by Frankie Love
She struggles, but my grip is tight.
She struggles, but loses the fight.
Her body going limp in my hands, I pull my cock from her still-wet pussy.
I told her I’d fuck her until she forgot to breathe.
I wasn’t lying.
When I decide to do something, I fucking mean it.
8
Luke
The night is filled with fitful sleep, and I don't get a lot of rest. Nightmares plague me with images of my sister.
I don't like thinking about Julie. Not because I'm resentful for being sent to jail but because it hurts like hell. A single thought about her makes me hurt. A single memory of her pretty smile, her feminine laugh, makes me break.
So the only time I see her is in my dreams. And every time, they're nightmares.
I try to save her but I'm too late. I try to breathe life into her unmoving body. Too late. I try to catch her killer, a cloudy figure I don't know. See the news reports on the killer being found and killed. Another murder, another mystery. Who would take revenge on Julie's murderer if not me?
That's a question I might never get the answer to.
I toss and turn all night. The few moments of sleep I actually get are soon interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.
I stir awake, and the rapping continues.
A glance at my bedside clock tells me it's early morning. I get up with a groan and head downstairs, pulling my shirt on over my head.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I say to the relentless knocker, and open the front door. "What's going on?"
I come face to face with two police officers. Sheldon and Bates, I know them both personally since they work with my father.
Especially Bates, who was the one to arrest me the night Julie's murderer died.
"What's going on?" I repeat when neither answers me. They're wearing odd expressions, staring at the floor instead of meeting my eyes. "Is something the matter? Is it Chris?"
My heart pounds and I need to know. If it's my brother... Jesus, I can't lose another family member. “Your father needs to see you at the station," Sheldon mutters.
"What's this about?" I ask. "You need to tell me. If my brother got fucking hurt..."
"He's fine," Bates says calmly. "Come on, Luke. We need to get you to the station."
"You need to tell me what's going on," I interrupt. "Am I being arrested or is this some fucked up joke you're playing? Bates?"
He won't meet my eyes. "Please go with us willingly," he says. "Otherwise we have the means to get you there... in different ways."
"Jesus," I say through gritted teeth. I want to punch him square in the face, but I hold back and nod. "Let's go, then."
The ride to the station is excruciatingly slow. Once we finally arrive, the memories from a few short years ago play out in front of my eyes.
Being arrested, sent to jail. It’s too much. Sheldon and Bates walk with me into the station, and take me into the interrogation room. Sheldon fidgets nervously in the corner while Bates goes to fetch my father.
"Last time they at least offered me coffee," I say. "Especially at this ungodly hour."
"I'm sorry, Sir," Sheldon says nervously. "I mean, Luke. I mean...fuck."
"Calm down," I say. "Just tell me what's going on."
"Wait for your father," he manages to reply, just as Bates and Dad walk into the interrogation room.
"Dad," I bite out. "What the fuck is all of this about? What's going on?"
He sits in front of me, straightening his tie and refusing to meet my eyes. And then the truth finally comes out.
"Last night, Stacy was murdered. She was found at the Halloween party you were attending with your brother and Hayley."
"What?" I just stare at him as my heart pounds in my chest. This can't be fucking happening. This can't happen again, God, please fucking stop it.
"She was murdered," Dad repeats. "Found strangled."
"But I..." I just stare at him, stare and stare. It can't be true. She was bursting with life last night. Pissed off and drunk, but alive. She can't just be gone. "I saw her last night."
"That's why you're here," my father responds in a clipped tone. "We have a few questions."
"You think I did this?" I ask. "You think it was me." The second statement is quieter, resigned. My father thinks I'm a fucking murderer.
"Do you have an alibi?" he asks calmly.
"Yeah," I say out loud, feeling broken as fuck. "I... I was with Hayley. I walked her home last night."
"And is she willing to corroborate this... story?" Dad gives me a cold look and I barely manage to hold back. I want to punch him.
