Joshua

Molly’s not at the apartment when I arrive. I texted her, letting her know I was heading to our place, but she said she was still with Dean and the Realtor looking at the house.

Stepping inside, I see my suitcase in the middle of the room. Hers is open but not unpacked. The bed is unmade and a half-empty glass of wine is sitting beside the kitchen sink. It’s comforting to see the signs of her here. After going through this with dad, the feelings I only just acknowledged in New Orleans feel stronger than ever.

First things first. I go to the closet and try to remember where the fuck I put those trust documents. Dad rewrote his will and reworked everything right after Mom died.

I think it was his version of being able to control something.

We both had the rug pulled out from under us that year, and we’ve never fully recovered.

Feeling around in the back of the space, my fingers detect the corners of a case. Grabbing hold, I drag it out into the light only to be confused by this small piece of luggage I’ve never seen before.

Is it Molly’s? I’ve never seen her with it.

Placing it on the table, I locate a push-button that releases a cushion lock. The top opens slowly, and light gleams off the gold links of a necklace arranged neatly on black velvet. I have seen this before. Molly’s worn it once or twice, but never when we were together.

I lift it carefully, and it’s surprisingly light. It’s bright yellow-gold, which makes me think it must be twenty-four karat. So few jewelers use twenty-four karat gold, it’s easy to forget how yellow it is in the light.

A lump is under the velvet, and I move the cushion aside to see the edge of that pink gun. My lips tighten, and I realize this is Molly’s personal case.

I’m not into invading her privacy.

Shoving the gun under the velvet, I put the necklace around it again. Just as I’m closing the lid, I notice a slip of paper has fallen out. I bend down to pick it up, and it opens easily. It’s old and yellowed, and the handwriting looks like it was done by different people or in different times.

The writing at the top is like a young girl’s. It’s swirly and the vowels are rounded and larger. It’s a list of some kind, and while I’m not interested in reading it, it’s so short, I can’t help seeing what it says.

The final names are not a childish script. The handwriting is mature and recognizably Molly’s. The ink is even fresh.

For several minutes, I stand, reading and rereading the list, trying to understand what it means… If it means what I think it means…

What the fuck is this?

I recognize the name Gavin Hudson, of course. LH is in parentheses beside it… Is that Lara Hale?

Lara shot Gavin dead.

Did this Lewis Rain have a fatal heart attack?

I’m having difficulty swallowing as I zero in on the letters following Robert Esterhaus and Dennis Langley. The name Esterhaus was written a while ago judging by the handwriting, but Langley… and Reese Landry? These names are fresh.

Dennis Langley was recently crossed out.

MD is Molly Dixon.

I drop heavily into a chair and try to force my brain to start working again.

The apartment is so quiet, I can hear a drop of water falling in the sink. I can hear cars passing on the street below. This is Molly’s black case, gold chain, and gun… and her list of names.

I force my lungs to breathe as a thought enters my mind. Who are you?

Have I been sleeping with a serial killer?

For a while, I can’t seem to get my brain to focus. I can’t move from this seat. I think of the man in the bar in New Orleans. Is he Reese Landry? Is he a potential victim?

Am I?

I reject that thought immediately. We’ve been together too long for it to make sense. If she were going to hurt me…

She already has.

For the second time since this girl has entered my life, I’ve learned something horrible about someone I considered a friend. First it was Gavin, now Molly.

Should I call the police?

No.

Should I force her to see a mental health professional?

Maybe…

“God!” I shout, my stomach churning and my fists tight.

What’s so fucked up is I fucking know how she’s feeling. I understand the rage that would drive her to make this list, to find who I’m confident, based on what I know, are the men who hurt her.

When we found out what happened to my mom, it was all I could do to not go on a rampage of my own. I drowned my fury in alcohol and drugs and going out and raves and sleeping with girls I didn’t care about… And anything.

Anything.

I would have done anything to make the pain stop.

Would I have been brave enough to do this?

