I feel sick to my stomach and desperate for a smoke. Doubt that'd be tolerated in this hell hole.
“You're in luck, girl,” the woman behind the glass partition says to me, sighing dramatically and shaking her head in disgust. “Lying about actually being on the list doesn't disqualify you from visiting an inmate.” I blink a few times and lean in close, putting my palms on the counter. I notice a few of the guards shift uncomfortably. Well, fuck, shit, and damn, they really do take this crap seriously. Or maybe I just look like enough of a badass that they're nervous?
“I'm on the list?”
The woman sighs again, her breath fogging up the partition between us before she turns her attention back to her computer.
“To visit an inmate, you must be approved at least seventy-two hours before visitation. The inmate you plan on visiting must also approve of you. Once that happens, we run a criminal background check. Apparently, yours was clean.” She moves her mouse around, focusing on the white glow of the screen and not bothering to look me in the face as she does whatever it is she needs to do. “I'll need to see some identification please. Also, if you're currently in possession of any tobacco products, narcotics, weapons, or alcohol, please remove these from your person immediately. All visitors are subject to search via a metal detection device, drug detection dogs, or a pat down search. Please note,” she drones on, sounding completely and utterly put out at having to do her job, “that all contraband is subject to confiscation.” Another massive sigh. “If you object to any of this, you're welcome to walk out that door right now.”
“No,” I say, biting off the word a little more harshly than I'd intended. I try not to grit my teeth because the guards are all staring at me again. Where are the fangirls and fanboys when you really need them? I could've used a screaming, giggling fan to do my bidding today. “That's fine.” I pull my Oklahoma driver's license out and slam it down on the counter. The woman slides her fingers out and takes hold of it, studying the picture, then me, then the picture again, for all of about ten minutes. I'm about to start cussing her out when she smiles wickedly.
“You that girl from the sex video, huh?” Jesus Christ. I glance over at Turner and he smiles brightly. Asshole can and will flirt with fucking anything, won't he? “Oh, ho, girl. You sure did get some action, didn't you?”
“Do you have, like, a fucking boss or someone I can speak to?” The woman laughs and tosses my I.D. back to me.
“Alright, take a seat and we'll call you when it's time.” She looks back over at Turner and gives him another once-over. I swear, she shivers a little when she meets his eyes. Wow. This is going to get old fast.
“Guess I don't need to bribe anyone?” he says, sounding almost disappointed about it. I give Turner a look, and we take our seats on a shitty bench in the corner, next to a woman who looks like she's three trips short of an overdose. Wonder how the supposed drug dogs are going to react to her? I keep my gaze focused on the cement floor in front of me because everybody's still fucking staring. I imagine them all watching that video, seeing Turner put his finger in my ass, his dick in my swollen pussy. If my hands clench the wood of the bench a little tighter, who the fuck would know?
“Thanks,” I say before I lose the nerve to say it. I glance over at the asshole sitting next to me. This can't be easy, but at least it's a good test. If Turner can handle all of this crap without running off and finding a sweet little roadie to bang, then maybe we really can try this whole couple thing. “For coming with me, I mean. This blows dick, I know. And I can't help but feeling like I'm somewhat responsible. I mean, it's my manager's fault we're in this mess.”
“You can give some of the credit to Travis,” he says, the inflection in his voice changing just enough that I know he's still upset about what America told us, about the secrets, about the murder. Believing for years that your friend was simply killed in a hit and run accident and then finding out he was actually tortured to death with a vehicle is a big difference.
We both go silent for a while. Me, because I'm really fucking uncomfortable with the way the woman across from me is looking at her phone and then up at my face every five seconds. Him … I don't know, but when I look over and see real, true emotion on that son of a bitch's face, I almost kiss him. Almost. I suck in a breath and stare back at the floor.
God only knows how long later, somebody calls us in and I remove my belly button piercing last minute, handing it to Turner and moving away before he can say anything else.
