One-Eyed Jack Read online

  Once she was in the shower, the darkness she’d kept at bay rose to the surface.

  Ever since she’d sat in the airport and fought against her memories with everything she had, it had been building, festering, swirling, fermenting under the surface of her calm and cool exterior.

  The wracking sobs came on with a vengeance, taking her breath away. She sank to the floor of the shower, her entire body shaking. The water beating down felt like jabs of a knife slashing her body. Her eyes were trained on the bath’s white tile wall, but she saw something else entirely.

  A once serene great room turned into a horror scene. Couches where she had sat with her family and laughed while watching movies and eating popcorn had turned into beds of death. Deathbeds.

  On that couch, she had curled up with the dead bodies of her two children for hours, in shock and denial, willing their little bodies back to life. Her heart would never recover. Her soul had temporarily gone black. It was only when she met a young boy who’d asked for her help that she realized she was still alive. And the only thing that would keep her that way was helping others.

  The only other thing that allowed her to function and continue to pretend to be normal, was to allow herself to succumb to these occasional all-consuming fits of grief and rage. Sometimes the bouts lasted twenty minutes; sometimes they lasted an entire twenty-four hours.

  The first time it had happened she truly wanted to die. To feel that pain again, so raw, was more than she could bear.

  It had snuck up on her, not long after Francesca had rescued her from a group of Mafioso intent on raping and killing her. Instead, the two women had arranged for the murder of all the men and then fled to mainland Italy where they had set up shop in the villa and began training an army to take the remaining Mafioso down.

  It was one of the first nights in the villa where Eva had felt fully recovered and was ready to celebrate with her new friend. The two women had split a bottle of wine.

  They were celebrating their newfound freedom. Francesca had lived nearly a lifetime under her husband’s tyranny and cheating ways. Her victory was in his death.

  Eva had first escaped the authorities in the States who believed she was responsible for her family’s murders and then a decades-old price the Italian Mafioso had placed on her head.

  Both women were victorious and felt unstoppable—ready to take on the world.

  After the second bottle of wine, they turned to the hard stuff and finished off a half empty bottle of whiskey. That had been the last time Eva drank anything but wine.

  Francesca passed out at the table. After futile efforts to wake her, Eva draped a soft blanket over her friend and attempted to make her way to her upstairs bedroom.

  She wove unsteadily as she made her way up the stairs to her room.

  When she collapsed face first onto the bed, her grief surfaced in a rampage. She soon realized the bed covers under her head were sopping wet—so full of tears they could be wrung out. Then her sobs turned into howls—weeping and wailing and thrashing. When she found the strength, she stood and swept all her belongings off of her dresser before leaning in and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a ghoul. Her black kohl eyeliner was spread in dark circles around her eyes, and there were black streaks down her cheeks. Her crimson lipstick had smeared, giving her full lips a creepy smirk, and her black hair was so knotted it looked like it had been teased and dreadlocked around her face. Her dark eyes were pools of sorrow.

  As she stared at her image, she dragged her fingernails from her eyes to her chin, digging them into the flesh until they drew blood. Then she stared some more before grabbing the heavy oak chair by the window and smashing the mirror into shards while she screamed and wept and shouted.

  When she was done, she saw something in her peripheral vision and turned. Francesca was standing in the doorway.

  The older woman held out her arms. Eva stumbled toward her, sobbing, and fell into her friend. They both collapsed onto the floor. Eva fell asleep in a huddle in Francesca’s lap as the older woman stroked her hair and whispered, “Shhhh. Shhhh. Let it out.”

  The next afternoon, Eva woke in her bed. The memory of the night before came back in bright, painful flashes. But she felt calm. Ready to tackle the world again. For a while.

  Ever since, the spells came sporadically but no less than once a month. Francesca would peek into her room, see that Eva was having one of her “episodes” and would take over everything that needed to be done that day.

  She knew better than to try to soothe Eva or bring her food or drink. She learned quickly just to let Eva be.

  Sometimes Eva would destroy her bedroom, shattering everything into small shards. Other times she would spend the entire time curled up in the fetal position, moaning. It varied.

  But one thing remained consistent. When she emerged from her “episode,” she was back to the woman who would kill without blinking an eye. Who would risk her own life to save others.

  Tonight, in the hotel shower in Miami, Eva managed to reach up and turn off the taps and then crawled on her hands and knees to her bed. She pulled herself into the bed and huddled under the covers, saying repeatedly “no, no, no, no, no.” She shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering, body quaking until she fell into a dark, swirling nocturnal world.

  When she woke later, she was calm.

  17

  Sebastian/Username: ChadHater

  He waited until dusk to leave.

  By the time he pulled into the neighborhood, darkness had fallen.

  He drove past the address, giving the small bungalow the side-eye. There was a light on inside. He then turned down the alley and drove past the house again. A back-porch light was on. There was no car in the driveway, but it could be in the tiny little garage. It unfortunately didn’t have any windows, so he wouldn’t be able to peek inside to see. He passed the house a third time and then parked at the street at the far end of the alley. He pulled on a rubber mask, some driving gloves, and grabbed his small backpack. It contained one of the small caliber guns he’d bought last month. And a silencer. And some zip ties. He didn’t want to use the gun. It was really just to threaten her with so she’d comply with his advances. The One-Eyed Jack didn’t need a gun, so he shouldn’t either, right?

  As he grabbed the bag, he realized his hands were shaking. He paused and sat back down. He’d bought some pills to help him relax on Friday. He had them with him now. This could be like a practice run for the next day. He swallowed two of them dry. There you go. Now go get her, tiger.