"Why don't you do your fucking job and call her," I grit out, and his hands tremble. I can tell he wants to hurt me too. But he already has, beyond compare. The fact that he thinks I'd hurt Stacy speaks volumes.
Instead of replying, my father gets up and consults with Bates while Sheldon and I stare at them. Finally, he nods, and they both head out of the room. I'm left with a nervous, twitchy Sheldon and my own guilty conscience.
I could've stopped this.
If we'd found Stacy last night, we could've saved her.
But she could've been dead by that time, a small voice in the back of my head tells me. Maybe she was fucking dead already.
I feel like I'm going to be sick, and I retch violently, but nothing comes out. Sheldon gets me a cup of water, apologizing for it not being real glass, because they can't give a weapon like that to me, can they?
I wait in that interrogation room for fucking ages, until Bates finally shows up and lets me know I'm free to go—for now.
"What happened?" I ask him roughly. He refuses to meet my eyes.
"Hayley told us you were with her," he says. "For now, there is no more evidence against you and you are free to go."
"For now," I repeat bitterly.
Bates gives me a long look, saying, "Don't leave the state."
I snarl at him, but manage to hold myself back. I leave that fucking room and Sheldon shows me out, even though I could walk that path with my eyes closed.
I find Hayley in the waiting area, her eyes red-rimmed and her bottom lip quivering as her gaze meets mine.
"Hay," I mutter, and she jumps up, right into my arms.
"It's awful," she whispers. "So damn awful, I can't believe this."
"I know," I say into her hair. "I know, baby, it's horrible."
"Does Chris know?" She pulls back a little, sniffling. “I’m not sure," I reply. "No one told me any details. Can we get out of here?"
"Yeah," she replies quickly. "I drove over. Let me take you home. It's the least I can do."
I feel the eyes of every fucking person in that room as we head outside, and I know what they're thinking.
He did it again.
He killed again.
He was jealous of his brother and he took another life.
Once a criminal, always a criminal.
I breathe in the fresh morning air and hope it clears my damn head. The reality still hasn't sunk in, and I can't believe she's gone, just like that. Another life taken.
Hayley shows me to her car silently and we climb in. The ride is about ten minutes, but we're quiet for the first part of it. There's nothing to fucking say. Stacy is gone.
"We need to find out who did this," Hayley finally says, her tone heated. "We can't let them get away. Not like what happened with your... case."
I stare at the road ahead of us. I've got no idea what to tell her. Who the fuck could've killed Stacy? She was popular enough in town, and save for some petty bullshit with other women, she never had an enemy.
"Okay," I reply quietly. "I want to."
"You want to what?" Hay asks.
"I want to get to the bottom of this," I say, slamming a fist on her dashboard. Hayley jumps in the driver's seat, and I regret scaring her.
God, maybe everyone's right. I'm a fucking savage.
Maybe I wasn't before, but prison sure as he
ll turned me into one.
"Okay," she says. "Let's do it."
I give her a doubtful look. "Just us?"
"Yeah," she says, tears welling in her eyes. She blinks them away and bites her bottom lip hard, trying to focus on the road. "And Chris, if he'll help us. We need to find out what happened. We need to bring Stacy's murderer to justice."
I ponder her words, but finally nod.
"If the fucking police in this town can’t do their job, we'll have to do it for them."
9
Hayley
By the time we pull up to my place, it’s mid-morning. As we step from the car, into the gravel driveway, the air is crisp. Not crisp like fall; it seems that in the space of a day the seasons have changed. October is gone; winter has set.
Everything feels cold, weighted.
I reach for Luke’s hand, wanting to steady him. Even if I am small and slight in stature, in other ways I am strong. I can hold his hand; I’ve always wanted to carry his heart.
Today though, he can unload his burdens and I can help find a place for them to rest.
"Are you hungry?" I ask when we step into Gram’s house. I turn on the lights, reach for the thermostat. It’s freezing in here.
