into his flesh; he ignored the pain. He reached his mother and took her in his arms. Affectionately, he touched his father’s neck and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“Now, isn’t that just too sweet? You didn’t even know where in the fuck they were for ten goddamn years, and suddenly you’re fucking sorry.”
James David turned to face Star. He looked hard at the caricature of the woman he thought he knew. Nowhere could he find any semblance of Estrella. Even her eyes were different. They were a hatred-filled brown.
“What do you want with us, with me?” He asked angrily. “I thought you loved me?”
“So fucking many questions. I do love you in my own way. I want to tell you a story; it’ll be fun. It’d be a shame for me to have gone to all this trouble and you not understand. It’s about regret. I want you all to regret your lives. Don’t worry, in a minute I’m going to tell you how the festivities will play out. Then, with a little input from the good Reverend, we’ll explain why. Before we get started, I want Doc’s ass out here where I can see him.”
“Doc isn’t here.” Deacon tried to sound convincing. “He’s gone to get the police.”
“I doubt that. We’re not that far from downtown. He could have crawled there by now. No, I think not, but I’ll play your little game. Let him stay in hiding. Be warned, let me hear one movement, one anything, no matter whether it’s him or not, and momma Grace dies. No matter what, if anything happens, my fault, your fault, it doesn’t matter, the old bitch dies. I’m an expert shot, and as you know, this Glock has a hair-trigger.”
“Let’s start with how this story ends. I’m going to kill the old bastard, the bitch, and your best friend with this pistol, your pistol. The same one you used to kill a defenseless hooker not many hours ago. Then I’m going to shoot you in the knee. I’m not going to kill you. I’ll merely break a few bones so the cops can easily pick you up. I’ll do it at close range at the perfect angle. It’ll appear as though, you, being the clumsy son-of-a-bitch that you are, accidentally shot yourself in the process of the senseless slaughter of your friend and family. Then, I’ll give you your pistol back—a pity, because by then, you’ll be completely out of bullets.
“You, of course, will tell the police all about me. Since I don’t exist, at least not so anyone would know,” she smiled an arrogant smile, “they’ll easily convict you. You’ll spend the rest of your life dreaming of me and your demons while you wait for el señor electric chair.”
“Make me suffer if that is what it has to be, but not my parents and Doc. Leave them out of this. Did you really frame me for those horrible murders? Did you make it seem as though I raped those women? How did you? How could you?”
“Wasn’t everything a work of art? I even had you believing you did it, thanks to a few injections of Sodium Amytal. I put this place, this bridge, in your dreams; I made you fear it. The rapes, now that was sheer genius,” she bragged. “I captured your sperm in my diaphragm, and injected it into your victims.”
“Why Cynthia Thomas, she was a lesbian.”
“I’m no fucking lesbian, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a lady of joy, a prostitute, a call girl, a whore. My body is my, very profitable, stock and trade. Sex with her, and with you, was just business. Today is my big payday. Sweet, innocent Cynthia, it was so sad. She was just like you. She thought Bridget was the love of her life, too bad, right? Her sexual preference and her initials made her an easy mark. I wanted everything to be perfect. She was a small sacrifice for the betterment of humankind, don’t you agree? Besides, Bridget did have fun although the bracelet was over the top, a complete waste of money, extravagant cunt.”
“You’re a monster,” James David screamed. “All those people died so you could hurt me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment although not completely accurate. Garvin Brown was the exception, stupid pimp. He followed me from California. The fucker knew my history. I had to eliminate him. His brother was my mother’s and my pimp.” She continued in an emotionless monotone. “They were both dead weight. I got rid of them when I was almost nineteen, the night I gave myself a coming out party, and moved to Beverly Hills.”
“I had originally intended that you would kill only women. I thought the serial killer thing would fit you nicely. Everything worked out after all. Cutting Garvin in half was a stroke of genius. I even convinced you that you did it. You’ve been the perfect puppet.”
“Let the others go,” James David pleaded again. “If you want me, take me. Settle your score, whatever that is, with me alone. Please, don’t hurt my parents.”
“Very noble, but the Joneses aren’t as innocent as you think.” She snarled at the couple, “Are you my dears?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, young lady,” the Reverend answered indignantly. “Perhaps you think you know more about us than you actually do.”
“Perhaps, my ass,” she said harshly. “We’ll just see, won’t we, your holiness? Why don’t you tell James David the truth? Cut the bullshit and tell him what you’ve been hiding since the day he was born. Tell him before you make me so fucking mad that I shoot your wife. You know the story as well as I do.”
His face reddened and minutes passed. He cleared his throat. “Son, many years ago when this woman was born, we knew her mother. Your mother and I agreed that they needed help. Her mother was an unfortunate soul, a Mexican, with few opportunities. We gave her a little financial support so they might move to California…”
“Liar, liar, liar,” Star cried. “Bullshit, bullshit, fucking bullshit!” With violently trembling hands, she waved the gun wildly. “Tell the goddamn truth!” Star angrily spread her legs, gripped the Glock with both hands, and assumed a shooter’s stance. “You don’t want to fuck with me, Rev’. One of my john’s was a cop. He gave me protection and shooting lessens, and I fucked him. We both learned a lot. I can’t believe this. You’re fuckin’ wearing me out. I’ll finish the fucking story myself.