My heart is pounding so hard inside my chest, I feel like Dax must be in there somewhere fucking up his kit. Goddamn it, Katie. If she'd only waited to take her vengeance out on Eric, maybe we could've done something about it. Hidden her away, got her a one way ticket out of the country, I don't know, but the last thing I ever wanted was to see this poor girl get another black mark on the record of her life. Her suffering makes mine seem inconsequential, and if there was anything I could do to save her again, I'd do it, even if it mean putting another pair of scissors in someone's throat.
I make it through the search without an issue – apparently the guy at the metal detector is a huge Amatory Riot fan – and into the waiting room beyond. One of the officers assigns me a table, and then I'm left to sit there alone and wait. I notice that the other prisoners come in first, walking freely and taking their one prison approved hug before sitting down in the chair opposite their visitor. A few minutes later, Katie comes in handcuffed, her blue eyes haunted but beautiful, her mouth slightly parted, and a freaking smile hovering around her lips.
“Naomi,” she says in a soft voice as the guard connects her cuffs to a metal ring on the table. We're not allowed the pathetic single hug that everyone else gets, apparently. So I stay seated and I just stare and wait for the fucking guard to move the hell away from us, so we can talk. “What brings you here?” Katie asks, looking small and sad, drowning in her orange jumpsuit. Her bald head gleams when the light hits it, reflecting off the few, small blonde hairs that protrude from her pale flesh.
“I … ” I sit there like an idiot, staring at my foster sister like I can heal her from the inside out with a simple gaze. She saved me from Eric. If it wasn't for her, a whole hell of a lot worse might've happened to me. And now she's taking the fall? For my crimes? I feel sick again, like I might have to make a run to the fucking nasty ass toilet down the hall. I have a bad feeling though that if I go, I might not come back. “I just wanted to see you.” I feel tears threaten, but I'll be damned if I let them fall. Katie doesn't deserve that selfishness from me. I wonder absently what America's endgame was for having me come here. She wouldn't have suggested it if she didn't expect to get something out of the deal. “And maybe … you wanted to see me?” I ask, thinking about what the woman at the front counter said. Katie approved me as a visitor, that's a good sign, right? I try not to think about the rest of it, the background check and all that. The only person I know who could've arranged that is my deranged psychopathic manager. God, how I despise feeling like a pawn in a game of chess.
Katie doesn't say anything, not right away. Instead, she folds her hands on the tabletop and looks at me from eyes so hollow, they hardly look human anymore. My mind conjures up images of her raising that piece of wood, smashing it down on Eric's skull. The look on her face when she dropped to her knees was … disturbing to say the least. It was like she was having some sort of religious epiphany. I cross my legs and rest my hands on my knees.
“Naomi, the authorities are well aware of my transgressions against humanity.” Katie says all of this with the ghost of a smile on her thin lips. I try to imagine what kind of person she might've turned into had her parents actually loved her. I can't even conjure an image up in my head. It's too far fetched, too distant from the person sitting before me. I feel bad for even thinking she was an enemy in all of this.
“Katie – ” She interrupts me, and I let her speak because I feel like it's the very least I can do.
“The authorities are aw
are of the crimes my parents committed against me. They know that I took vengeance into my own hands.” I swallow hard and curl my fingernails into my palms, drawing blood. I hate how badly I want this to happen. Does that make me the kind of person I've always hated? How selfish, how fucked up, how self-absorbed do I have to be to want this? You're just human, Naomi. You want a fresh start like everyone else. If Katie goes away, that little secret you've been carrying around won't matter anymore. You'll never be charged for murder. You can run off with Turner, have kids someday, let the pain of the abortion fade away with time. This is it. This, right here. As soon as you get Stephen out of the way, you'll have a life of your own for the very first time.
But then, I'm Naomi Isabelle Knox. I don't fuck over my friends and most especially I don't screw over one of the only people in my life that ever gave a shit about me. I have to tell the truth. I just fucking have to.
“No, Katie. We both know that's not what happened.”
Her blue eyes flash for a moment with fear before she leans across the table, looking not at me but through me. I want to hug her to my chest and tell her it'll all be okay, that I can erase the past and build a better future, but we'd both know it was bullshit.
“I killed them. I killed that dirty cop. I killed Eric.”
