Vigilante

by Jessica Gadziala

  No one had ever told me they loved me.

  I mean, how could they?

  I wasn't a lovable man.

  I knew that. I accepted that about myself.

  But here was this woman, this amazing, beautiful, confident, sweet, strong but vulnerable, skilled, worldly, woman in my arms, naked, fresh off of hearing about all the sordid shit I had done in my life... and she still said it. She still felt it.

  She loved me.

  Fuck.

  What was I supposed to do about that?

  As a knock sounded at our door, there was a strange, small voice that said maybe I was supposed to love her right back.

  The problem was, I didn't know dick about love.

  I didn't even fucking know what it felt like.

  But maybe, possibly, it had something to do with the swelling feeling in my chest as her eyes went big when her mother's voice called hello through the door.

  Yeah, it could possibly feel something like that.

  FIFTEEN

  Evan

  My mother was at the door.

  My mother was at the door where I was naked with a man who I had just declared my love to.

  After hearing his whole awful story finally.

  I felt like I was caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Even though the door was locked. Even though I was a grown ass woman. Even though I hadn't even known my mother until a day before.

  It was ridiculous.

  Yet I shot up in bed, frantically grabbing for the sheet to cover myself as though the woman had x-ray vision or something.

  "Just a minute, Gabriela," Luce called, openly laughing at my strange behavior as he got up, and reached for clothes to cover up. "Ev, gotta get dressed, doll," he said, smiling as I sat frozen. He leaned down, reaching into my bag, and producing clothes. "And you need to prepare for questions." When I obviously didn't seem to grasp why, he shrugged. "Your face, Evan."

  Christ.

  I almost forgot.

  So much had happened, it seemed.

  I hadn't even felt the throbbing I had been so distracted.

  But as I climbed off the bed and dressed, it started again - dull but insistent.

  Fully dressed as I fumbled to slip my shoes on, Luce went to the door, giving me a small smile over his shoulder. "Ready or not," he warned, unlocking the door, and opening it.

  "I thought I'd stop here. It's on the way," she explained as she walked in, all smiles, clearly delighted to spend more time with me, which made me feel rather guilty for wanting to get out of the country as soon as possible. "I'm so hap... no," she said, freezing halfway in the door, every inch of her body snapping straight. "You!" she accused, turning on Luce, hands curling into fists.

  "No!" I snapped, leaping off the bed, throwing myself in front of Luce. "No. Luce didn't do this. He didn't," I insisted, eyes holding hers. "Someone came to the room last night while Luce was getting food at the market."

  "Who?" she asked, teeth gritted. "Who here did this?"

  "Someone who had a grudge against Alejandro," Luce supplied. "From the last visit he had to this area. He wanted vengeance."

  "Tell me he didn't get it," she said, lip quivering in rage.

  "He didn't," Luce assured her. "What you see is all that happened. And he won't be a problem again."

  Gabriela looked at me with eyes so familiar for a long couple of minutes. Then she gave me a nod. "Well, let's get to town, spend a few more hours together. Then you need to be going. First plane out," she said, moving past me to, I kid you not, start packing us.

  "Gab... Mom," I said, finding that it somehow didn't feel awkward to say, even so soon. "We can..."

  "No," she said, shaking her head, shoving my discarded clothes into my bag. "You have to go. You need to get clear of here just in case."

  "I want to spend time with..."

  "Yes. Yes. And with a man such as this," she said, waving one of Luce's hoodies at him before shoving it into his bag, "I am sure you can find a way to get me there, no?"

  Luce shot me a very 'told you so' kind of smile. "I can arrange that, Gabriela. As soon as you are ready."

  "All will be worked out. With the internet, all things are possible these days," she said, reaching into her pocket, pulling out a phone, and handing it to Luce. "Your number, so I can be in touch. You will message me as soon as you land." She was saying all this as she stripped the beds. "Hold on," she said, going back outside. There were a long couple minutes of nothing before she came back, rolling in a freaking cleaning cart with her. "Come on, get to work," she said, waving at the cart.