"Always trying to feed people, Hayley Adams."
"It’s what I do," I tell him, reaching in the fridge for leftovers. "Too early for lunch?"
"Never."
Setting the container of enchiladas in the microwave, I turn back to Luke. "I can’t believe Stacy is gone."
"I know." Luke runs his hands over his face. "It’s too much, right? All I kept thinking as I sat there in the fucking holding cell was that my life is on auto-repeat. On a fucking track I need to get the hell off of. But I swear to god, I’ll keep spinning with a target on my back, as long as the person who murdered Julie’s killer is out there. Free."
The microwave beeps and I hand Luke a plate of food, a well-deserved beer, and a napkin. I want to take care of him. I want to fix this for him. For Stacy. For all of us.
"Do you have anything to go off of? I mean, the night Julie died … do you remember anything?"
Luke picks up his fork but then drops it, as if losing his appetite. Instead he drinks half his beer in one long drink. "I remembered, before she died, how she kept mentioning this guy who was bothering her. Someone she used to date. I don’t know if I’d call it stalking, exactly, but it was enough that she told our dad about it. He brushed her off. But she told me one weekend when I was home from college, and so of course I wanted to see what kind of creeper he was."
"Was he the man who killed her?"
Luke’s jaw tenses, he nods tightly. "I had all this evidence on him after she died, right? Like, I knew he’d been following her, had been calling. I quit school, moved home, and was like, not letting it drop. I became obsessed."
Luke’s eyes get dark, and for a moment I forget that this man across the table from me is Luke Barton. The boy who taught me to play cards with a poker face. The boy who became a man and who right now, I can’t read at all.
Anger flashes across him, and I reach across the table, wanting him to know that even if his world has fractured into a thousand pieces, some parts haven’t broken. Some parts are still intact.
"Listen," he says, subdued. "I know it sounds bad, like I was on a manhunt. And hell, the truth is, I was. I found letters in Julie’s backpack that he’d given her. I broke into his house and found photographs of her he’d taken. I knew it was him."
"What happened?" I swallow, realizing that fuck, Luke really did know the whole story. And the fact that he was charged with the murder makes sense. He wasn’t just obsessed, he was a vigilante, looking for justice.
If he told me, right now, that yes, he had killed this man, I wouldn’t pull my hand away. Maybe that makes me twisted, wanting this fantasy I’ve played out in my head a hundred times, the fantasy where Luke and I end up together, to be true.
But I don’t think I’m twisted or crazy or mad. I think I see Luke’s love. His relentless desire to bury his sister with the grace and dignity she deserved. Some may think he’s a killer, a big bad wolf, but he’s not. He is a man who knows right from wrong, a man who started off as a charmed boy but became hardened by the truth.
Life isn’t all dreams and wishes. There isn’t magic that can bring back to life a dead sister and dead a friend. There isn’t magic that can take away two years spent in prison for a crime you never committed.
"Isn’t it a good thing though, that this guy was murdered? I mean, people love that show Dexter, and he goes around killing for justice."
Luke shakes his head. "Hayley, this isn’t a television show. This is real. Do you feel safe knowing some killer is on the loose, taking justice into his own hands? Because I sure as fuck don’t."
"I get that, I mean, it does make me feel uneasy being here in Willow Creek. Stacy was no criminal … which means the strangler has stopped killing for justice and starting killing to keep their identity safe."
"A killer is a killer, right? But this is more than that now."
I swallow. "So what happened after you had all that evidence? What did you do with it?"
"I was going to go kill him. I had it all planned out." He swallows, his Adam’s apple moving, his hand tight around my fingers. "Look, Hay, I know it’s been a long time, you left town and all this shit happened. And I’m not trying to drag you into a story you don’t want to have any part in."
I shake my head, staring at our entwined hands, our arms stretched across the table. "I want to be here. In this." I look up at him, his bright eyes locked on mine. "I want to be in this with you."