Katie leans back and sighs deeply, like those three harsh statements have brought her some small amount of pleasure. I grit my teeth and lean forward, feeling frustration bubble up in me.
“Katie, you could get the death penalty.”
“Not if I'm crazy,” she says, focusing her pupils on me. For the first time since she walked in here, it actually seems like she's looking at me. I sigh and slump back, rubbing my temples with my fingers. I close my eyes to get a hold of myself and try to figure out what to say. “Just tell me thank you, and walk away, Naomi Knox,” she says, like she can read my mind. “But first, I can tell you a story about Eric and Hayden. That's why you're here, isn't it?” My head snaps up, my eyes opening wide as I look at her and wonder how much she knows. “You know about Cassie, I take it?” I just stare at my sister and wait for her to continue. She sighs and adjusts her wrists, the handcuffs clinking menacingly together. I notice a few of the guards cast their attention our way. “Hayden and Eric were always into each other. You must've seen it?” I wrinkle my brow and think hard about the past. Knowing that Hayden's dead makes it seem so much more difficult to dig into the memories. How can she be dead? She's been a constant fixture in my life for-fucking-ever. Tears threaten again, and I dash them away angrily. I'm not going to cry for a woman who went out of her way to make my life miserable.
“I don't know,” I respond curtly, because I really don't. Eric was my first boyfriend, but it didn't really go anywhere. Maybe he really was into Hayden? Fuck if I know.
“After you left us,” Katie says, sending a hollow hurt blooming in my chest. After Turner and I fucked, after he left me pregnant, after I had the abortion. Seven years ago. Seven long years ago. “Hayden and Eric had a relationship.” Katie tells the story like she's an outsider looking in, like she wasn't … raped by her own brother. I keep expecting her to spit blood when she speaks that single syllable. Eric. And speaking of pregnancies … Katie hasn't mentioned hers yet. Do I bring it up? God. I'd so much rather be onstage with my Wolfgang in my arms and my shades on my face. I want to pound the stage and rip the fucking faces off the audience. I want to see them crawl to me, begging for another taste of blood, and I want to give it to them. Make them scream. Flail. I want to strip them of their humanity, and then give it all back again. That's what I want to do. All I want to fucking do. “Don't ask me specifics on the relations of demons,” she whispers, eyes getting a little more glossy, a little farther away. She really does sound crazy when she talks like that. “But they had a little side business going. I don't think Hayden knew what she was getting into, but Eric did.” My hands start so shake and I'm suddenly desperate for a hit of meth, can practically feel it thrusting into my veins. Call it a sign of weakness, a lapse in strength, whatever you want. My feet start to bounce on the floor. Hungry for a beat, an escape, I don't know.
“Lemme take a wild guess.” I lean forward and bite my lower lip. “They made some adult films together? Possibly involving some pretty kinky shit? Like, I don't know, death?” Katie sits silently, waiting for me to finish my pseudo-rant. I can't believe this. I cannot even freaking believe this.
“Eric was always sick, Naomi. There was a part of him, a good part, that wished he wasn't, but he was like my parents. He knew that then just as well as he did in his last moments. He dragged Hayden into his hell and got her stuck there. She left him, gave her child up for adoption, and started Amatory Riot with you.”
“Okay, so … where is the child now?” I think I already have the answer to my question, but I have to ask. I just have to hear her say it.
“Well,” Katie says, looking at my high heels and smiling. Her gaze travels up to the Real Ugly tattoo on my belly, the broken heart on my chest. “If I tell you this, you have to promise to keep a secret.” I'm already shaking my head.
“I don't do secrets, not anymore.”
“Not about Cassie or Hayden or Eric, but about yourself. Naomi, it doesn't matter what Eric did to me. I murdered him in plain sight and I'm done for. But you, you have possibilities.” I hate hearing Katie talk like she's ninety-five and dying of some incurable disease. She's in her twenties for fuck's sake!
“Tell me where Cassie is, and then I'll figure out who I should talk to. A lawyer or something. Hell, maybe America can represent me.”