  So, well, then we got to work.

  By the time we were done, I was pretty sure it was the cleanest motel room in any country in the world.

  "Please say you pay in cash," she said as she rolled the cart outside.

  "We did," I agreed. The only thing I paid for with a card was the reservations for the plane. But from there, no one knew where we went. We were, essentially, ghosts.

  Sure, people had seen us, but that didn't mean much.

  "I was careful, Gabriela," Luce promised as we made our way to the bus that would take us to town. "It's good to be overly cautious, but I was careful."

  "Good," she said, touching his knee. "I can trust you with my Evangeline, yes?"

  He looked at me for a second, eyes deep, then over at my mother. His voice when he answered was full of conviction. "Yes."

  So then we went to town, our bags on our shoulders.

  We had lunch.

  We talked.

  We bought trinkets.

  Then my mother kissed my cheeks and hugged me like her life depended on it as she left us at the bus that went back in the direction of the airport.

  We promised to call.

  She promised to visit as soon as the paperwork was ready.

  And with that, we were on our way back home.

  It was eight hours until we were back in Jersey, lucking out with a nonstop. Then from there, it was an hour and a half until we were back in Navesink Bank.

  Most of this time, all there was was silence.

  There were so many things for both of us to mull over.

  Me, his past, the visit with my mother, the man who hurt me.

  Him, exposing his vulnerabilities to me, the murder, the cleanup, my declaration.

  There wasn't distance per se. In fact, as soon as we dropped into our plane seats, his hand went to my thigh and stayed there the whole trip. While he watched a movie and I stared out the window, thinking.

  It was nice, I felt, to be able to sit and think things through without having to worry that the other person was worrying about my silence.

  It was just... easy.

  "Alright," Luce said as we shuffled into my car that was still at the airport. "You want Diego, or do you want to head home?"

  "Is it wrong that I would just like one more day? I know Barrett is doing well with Diego and..."

  "Ev, you're going to have to share custody of that damn bird with him from now on. I'll text him and let him know we will be by tomorrow to pick him up."

  I didn't miss that.

  We. We will be by tomorrow to pick him up.

  The way my heart squeezed let me know I hadn't just dipped my toe into love. Oh, no. I was swimming in it.

  Maybe that was a little bit scary.

  But I was okay with that.

  "Evan," Luce said, the way he did so making me think he had maybe said it more than once.

  "Yeah?"

  "You dropping me, or am I coming with you?" When there was a split second silence, he rushed to add. "Just need to know if I should be mentally preparing myself for the climb."

  "You've barely slept in days, Luce. Come home with me and sleep."

  He turned away, but even with my eyes on the road, I could see the smile he tried to hide. "If I get you anywhere near a bed, Ev, the last thing I'd be doing is sleeping."

  "Well, how about some not sleeping followed by some sleeping?" I offered as I tu
rned into my driveway, my house almost seeming foreign even though it had only been a few days.

  "I think I can make that work," he agreed as we climbed out of the car. "Any chance you can throw together some of those badass burritos at some point too?" he asked, grabbing our bags, and heading toward the door.

  "I think I can manage that."

  We walked in, me moving through the house to drop my mail on the dining table, turning back when I didn't hear his footsteps following.

  "Trinkets," I supplied, shrugging when his eyes fell on me.

  "Do you have any more trinkets?"

  "Ah... yeah. All over, I guess."

  "Anything you drink out of?"

  "I, ah, have a coffee mug set, yeah."

  Luce moved past me, going into my cabinets, one after another, until he found the ones in question.

  "Ev, doll," he said, turning with two of them. "These aren't sealed."

  "I know. I don't put them in the dishwasher or anything."

  "Yeah, but... who the fuck knows what kind of shit they used to paint these."