He nods. "I got out of prison, you know, and the shit that went down in there, it was fucking insane. It messed with me. Like, I became this man I don’t even know. It changed me, Hay. I’m not the same boy you used to know."
"I’m not the same girl either." My mouth parts, wanting to put words to the ways I’ve changed. "For so long I wanted to go, be anything but a girl from Willow Creek. I thought I wanted to be a fancy chef, but it was too stressful, working in those kitchens in New York. And then I went to school and learned all these complicated French techniques."
"But that wasn’t you, was it?"
"I just wanted to make pies with flaky crusts and blueberry muffins as big as your hand. Food that made people feel good, smile. I wasn’t happy with my life, but I didn’t have a way out. But then Gram died and it was crystal clear. All I wanted in the world was to come back. Come home."
"This place isn’t just somewhere you’re stopping by for a while?" Luke asks. "Willow Creek is home to you?”
"It could be." Tears prick my eyes again. "I haven’t even been back a week though, and it seems like nothing is as it was. And then Stacy dying…." I stifle a sob, covering my face with my hands.
"Hey, girl, shh," Luke says, getting up and pulling me to stand too. Wrapping his arms around me, I sink against his chest, breathing him in. Sawdust and pine trees and free air. Familiar smells that ground me. "It’s okay, Hay." Luke smooths my hair as tears streak my face.
"I’m so confused. Did you kill him, Luke?"
"No." His voice is firm, steady. "I would have, I really would have. But my dad was onto me. He stopped me before I could do anything that would change the course of my life." Luke laughs sharply and I pull him closer to me, and when he speaks again, it’s softer, as if my body against his erases some of the bitter pills he’s swallowed. "He took the evidence, said it wasn’t mine to keep, that the Sheriff’s department needed it."
I look up at him, believing Luke wasn’t the killer, but confused as to who was. "What happened then, after that?"
"He was found murdered down by the creek, a few days later. I was the only suspect. I think Dad still believes I did it. He knew I was ready to go after the guy. Fuck, it sounds terrible, right? It’s messed up. I’m glad my lawyers got me off, but a judge clearing my name doesn’t mean Willow Creek sees me as anything but a murderer."
"You wanna go on a manhunt?" Luke shakes his head. "Hay, you’re a good person to care that much, but you’re too good, too innocent to get mixed up in this mess."
I lick my lips. "You’re wrong about my innocence. You, out of anyone, should know that."
Luke blinks in slow motion. He remembers. He remembers everything. The way he pulled off my red cloak. The way he pushed up my little blue dress, tugged down my panties, revealing a pussy that was bare and wet and his for the taking. A pussy that was pure and untouched and willing to be had. He remembers running his tongue over the length of my cunt, with my legs spread, his head between my thighs, drinking up everything I had to offer.
He remembers.
I want him to take it again.
Take me.
"Stacy was strangled to death last night, Hayley." Luke’s words bring me back to reality.
How easy it is to slip away; me into a fantasy, a killer into the dark of the night.
He steps away from me. "We can’t. Not like this."
I nod sharply, embarrassed at the thoughts clouding my mind.
"I know." I step away, too. Exhaling, I press my hands against his chest. "You’re totally right."
He grabs hold of my wrists. "It doesn’t mean I don’t want you." He pushes me backward, against a wall, pinning my wrists above my head. His cock is strained between us, his chest pressed against me. "It doesn’t mean I won’t have you."
My eyes flutter. My breasts heave. The back of my mouth burns, longing to have his cock hitting it hard as I suck him off. Longing for him to come in my mouth, coating my throat as I swallow everything that makes him a man.
"When?" I ask, practically begging him to pull my thighs around him, to press his length in my dripping pussy right now.
"Soon." His breath is hot in my ear, and I melt into the wall. He steps away then, not playing any games. He said we would wait and he means it. "After Stacy is buried. But not before, Hayley."