“You wanted me and my mother out of your lives. So you paid her off. You bought her just like all the other tricks. Only you fucked up. You didn’t count on me. Your deal was with my mother, not me. Now, you old sack of shit, tell him why. The truth this time, my patience is wearing thin, and you aren’t prepared to see me angry.”
“All right, please, just calm down. James David, I’m so sorry to tell you this, your Uncle David was this girl’s father.”
“Oh, my, God!” James buried his face in his palms, and then turned to Star. “You mean to tell me, I fell in love with—I’ve had a relationship with, my cousin? You knew all along. You miserable… we committed incest, and you knew?”
“Oh, doll, that ain’t the half of it. Go on, Rev, tell our boy who his real father is,” she ordered. “Don’t fuck with me. Tell him, tell him now.”
“Son, forgive me. I always wanted to be your father. David, my little brother, was your father. He was killed a month before you were born. Your m
other and I thought it would be in your best interest if we raised you as our own. Please, understand. We never wanted you to know. We didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Jesus Christ!” James David collapsed to his knees. He looked up in disbelief at the tired figure who he thought was his father. “Mother, you had an affair with your husband’s brother,” he began to sob, “then decided to hide the truth from your bastard son.”
Star laughed. It began as a soft, guttural chuckle, which became increasingly louder until tears ran down both cheeks. “Goodness, James David, you are so fucking naïve, even I can’t believe it. A minute ago, I was your cousin; now, I’m your half sister. You still don’t get it, do you? Do I have to hit you over the head with the truth? Tell him Grace, the suspense is killing me.”
“James David, sweetheart, how can I say this. I love you; I’m so sorry, but I’m not your birthmother.” Mrs. Jones wavered and leaned against her husband. “I loved David, your father, in a very special way, but we never had a physical relationship. David was your biological father, and this woman’s mother was your natural mother.”
“Everyone sure is sorry all of a sudden. So, what do you think, bro? Wasn’t sex with me fantastic?”
“My, dear, God, you’re my sister.” James David dropped his face to the tarmac and dry heaved.
“Yeah, doll, I’m your sister, and I loved playing you. Shit, it was easy. You, were so easy. Fuckin’ you, fuckin’ with your mind was like pickin’ low hanging fruit. I didn’t even have to reach. You practically leaped into my hands.”
“But why… why do you hate all of us?”
“First, understand this. We aren’t just brother and sister. We’re fraternal twins, gemelas, dizygotic twins. We share the same rare blood, and probably more than fifty percent of the same DNA. That’s why you feel connected to me, why we sense each other. I’ve become an expert at getting inside your head. Those voices you hear, they’re all me,” she said proudly. “Fuckin’ cool, huh. It was all extremely useful when I was manipulating you.”
“This is too incredible to be true,” he shouted. “We don’t have the same birthday. Yours is in May.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a genius?” Her question dripped with sarcasm. “Do you think that my birthday is the only thing I didn’t lie about? As for why, it’s simple, they chose you. The Jones family chose you, and turned their backs on me. They decided to raise you as their son, and in the same instant, condemned me to a life of prostitution. You had it made. You took the fucking opportunity and shit all over it. You could have done anything, gone anywhere. You had the perfect life. The dream was within your reach.
“Do you understand me? You threw it all away. I’m willing to kill for what you wasted.” The veins in her face swelled. Her skin became a patchwork of red blotches. Invisible plastic surgery incisions became hard white lines; manmade beauty gave way to grotesque reality. “You are a selfish, stupid son-of-a-bitch, and today I’m going to make you pay. I’ll take away everything good in your life, and replace it all with absolute regret.”
James David felt her anger swell; her pain was stifling. He heard her voices inside his head, the two others, not Star, crying and pleading. He winced. In her face, he recognized the same struggle that he felt.
“It’s the bitches,” she said matter-of-factly. “They want out. I have forbidden them to come out, and they’re pissed. I forbade them both because of all the trouble they’ve caused lately.
“It started with Estrella. After we first fucked you, on that last night in Sturgis, she felt sorry for you. She wanted to tell you the truth. She thought we could come clean, and everything would be great. I shut her down, and locked her in that very day. Then Bridget tried to pull the same shit. After we killed Cindy, the stupid lesbo wouldn’t quit cryin’. She was in love with Cindy. She wanted to go back to LA. I put a stop to that, too. I closed her off from the world. What you hear inside your head are the two woeful whores, begging to get out.” She stopped. Her eyes became lifeless spheres; her consciousness seemed gone.
No one made a sound or dared move. Deacon eyed the gun and weighed the opportunity.
Star’s eyes rolled; she began to shout. “No quiero ser una prostituta; ni quiero ser la hija de una puta.” Her lips curled back in a snarl and revealed perfect white teeth. She repeated her declaration in English. “I don’t want to be a prostitute. I don’t want to be the daughter of a whore.” Dulled-brown retinas became empty, emotionless orbs.