  "That shit," I said, taking them from his hands, "was natural berries. I watched them make them for me. They are sun dried. Why are you so obsessed with them?"

  "It was an interesting vacation, Evan, but we're back to reality now. And in reality, you were being poisoned. No new lines meant that when you were away from it long enough, you were free of the shit. So it has to be something here. Did you have your water tested when you moved in?"

  "No, I'm an idiot who doesn't get a proper inspection," I said, rolling my eyes. "Of course the water was tested."

  "Alright, what else do you have around here that was not bought at a store somewhere? And I mean an actual store, doll," he said with a smile, "not some market in a third world country."

  I snorted at that, figuring most of the stuff made in villages was a lot safer than the stuff made in major factories full of who-knew-what contaminates.

  "Um... I have some jewelry in my room. There are some combs in the bathroom."

  "What about this?" he asked, touching the huge, intricate, beautifully crafted cutting board that took up the majority of my counter space.

  "That's from the US," I said, shrugging.

  "From a store?"

  "A gift from a friend of my fath... Alejandro's."

  God, when would I stop almost calling him my father? Days? Weeks? Years?

  Would I ever get there?

  "He made it?"

  "Yeah, he does really cool things with wood. He cuts down the trees on the farm himself."

  "What's Alejandro's friend's name, doll?"

  "Larry," I said with a shrug. "He's a farmer in the south. Has a huge garden and acres of animals. He doesn't trust the government to feed him or something. He was a bit of a loon. But nice. He kept all my trinkets in his barn for like twenty years."

  "Larry, huh? What state?"

  I felt my brows draw together.

  "Mississippi. Why?"

  "Do me a favor," he said oddly. "Don't use this anymore, okay?"

  "You think this is the source?"

  "Do you want to take that chance? You more than anyone knows the long-term effects of arsenic exposure."

  I did.

  Abdominal issues. Tachycardia. Pulmonary edema. Kidney issues. Pancreatitis. Seizures. Coma. Lesions. Aplastic anemia. Peripheral neuropathy. Hypertension. Diabetes. Lung, bladder, kidney, lymphoid, liver, or skin cancer.

  Yeah.

  Okay.

  I wasn't going to use the cutting board again.

  Or the cups, even though I knew they were safe.

  "Okay. No more using things I didn't buy in stores."

  "Just until we have answers," he offered, walking closer, wrapping his arms around my hips. "Deal?"

  "Deal," I agreed, leaning into him.

  "So, I heard something about a bed..." he said, eyes going heated.

  Then he saw something about a bed.

  Then there were burritos.

  And sleep.

  But apparently not too much sleep.

  I woke up the next morning, groggy, disoriented, lip stinging because I had been sleeping on my face for some reason. Reality came back slowly.

  Coming home.

  Luce's freakout about my trinkets.

  Fast, hot, hard, sweaty, delicious sex.

  Food.

  Then sleep.

  But Luce must have been up for a while, because his side of the bed was cold.

  I stumbled up, going to brush my teeth and get my hair in some semblance of order before I faced him.

  But I felt it as soon as I walked into the living space.

  Something was off.

  When I started to look for what gave me that unease, I found my laptop sitting open on the table. Beside it was a note. And a couple strips of paper with orange coloring on them.

  Gone hunting.

  - Luce

  Curious, I sat down, blinking the sleep out of my eyes for a long minute so I could focus on the screen.

  The browser was something I had never seen before and definitely did not install on my computer myself. But there it was anyway. And I had a feeling it was that 'dark web' thing I heard him mention before. Where he found out dirt on people. Where he found out about Alejandro.

  And he had a page open dedicated to Larry Manson.

  From Mississippi.

  Of course.

  Of course my father wasn't friends with some nobody loony farmer who didn't trust the government with his food supply.

  No.

  Because my father was a poisons expert.

  And he was a rapist across many continents.

  He didn't have normal friends.

  He had criminal friends.