I think of the cutting and the story she told me. My feelings are chaotic. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Taking out my phone, I send her a text.

I hesitate over that last word, unsure if home is what I want to say. Fuck it. I hit send. Her reply comes almost immediately.

* * *

Molly

Joshua’s at the apartment. My heart jumps, and I pick up the pace, thinking about what Dean said, thinking about how I want to hold him, comfort him. I can’t imagine him losing his mom that way, being lost and alone.

In that instant I decide never to tell him what I’ve done. It would be selfish. It’s not going to change anything, and it could only potentially hurt him. My secret identity is best left a secret. Until I don’t need it anymore.

Again, my phone buzzes, and I pull it out. It’s a text from an unknown number.

I call back at once. Stas’s accented voice answers on the first ring. “I’m sorry we didn’t say goodbye before you left.”

“Me too.” I’m reassured speaking to my old mentor. “His father had a massive heart attack, but I’m sure you know.”

“I know, Myshka. Will he be okay?”

“I think so. I’m headed to find out now.” The sound of music is in the background. “Are you still in New Orleans?”

“I’ll be here until I find what I seek. I only wanted to know if you had any information.”

“Hang on. Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

“Of course.”

Hotwire Coffee Shop is a block away, and I take a quick detour. It’s nearly empty this late in the day, so I order an Americano and take a seat at one of the computers in the back. A Tor browser is in the Launchpad, and I pull it up and quickly log into the chat room.

I wait, sipping my coffee and surveying the other patrons. One looks like a college student. One girl has a backpack and her own laptop. Another guy has a small suitcase beside him. I suppose he’s a tourist, but who travels without a laptop now?

The screen blinks, and my heart jumps.

Nothing’s worse than a cocky hacker who thinks you need him. If I hadn’t been out of the loop for so long, I could find what I’m looking for myself. As it is, I don’t have time to reestablish the connections, and I don’t like keeping the same identity for too long in this underworld.

He’s using police codes to ask how much I’ll pay for Landry’s location. I sit and think about it. Stas is looking for information only—or so he says. I’m looking for payback.

I’ll pick up the tab on this one.

Pulling out my phone, I check my Bitcoin balance. No sweat.

A Western Union ID appears, and I open Coinbase. In less than two minutes I have an address in the older part of New Orleans, Uptown. Scrolling through my call log, I ring Stas and tell him what I know.

“I’m impressed, Myshka. So fast. I’m sure it cost you. Let me pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I owed you.”

His soft laughter fills my ear. “You owe me nothing. I saw a caged bird and set her free.”

“Either way, if the address is bad, let me know. I can try again.”

He thanks me, and I end the call just as I’m climbing the stairs to our apartment. Glancing at my phone, I realize it’s been almost an hour since I texted with Joshua, and I jog the rest of the way to the door.

I’m breathless and speaking fast as I push through the door. “Sorry, I got a call right after we talked, and I had to stop off at a cyber café—”

No lights are on, and the fading sun sends in a yellow beam slicing through the picture window. In a glance, I see my suitcase unpacked on the foot of the bed, Joshua’s is still standing inside the door, and the closet is open.

Joshua sits at the table, my black case in front of him, and the list in his hand.

“What have you done?” My heart is flying in my chest, and now I’m breathless for a different reason. “You’ve been digging in my stuff?”

“I was looking for my dad’s will.” His tone is icy, and my insides start to shiver.

Doing my best to remain calm, I walk slowly to where he’s sitting. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s going to be okay. The doctor expects a full recovery.” As I get closer, Joshua stands abruptly, and I stop moving.

“Why were you digging—”

“He wanted to see his will. What the fuck is this?” His tone switches to full-on anger, and I try to swallow the painful knot in my throat.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” My voice by contrast is quiet, small.

“No shit. What the fuck is it, Molly? A hit list?” He opens the paper and reads it off. “These guys are dead, and these notes are how they died. What does this mean?”

His tone is so violent, so betrayed. I can only do my best to deflect. “What do you think it means?” It’s not a challenge. I’ll agree with anything he says… short of the truth.

