by B. B. Hamel
We sat there for a while. He moved his truck twice, parking in different spots, but always with a view of the front doors. As the night wore on, fewer patients showed up, until the cars cleared out and the nursing staff began to leave. Dr. Silver didn’t show himself for an hour after closing, but he finally stepped onto the sidewalk wearing scrubs and a jacket, his hands shoved in his pockets, and walked toward a shiny BMW.
“Here we go,” Jarrod said, hunger in his voice.
That should’ve freaked me out. He was too excited for what was about to happen. A normal person would’ve been scared and nervous, but Jarrod seemed like he was more alive than he ever had been before—animated, engaged, and ecstatic.
We followed him. Jarrod was good at it. He kept a car behind at all times as we navigated to the nicer part of town. The houses were all massive and spread apart, and Dr. Silver lived down a long, tree-covered driveway.
I’d been there before. His house was a palace: white walls, columns, big-ass porch, gorgeous swimming pool in the back, everything you could imagine. He was a bachelor, had no kids, no girlfriend, and a single yellow Labrador.
Jarrod rolled past the driveway slowly but didn’t go down it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“We’ll have to get a look at the house, but it’s secluded. I’m guessing he’s got security and cameras all over.”
“Probably, yeah.” I twisted the hem of my sweater. I hadn’t thought about that.
“The dog’ll be a problem, but I can deal with it. The cameras will be worse.”
“Can we, like, cut the power?”
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t matter. They’re probably on batteries too.”
“So what then? We kill him somewhere else?”
“Give me time. I’ll come up with something.”
I crossed my arms and went quiet as he drove us back home.
I’d thought about this a thousand times, and yet now that we were making serious moves toward ending the bastard’s life, I realized how much of my daydreaming was just pure fantasy.
Jarrod was all practicalities.
My plan was to break into Dr. Silver’s house one night, shoot the dog, then shoot him as he came downstairs to find out what was happening.
But there were so many ways that could go wrong, and I had no exit plan, and no way to keep myself out of jail.
Jarrod wanted to do this, but he also wanted to make sure we didn’t get caught.
It was strange. From my perspective, there was no life beyond this killing. In my mind, this would be my last act: I’d get retribution for me and my brother and all of Dr. Silver’s other victims, and then there’d be nothing else.
I couldn’t conceive of an existence without revenge.
Jarrod was thinking long-term.
It should’ve freaked me out how easily he took to this task.
But I didn’t give a damn.
So long as I got what I wanted.
Jarrod could have me afterward. There’d be nothing left, anyway.
He’d get a shell, an empty vessel.
The thought of him pumping his thick cock inside of me sent another jolt of excitement between my legs, and I wondered—
If we made it, what would happen to me?
After fucking Jarrod.
Would I always want more?
8
Cora
Music blared from my little brother’s room. Sam liked to play his emo goth death metal as loud as he could, mostly to drown out my parents fighting and to piss them off as much as possible.
Tonight, it was mostly the latter.
“Sam! Turn it down!” Dad’s voice echoed up the steps. “Don’t make me come up there.”
It was an empty threat and he knew it. Dad never did anything beyond yell. That was the way in my house: plenty of anger, plenty of shouting, but it never escalated.
We were a nice, middle-class, suburban family.
Dad was a lawyer. Not one of those big, rich, fancy corporate lawyers, as he liked to constantly remind me, but he still did pretty well for himself. Mom worked a variety of odd jobs, from paralegal to court stenographer. She was smart, but she didn’t go to college, and I always wondered if that bothered her.
They were ecstatic when I got into Blackwoods. Dad promised I wouldn’t have to worry about money—even though I ended up taking out a few small loans anyway. Living at home helped a lot financially, which was how I could swing it at all, plus the scholarship helped.
Mostly I was lucky. From the outside, my life was idyllic: comfortable, clean, and easy.
But from the outside, anything could seem amazing.
That was one of the first things my generation learned. Instagram taught me that young—anyone could seem happy and wealthy and beautiful if you didn’t look too closely.
That was the Boyle family. We were the American Dream, the nuclear family, the white picket fence.
Of course, everything was rotten. Beneath that nice, happy veneer, my household was a simmering pit of despair and ennui, barely held together with my dad’s salary and my mom’s fervent desire to avoid conflict at all costs.
I slipped out into the hall as my dad shouted up again and knocked on Sam’s door. The music turned down and he answered. “What’s up, big sis?”
“Not much, little bro. Dad’s yelling at you again.”
“Oh, yeah?” He squinted past me. “He come up here yet to punish me?”
“Not yet, but I think he might do it this time.”
He snorted. “I’d love to see the day.”
I would too—at least then my parents would show their true colors instead of hiding behind their false sense of security.
They pretended like everything was okay, but Sam and I, we knew better.
“Can I come in?”
He stepped aside. I walked into his messy boy bedroom. Teenagers were genuinely the worst, and Sam was no exception. Clothes littered the floor and junk food, empty soda cans, and what looked like a used bong cluttered his desk. He had his laptop open to a videogame I didn’t recognize, something with cars in a futuristic-looking massive soccer field, and his phone was mindlessly looping a TikTok video.