  He had rapist friends.

  Larry Manson had been locked up for rape at the ripe old age of eighteen, having drugged and forced himself upon his next door neighbor's daughter, abusing her with foreign objects instead of his dick. He got ten years. He was let out when he was twenty-eight. He never went back in.

  Not because he stopped raping, but because he stopped getting caught.

  This was likely because of all the missing persons reports filed for eighteen-year-old women who all looked eerily like his first victim across the whole state of Mississippi.

  A few bodies were eventually found, but too decomposed for anyone to ever know what happened to them.

  The research went on from there, making me aware that Luce was either a freak who survived on next to no sleep, or was ridiculously good with his online investigative skills.

  Maybe both.

  But some things were clear.

  He was on his way to Mississippi looking for Larry Manson.

  He was going to kill again.

  And while part of it was for the other female victims, I was sure a part of it was due to him wanting to hurt me as well.

  I knew this because those slips of paper with orange coloring on the table by the laptop and note were arsenic tests.

  Orange meant high level positive.

  And my freaking cutting board was missing.

  SIXTEEN

  Luce

  "What can I say, Larry?" I said, flipping the cutting board around in my hands. The thing truly was a work of art, a mix of different grains all expertly put together into a lovely pattern.

  See, the only problem with it was it was so full of arsenic that the tests turned a brighter shade of orange than the chart of levels even showed.

  "I don't like men who try to poison women." He was tied up in his barn. Normally, I didn't like to do off-site work. It was messy. It was harder to clean up evidence. But I wasn't too fond of carting people across state lines and breaking federal laws either. "I mean, I think that is just a general rule. No one likes men who hurt women. It's cheap. It's cowardly. It suggests your cock is about as impressive as a pencil. But anyway, I digress. I really, really don't fucking like men who try to poison my woman," I said, spinning around, swin
ging the giant piece of cutting board, slamming it into the side of the man's head.

  I wasn't one for torture.

  But what could I say?

  The man wouldn't fess up.

  I needed him to tell me he did it.

  And I needed to know why.

  Because no matter how much research I did the night before after Evan passed out and I got an hour or two, I could not figure out why. So he was friends with Alejandro. So she was his adoptive daughter. So... what?

  Evan wasn't Larry's type.

  He only liked short, plump, blonde-haired women.

  He never deviated.

  So he couldn't have been pissed that Alejandro never let him get on his daughter.

  What the hell was the motive then?

  "Men turning on other men because of some fucking split-tail," he cursed, spitting blood onto the hay on the ground.

  Split-tail.

  What the fuck?

  Who still used phrases like that?

  What a backward fuck.

  "Christ," I growled, shaking my head. "Why poison the fucking cutting board? What did Evan ever do to you?"

  "Made a bitch out of that man," he said, shaking his head.

  "Out of Alejandro?" I asked, squinting at him. "He raped women in every country he visited even after raping Evan's mother and kidnapping her daughter."

  "The things that man did before her..."

  Ugh.

  Shit.

  I wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and squeeze the life out of it.

  He wasn't exactly wrong.

  While I couldn't find any actual evidence online, as it predated most of the dark web, there were stories attributed to a man who fit Alejandro's descriptions. Ritualistic, sadistic rapes. Long, drawn-out torture that left women half-dead and usually fully signed-out mentally.

  "You know, he forced me to agree to take care of her if anything happened to him."

  "Take care of her didn't mean fucking kill her, dipshit."

  "Lots of interpretations of that phrase, asshole."

  "Why arsenic? Why not just kill her when she came to pick up her shit? Oh," I said, curling my lip.

  Yeah.

  For most shitheads like Larry, the act of murder was sexual. The rape itself was power. The kill was what got their cocks hard. The one woman he was sent away for, he apparently sodomized with an unknown object. I bet my life on him jerking off on the corpses before he buried them. He didn't want to kill Evan with his hands because she wasn't his type.