“Did you kill these men?”

I don’t answer. I can’t bear the hurt and disbelief in his voice. It tears at my insides.

“Does Lara know about this? Does Mark?” His voice breaks, and my hand covers my mouth.

“How…” He shakes his head. “How could you do this?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you. You didn’t need to know—”

“Didn’t need to know? That I’m sleeping with a felon? A killer?”

“It’s not like that, Joshua. These men… They’re the same ones who hurt me. They took a little girl, and… and they…” My voice goes out. Pain is in my head, but I try to explain. “They were out there, in the world hurting others. I did what I had to do.”

The list drops from his hand onto the table as he paces the kitchen. I step forward, quickly gathering my things, closing the case.

His arms are crossed over his chest, and he shakes his head. “This isn’t a comic book, Molly, there are laws… You can’t do things like this.”

Anger blazes to life in my chest. It’s the same fury I can’t deny, and my voice rises to match his. “Yes, I can. If they can do the things they did, I can do this.”

He stops, and our eyes lock. “What are you saying?”

“I have to. It’s the only way.” My eyes heat as I say the words, but I won’t cry. “I have to do this to calm the rage, to keep the pain away.”

His anger melts, and I watch his eyes flicker to my arms then back to my face. “We’re working with the girls, the runaways. Help them with me. Find your peace that way.”

A dry ache is in my throat. “When I’m with them, I only see how the system has failed, day after day… I just can’t. It makes it harder to look away. Something has to be done. Justice has to be served, and I can do it. I can.” I beat my hand against my chest.

“Okay, okay…” He holds out a hand, taking a step forward, his voice gentle. “Then let’s get justice together. I can afford the lawyers. We can do this through the proper channels. Get the justice you need—”

“It won’t work!” I’m practically shouting now. “I don’t want a slap on the wrist for them, a public scolding and life in a cushy jail cell. I want them to pay. I want them to suffer. I want them to feel the pain I felt. I want them to look in my eyes and know it’s me who’s doing it.”

We’re both breathing fast. Joshua’s eyes are locked on mine, and I watch as he tries to process what I’m saying. I watch his large frame, his broad shoulders rising and falling fast. I watch that muscle in his square jaw moving back and forth as he thinks.

Finally, his shoulders fall, and he shatters my heart. “I can’t be with you this way…” He shakes his head, putting both hands over his face. “I can’t.”

Tremors move from my stomach to my chest, and my voice is a broken whisper. “I’ve got to do this, Joshua.”

“No.”

“You can’t tell me that.”

“I just did. I won’t let you put yourself in danger.” Again, our eyes meet, and this time his are begging. “If you love me, you’ll stop doing it.”

“If you love me, you’ll understand why I can’t.”

He takes another step closer. “I can’t live knowing every time you go out, you might not come back.”

The trembling grows harder, and I can’t hold back the tears for long. “Then I’d better go.”

Thankfully, my suitcase is packed on the bed. I put my smaller case inside and close it, not worrying about the few things I took out last night. I can buy another toothbrush.

Joshua is across the space the moment the wheels touch the floor. His warm hand closes over my forearm, and he holds me still. The heat from his body surrounds me.

“Molly…” His voice is rough, but I pull my arm away.

“Let me go Joshua.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

I’m at the door, and he’s standing beside the bed. When I look up, electricity flashes between us. My stomach collapses, and it hurts so bad.

“This life…” He pauses for breath. “What you’re doing… Is it more important to you than us?”

My hand tightens on the door handle. “You can’t understand how it feels. You can’t know the pain inside me.”

“If it’s anything like I feel right now, I do.”

Turning away, I go through the door. My insides are torn out and bleeding. My throat is aching and tight. I can’t argue with him about something he can’t understand, and I can’t ask him to be something he’s not.

Joshua is good. He’s found a way out of the darkness.

I am not good, and I’ve never seen a way through this pain.

I have to go back to what I know. I have to finish what I’ve started.