He flopped down on his bed and I stood near his dresser. “How’s school going?”
“Not bad. The usual.”
“You haven’t been going out lately.”
He shrugged, not meeting my gaze. “Not much has been going on.”
“That’s not true. I heard Chris Horgan had a party last weekend. Did you go?”
“Nah, wasn’t invited.”
I sighed and tugged at my hair. “Come on, that’s not true. You and Chris are friends. He doesn’t need to invite you, but I’m sure he did anyway.”
Sam clicked away at his laptop. His car flew across a field and tried to smash into a ball, aiming to bash it into the opposing team’s net. I had to admit, it looked really fun, if incredibly weird.
“What do you want me to say? I didn’t go, it’s not a big deal.”
For any other kid, that would probably be true, but Sam was as outgoing and type-A as it went. He thrived on social interactions and loved being around people, and whenever he pulled away and hid in his room blasting awful music, I knew something was going on.
He’d struggled with mental health problems since we were little kids. I didn’t have proof, but I was convinced that it all stemmed from what happened to him with Dr. Silver. I tried to convince him to see a therapist more than once, since I figured a professional might be able to help him deal with his traumatic experience, but he always refused. I’m fine, big sis, seriously, the past is the past, you can let it go too, you know.
He wasn’t wrong but I chose not to look at myself too closely. I didn’t like being a hypocrite.
I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He still wouldn’t look at me.
“If you’re depressed—”
“I’m not depressed.”
“Sam—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not depressed.”
I chewed on my lip and looked around. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between a depressed person’s sadness mess and a regular teenage boy’s normal existence, but I was pretty sure it’d gotten worse in the last few weeks.
“All right, look, I’m not going to fight with you. I’m just here to say, I love you, and if you need someone to talk to, I’m around.”
“I appreciate that, big sis.” He flashed me his charming smile. My little brother was going to break so many hearts—and probably had already. “But really, I’m cool, promise.”
I patted his leg and stood. That was about as close as we got to hugging. My family wasn’t a touchy-feely group and we preferred to be as emotionally distant as possible.
Which didn’t help a damn thing, but whatever.
I left his room and headed back into my own. As I sat down in my bed, my burner phone vibrated. I grabbed it, heart suddenly racing.
Jarrod: I think I’ve got an idea.
Cora: Yeah? About what?
Jarrod: How to deal with our problem. We should meet and talk.
I tapped my fingertip against my headboard. The look on Calvin’s face drifted back and I shuddered. He seemed so angry that I was spending time with Jarrod, almost if he knew what we were planning.
But that wasn’t possible, was it?
I knew the Horsemen were close. Jarrod, Calvin, Addler, and Des were best friends and ruled the campus with an iron fist. And yet Jarrod couldn’t have been stupid enough to mention what we were doing to any of them.
Cora: Aren’t people going to get suspicious when we start spending a lot of time together?
Jarrod: Fuck people.
Cora: People talk. We’re trying to keep low key, right?
Jarrod: You’re my tutor.
Cora: And what do I tell Robyn when she asks what I’m tutoring you in?
Jarrod: Tell her is for sex ed.
Cora: You’re funny. But I’m being serious.
Jarrod: I’m not joking. Tell her we’re fucking. I don’t care.
Cora: How’s that gonna go over with your little friend group?? And you think Robyn’s going to be fine with me sleeping with her cousin???
Jarrod: Fucking. Not sleeping with. Fucking. Get it right, freak.
Cora: You know what I mean. That’s not a realistic thing.
Jarrod: I don’t care what Addler and them think. They’ve got their own damn skeletons to worry about, they don’t need to worry about mine.
Cora: I’m not sure that’s how it works.
I debated whether I should tell him about Calvin or not, but decided against it. Maybe I was being selfish, or maybe I was trying to protect him, but for some reason as soon as I typed up the message, I deleted it instead.
He didn’t need to know. Whatever Calvin thought was going on didn’t matter. He probably figured Jarrod was sleeping with me, and maybe he worried I was going to break Jarrod’s heart—if that was even possible.
I needed Jarrod. I couldn’t kill Dr. Silver on my own. That’d become painfully clear ever since Jarrod took over this whole enterprise and made me realize just how completely unprepared I actually was. If I told Jarrod and that spooked him, then I’d be back where I was, living in a purgatory of my own creation, pining for the death of a monster that looked like he’d never be punished.
I couldn’t risk that. Not for me and not for his future victims.
Instead, I typed—
Cora: Whatever, it’s your call.
Jarrod: If you’re so worried, we’ll meet somewhere else this time. How about I pick you up?
Cora: From where?
Jarrod: Your house. You do have one of those, right?
Cora: Ha ha ha. Yes, I have a house. You do realize my parents will probably be here, right?
Jarrod: Parents love me. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight.
I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. Jarrod Hale at my actual house?
The world was coming to an end.
Cora: See you then.
I tossed my phone aside and stared at the ceiling.
What did it mean to murder a monster? Did that make me just as bad?
No—definitely not.
