Page 35 of Little Twisted Things

“Hi, sweetheart. Miss me yet?”

“Of course, I do. How was the conference?”

“It was great. I’ll be driving back tomorrow morning. Don’t make any plans for tomorrow night. You’re all mine.”

“I don’t have any plans,” I said.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I slipped my phone into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and pulled down the street, where there weren’t any cameras from Bart’s office building. I removed my license plate and put a fake one on just in case. Bart’s SUV was the only one in the parking lot. Everyone else had left for the night.

I broke into his car and crouched down in the back seat. Glancing at my watch, he should be leaving any minute to make it to Celia’s house by nine o’clock. I waited. Watched. He exited the building, locking the door behind him with his key. He climbed into the car and tossed his briefcase on the seat next to him. After he drove for a couple of miles, I revealed myself.

“Hello, Bart. I need you to pull over.” I held the large knife to his throat from behind.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“Just do as I say, and I won’t hurt you,” I lied.

“Who are you?”

“Pull over, Bart.”

He pulled the SUV over. “What is going on?”

I plunged the syringe into the side of his neck. “Sweet death, Bart,” I whispered.

18

The Last Chapter Killer

I carried her into the house and took her to my secret room, chaining her to the wall before she woke. I’d studied her for weeks. Gained her trust. She told me things she’d never told anyone before. They always did. Perhaps it was my charm. Or my understanding. Who the hell knew.

My first was when I was sixteen. A young girl from school. A bright girl. Almost a genius. Her path was set until she hooked up with a guy who led her down a bad road. I couldn’t let that happen. Her story needed to end the way people knew her. Not the person she’d become in a matter of time. Her last chapter needed to be written before it was too late.

Father was a drunk and an emotional abuser. He told me repeatedly that I was invisible and that I’d never be remembered in this world. He called me a loser. He told me I was weak, and that nobody would ever love someone like me. He also told me that I was a disappointment, and he wished I wasn’t his son. Once he was finished with me, he’d move on to my mother. He called her every name in the book, degraded her, dehumanized her. But she would never leave him. It gave him pleasure to torture us with his words until one night, when I was ten years old, he slumped over the kitchen table and into the plate of food my mother had prepared. I knew what she had done. I’d seen the poison under the sink.

“Mom, what did you do?”

“I had no choice, honey.” She reached over and smoothed my hair. “The longer something goes on, the more likely it is to lose what made it beautiful. Your father was a wonderful man once. He wasn’t the monster you knew. He was beautiful, kind, and caring. Until the alcohol took over. That’s the problem with people today. Happiness is temporary. Marriages end. Friendships fade. Nothing stays beautiful forever.”

“Won’t you miss him?” I asked.

“I’ll miss the man he was. Not the one he became. I will never love again, my son,” she said, walking over to my father and sitting him upright in the chair. She placed the napkin on his lap and placed the fork he’d dropped back in his hand. She took his glass and the bottle of bourbon from the table and tossed them into the trash. “There. That’s the man I used to know.” She straightened the dinner plate in front of him. “This is his last chapter,” she quietly spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes people stay long after they’ve stopped being who they once were,” she said. “Come on,” she held out her hand, “let’s get you ready for bed.”

I glanced over my shoulder as my mother led me out of the kitchen. My father remained at the table, exactly the way my mother had arranged him. She took out my pajamas from the dresser drawer and laid them out on the bed.

“People need to be remembered for who they were, my son. Not the person they’d become after making terrible decisions. Endings always disappoint people in the worst ways. Seeing your father like that at the table reminded me of who he once was. It’s all in the arrangement, my beautiful boy. One day, you’ll understand that.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I’ll need your help with that.” She smiled, taking hold of my hand.