“Naomi!” Katie screams, her voice like needles, cutting into my ears and bleeding me out on the table. “Shut your mouth and listen to me.” Katie leans forward, calming herself just enough that the guards pause on their way towards our table. I touch my fingers unconsciously to my Real Ugly tattoo. Never were truer words spoken. How else can I describe the situation we're in here? It's fucking disgusting. I hate that I'm even sitting here having this conversation. “I'll tell you what happened to Cassie and then you'll leave. You'll walk out that door and go on with your life.” I glare at her, but she just stares at me, waiting for a confirmation I guess. I can't give her one. I can't do this. “You think you're being strong for me, but you're actually weak, Naomi.” I gape at her, but she doesn't stop to let me speak. “I'm not going to have this baby, Naomi, but I can't live with myself if I murder an innocent either. Do you see where I'm coming from?” I have no clue, but my heart is ringing so loud I can't hear anything else. Murder an innocent. Don't even get started with me on that whole abortion debate bullshit – I don't care what anyone else thinks. I did what was right for me. What was right for fucking me. Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt, that hearing my sister talk like that doesn't cut me to the core. I choke on my own heart and can only pray that there's no blood running down my lips. I've only ever loved three things in my life, and none of them worked out for me.
Katie's stopped talking, so I force myself to say no in the world's quietest whisper, in a voice laden with regret but simultaneously weighed down by hope. Oh God. Things are not going to work out well for me, are they?
“I won't bear my brother's rape baby, Naomi.”
“Okay.” What else am I going to say to that?
“But I hear angels calling.”
My heartbeat picks up – didn't think that was even possible – and I actually consider flagging one of the guards. Katie has that dangerous edge to her voice again.
“Angels?” My mind flashes to Turner, to his sleeping face that night on the bus, to his blue-black hair glimmering onstage. I think I might be on the edge of a panic attack, but I'm a strong person and I fight the fuck out of those emotions, hit them back with raging fists and well-placed kicks. I won't give into this world. I refuse to let it get me down.
“Yes, angels,” Katie whispers, looking up at the fluorescent lights hanging above us. Her face has that rapturous beauty etched into it again. I feel li
ke I'm going to pass out. I start to rise from the table, fingers curling around the edges like I'm holding onto a sinking life raft.
“Who has Cassie, Katie? Who adopted her?”
“Stephen,” she says and I nearly drop to my knees on the floor. “Stephen Hammergren.”
And then suddenly there's this bit of metal in Katie's hands, gleaming bright, reflecting back the glare from above and temporarily blinding me to the reality of what's happening. Before I can stop her, she's lunging at me, swinging the knife and cutting me right across my belly, across the Real Ugly tattoo. I stumble back out of surprise and even though the cut's not that deep, the blood running down my belly and into my jeans causes me to collapse, fall right to my ass on the floor.
I look up at Katie as the guards come running, watch as she places the blade to her throat and smiles at me.
“I love you, Naomi. Enjoy the rest of your life.”
Standing above me, bald head limned in golden light, a broken angel falls from heaven in a spray of red.
“Katie!” My scream echoes around and around inside my own skull as the shard of metal slides across my sister's throat. Red spills down the front of Katie's orange jumpsuit, sprays me in the fucking face, and yet it's nothing at all like it is in the movies. It's worse. So, so, so much worse. “Katie!” I screech again because I'm effectively paralyzed. That voice I'm so proud of, the one that supposedly trumps Hayden's, that touches people's souls, it's the only weapon I have left. “Katie!”
My sister slumps forward, her wrists catching on the handcuffs until she's twirling like a ballerina and slamming into the side of the table, dangling there like a morbid fishing lure. A temptation that the world's worst predators could not resist, not until they'd damaged her irreparably. Her eyes are so faraway now, pale and empty, but her lips still smile as she gurgles and thrashes, red splattering me as I shake and tremble. In my mind, I call myself a coward for not standing up and helping Katie. In reality, I know that there's nothing I can do for her. So I lay there in a pool of warm blood and accept the world's most precious gift. Life. But is a life bathed in death and pain really worth anything at all?
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