This was happening. Jarrod was taking it more seriously than I ever did, and my fantasy was becoming a reality. I took that first irreversible step and brought Jarrod into my darkness, and now we were going to tumble down the abyss together.
I was terrified and elated and I wondered if this would change anything at all.
I’d sustained myself with my hatred for that bastard for years, and with him dead, I wouldn’t have anything left.
It really was a one-way ticket for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut. My guts clenched. I was afraid—I couldn’t pretend otherwise. And still I wanted to keep going despite the tremor in my hands and the horror that sat in the base of my spine like a demon.
A knock at my door pulled me from bed. Irrationally, I thought it might be Jarrod.
Sam stood looking nervous, not meeting my eye. “Uh, this is weird, but, uh, does that offer to talk still stand?”
I felt my ice-cold innards melt, and a strange spring warmth rushed up along my prickling skin. “Come on in, little bro.”
He smiled and stepped into my room. “I’m not saying I’m depressed, but maybe things have felt really hard lately and I don’t know why.”
I patted my bed. He walked over and sat down awkwardly. God, my little brother was becoming an adult.
“Tell me about it.”
He launched into his feelings, barely able to look up, and the more he spoke, the more my jitters dissipated. As I listened to him talk about finding it hard to wake up in the morning and fighting with himself constantly, to the constant feelings of uncontrollable sadness and stupid self-hatred, I knew that watching Dr. Silver was the right thing to do.
I’d pull the trigger myself if I could.
Sam was a good person. He was outgoing and kind and a delight to the world—but Dr. Silver took something from him all those years ago and now Sam still lingered in that past trauma.
He never mentioned it, but we both knew. It was always there, unspoken.
I listened and talked with him and when he finally left my room looking slightly better, promising to clean up his own pigsty as he shuffled into the hall, I felt a renewed sense of divine righteousness.
Jarrod was place in my path for a reason. By who or what, I didn’t know, and didn’t care.
Dr. Silver was going to die for what he did to me and my brother.
I gripped the burner phone and took several long, steadying breaths, feeling more justified in my convictions with each passing moment.
9
Jarrod
I pulled up to Cora’s place and parked out front.
She had a nice little house. Red door, gray shutters, white siding. Lawn was cut, bushes were trimmed. It was tidy and organized and comfortable.
This was what I used to want.
When I was younger, I’d stare out the window of my bedroom and watch the trees blow in the breeze. I’d dream about the other houses in our area—the nice, comfortable, warm, loving little houses, so different from the one I was trapped in with my aunt and uncle. I wanted suburban perfection, or as close to perfection as I could possibly get, in contrast to the nightmare I found myself in most days.
Robyn never talked much about the abuse. She was grateful when I diverted her dad’s attention onto myself, which wasn’t all that hard, but she didn’t go into details about what all the pain did to her.
And I never asked. I wanted to try to pretend like I had something good in my life, like Robyn was still pristine, unbroken.
I was lying. I knew it. She was as fucked up as I was, though she was much better at hiding.
I gripped the steering wheel. Cora’s family seemed nice, but I knew image meant absolutely nothing.
I got out and
knocked on the door. Her father answered—a skinny guy with a dark mustache and a deep frown. “Jarrod Hale?”
I nodded. “Here for Cora, sir.”
“Come inside.”
Their place was exactly what I imagined—nice. Nondescript art hung on the walls, nothing too flashy, but nothing too cheap. Their life was put in its place, with shoes on a rack, keys hanging on a peg, and all their chargers wrapped up in rubber bands. I lingered in the entryway as Cora came downstairs and frowned at her dad.
“I won’t be too late,” she said.
“What’s this all about then?” Her dad put on a big smile, narrowing his eyes at me then at her. “Are you two going on a date?”
Cora visibly cringed. “Dad, I’m twenty. If I wanted to date him, I would, but I’m just his tutor.”
“Need better grades to stay on the football team and practice ran late.” I shrugged like, what can you do?
Her dad seemed mollified though. “Be careful and be home by eleven.”
Cora didn’t answer. She stalked out the door. I shot her dad a winning smile and gave him a thumbs-up before following.
I shut the door. “What a prick.”
She snorted. “He’s not so bad.”
“That protective father routine is a little ridiculous though.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s definitely true. He’s never done that before.”
“Bet you never had a guy like me picking you up.”
She glanced at my face with a hooded expression and wrapped her jacket tighter around her body. “Where are you taking me?”
So she ignored the comment. Very interesting.
“I want to show you what I’m thinking.” I got in the truck and started the engine. “If you’re having second thoughts, now’s the time to voice them.”
She put on her seatbelt. “Why, are we going through with it tonight?”
“No, but we’re taking a big step, so speak now or forever hold your peace.”
She stared out the windshield. “Drive.”
“Good girl. I knew you were a freak.” I pulled out and headed toward Dr. Silver’s house.
We didn’t talk on the way. I didn’t know what she was thinking, though I wished I could peel her skull apart and read her brain like a book. I parked the truck on a nondescript dark neighborhood street and climbed out with Cora on my heels looking around like she didn’t understand where the hell we were.