Deacon looked into eyes he had thought were blue, and realized he knew her not at all. “Even your eyes—your eyes are different.”
“I went to a lot of trouble for that deceptive little detail. Fucking theatrical contacts dry the shit outta my eyes. It was especially hard with you always looking over my shoulder like a lovesick puppy. Look closely, doll. These are my real eyes,” she laughed, “the windows, to my soul.”
Something in her visage changed. Deacon felt a shift in her demeanor. He was sure she had willed the change. He experienced the strength of her gravitational pull. Her black essence revealed itself, fueled by jealousy, remorse and a suffocating need for revenge.
Star caught his look; her eyes flashed. Deacon experienced the ponderous weight of her shroud of madness. Reality crawled. He heard her ethereal words delivered in slow motion.
“Would you like to see,” she calmly asked, “the ultimate demonstration of our connection? Take your jacket off,” she ordered. She pointed to the tattoo on his left bicep. Wrapped tightly around the cross, the venomous snake’s terrifying eyes glowed red. “Remember when you got that tattoo, the night of our twenty-first birthday?”
Deacon answered weakly, “I remember.”
“That was the night when I first experienced our true connection. I suffered with the sting of the needle; I stepped into your mind. I smelled your boozy friends. I saw through your eyes. I heard your voice describe the ink.” She paused, turned, and began to lift her blouse. “I want to show you what I experienced. You must witness our conjoined fate.” She fully exposed the bare skin of her back.
Deacon staggered backward. The image sprang from her flesh like an exploding bomb. Etched on her bronze skin, in the small of her back, was a tattoo. The cross and snake were smaller, the detail and proportion were perfect. It was Deacon’s tattoo.
She snickered, “Doll, I’ve been dyin’ to show you this. You have no idea.”
“What have I done?” The words were not Deacon’s. They came from the Reverend.
“That’s right, you son-of-a-bitch,” Star screamed turning her wrath on the Reverend, “you did this. You did all of this!” She brandished the pistol in an arc. The barrel rapidly passed each of the men, and stopped at Grace’s heart. “And now you’ll pay.”
When the gun barrel centered on Grace, the Reverend grabbed her arm. With one unplanned motion, he shoved her behind him, and stepped into the blast. Deacon watched in horror as the forty-caliber hollow-point ripped into his father’s chest, mushroomed, and smashed through his heart. His mother jerked violently. The mangled lead exited the Reverend’s back, and with waning force penetrated her side. The Reverend dropped straight down like an accordion. His eyes locked wide open. All semblance of life was gone before his body hit the ground. Mrs. Jones let out a strangled cry, and succumbed to the weight of her dead husband.
Doc vaulted from his hiding place, knife drawn, and ran toward Star. He shrieked hysterically, “You bitch…”
Star diverted her attention from the Reverend. She turned the pistol on her brother, and squeezed the trigger. Her aim was higher than she had planned. The lead tore into his left thigh, and nicked the femur. Deacon half-fell, half-thrust himself upon her, drew the switchblade from his belt, and with a single strike imbedded the blade.
She saw him lunge, and jerked back to avoid the gleaming blade. She screeched in pain as it penetrated her abdomen. Deacon slammed against her. The Glock exploded in her hand; fire flashed from the barrel. He grabbed her hair. They
bounced apart and rolled in opposite directions. Deacon’s wounded leg hit the pavement hard; it stung like another bullet. He frantically attempted to cover the open wound, and found her brown wig wound tightly around his fingers.
Doc stumbled backward. Blood gushed from his shoulder. Star sat up. She was only six feet away from Deacon. With both hands, she grasped the knife handle, and pulled the dripping, crimson blade from punctured flesh. She rolled onto her hands and knees, lifted herself with great effort, and limped away.
Deacon crawled rapidly after her dragging his bleeding leg. She fired two wild shots. Bullets exploded against broken pavement showering Deacon with debris. Hopping upright on one leg, Deacon bounded forward. She reached the railing in the same moment he caught her. They slammed into the oxidized steel of the deserted bridge. Star hit first, waist high, and tumbled backward over the barrier. Deacon reached for her. She caught his hand and looked up into confused eyes.
Deacon saw himself in her face like looking in a mirror. With all his strength, he gripped her hand. “My life was difficult,” he labored to speak, “but with Doc and Kat’s help, I made something good of it. Yours was difficult, too, I know, but you made it worse. Together we could have had something, something normal. We could have been brother and sister, a family. Instead, you turned our lives into something horrible. You made us both despicable, incestuous monsters.”
She opened her mouth, “I—I,” were the only sounds. Remorse flickered in her eyes. Her grip relaxed; Estrella’s fingers began to slip from Deacon’s hold.
The gun slipped away. It turned end-over-end as it fell. A moment later, Estrella opened her hand and followed. Deacon watched in despair. She disappeared into the muddy water. The impact rippled the surface in rapidly expanding concentric circles. There were no other movements on the surface, no bubbles, and no sign of life.
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