  He slung the backpack strap over one shoulder and grabbed a crowbar with the other. He was careful as he crept down the alley, keeping to the shadows and listening hard for cars or anyone out walking. The only sounds came from TVs inside the houses he passed. A few dogs barked, but none were in the backyards.

  Soon, he was in the alley behind the girl’s house. He leaned back against her small garage, keeping to the shadows and watching the house for any movements in the windows. The back-porch’s light only illuminated a small circle that barely seeped off the small step.

  In the dark, he could make out a small patch of lawn with a metal café table and one chair. He made his way toward the house, keeping to the far side of the yard.

  Peeking around the side of the house, he could see a tiny yellow rectangle. On closer inspection, he saw the light was coming from a glass block window he couldn’t see through. A bathroom probably. He wondered where she was in the small house. The other windows had thick curtains, so even if there were lights on inside, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

  He crept toward the porch and, in one smooth movement, unscrewed the light’s bulb, plunging the backyard into darkness.

  The back door had small, square windowpanes. He pressed his ear against the glass, listening. He didn’t hear a sound. He counted to ten and then, heart pounding, he tapped the crowbar against one small pane of glass. Nothing happened, so he did it again, harder. This time the glass bro
ke. He stood to the side, listening. When he didn’t hear anything from inside the house, he reached his hand inside and unlocked the door.

  Here I come, he thought, pushing the door open.

  18

  Molly

  Molly reluctantly left the beach at dusk and headed to her hotel room.

  She’d walked several miles after Eva dropped her off. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, especially her snarky friends. They weren’t great friends anyway. But to be frank, Molly took what she could get. Otherwise, it’d be a pretty lonely existence. Her friends sucked, but they were better than nothing. At least that had been her philosophy up until now. The last couple of days had somewhat changed that school of thought.

  The fourth-floor hallway in the hotel was eerily silent. It gave her hope that her friends had already checked out. But when the door to her room swung open at her touch, there was Natalie. She had on a pink velour track suit, reflective sunglasses, and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “Where were you?” Natalie said scowling. “We’ve been trying to call you for the last three hours. Something came up.”

  What a little bitch, Molly thought.

  “Molly? What, you’re not going to talk? You didn’t even come home last night. What the fuck? Where were you?”

  “Getting busy with the local wildlife.”

  The look of disdain on Natalie’s face was priceless.

  “Well, if you ever checked your messages, you’d know we’re heading back early,” Natalie said. “Kraig is throwing a big party tonight in Palm Beach, and everyone who’s anyone will be there. Some Hollywood guys. And I’m talking Hollywood, California. Not Hollywood, Florida, lady. I heard Matthew McConaughey may even be there. We’re heading back to get ready at Jenny’s house. She’s got all those Armani and Dolce & Gabbana dresses her stepmom lets her borrow.”

  “Cool,” Molly said.

  “So, you better pack.”

  “Hey, wait. Didn’t you say the room was nonrefundable when Jenny tried to change the dates?”

  “Yeah, so?” Natalie was distracted, examining her eye makeup in the mirror.

  “We paid for tonight already, right? Are we getting money back?”

  Natalie blew air out loudly. “No. I asked. They said no. So stupid.”

  Molly’s idea took form. “Well, I have a business meeting tomorrow morning, so I’m just going to go ahead and stay the night.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “A business meeting? What business?”

  Molly just arched her eyebrow to shut Natalie up.

  “Fine. You are going to pass up the chance to meet some Hollywood guys, and you are the one who wants to be the actress. I just don’t get it.”

  “I think this woman I met the other day has more opportunities for me.”

  “Whatever.” Natalie was obviously done with the conversation. “Well, we’re leaving. I just came back to use the bathroom and look for my flat iron. I couldn’t find it, but Jenny just texted that she accidently packed it in her bag.”

  Molly didn’t even bother answering. Natalie looked at her. Molly looked back.

  Molly raised an eyebrow again, and Natalie spluttered, “Whatever.”

  She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  Molly wanted to jump on the bed to celebrate. But instead she threw her hand up in a fist pump and shouted, “Free at last! Free at last!”

  Time to order room service and see what she could binge-watch on TV.

  19

  When Eva returned to her room and logged onto her laptop, she found a message from Jonathan.

  He’d forwarded the information she’d garnered from the incels website to the police and FBI and had heard back.

  Instead of texting, she dialed his number.

  “They’re stoked to go after this guy, but his plans are so vague right now,” he said. “I mean, they’ll post agents at all three events and beef up police presence. And they said they are going to talk to the organizers about being careful and increasing security measures, but…”

  “But,” Eva repeated. “It’s not going to be enough.”

  “Maybe not,” Jonathan said. “They also said that if they can track him down, they’ll arrest him based on what you’ve provided. It’s enough, so that’s good.”

  “That is good,” Eva said. It was more than they had yesterday.

  “But the problem is, as I think you also figured out, he’s pretty good at cloaking his location. If he wasn’t, you would’ve found him by now.”

  “True.”

  Eva hung up thinking that, once again, she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself to make things right.

  20

  Sebastian/Username: ChadHater

  The small bungalow was empty.

  After a quick search, he yanked off the rubber mask, tossing it onto the coffee table and walked again around more slowly. That’s when he realized he’d shown up too early.

  The Stacy had conveniently left a copy of her vacation itinerary under a magnet on the refrigerator. According to it, she’d be back the next morning. He wondered if she’d gone to the police after the One-Eyed Jack raped her or if she’d gone back to the hotel. What she hadn’t done, obviously, was come home.

  Sebastian decided it would be worth waiting for her. Especially after he looked closely at the pictures on her refrigerator. The Stacy was exactly as he’d imagined—just like every other stupid bitch who could fuck whoever they wanted whenever they wanted. He’d wipe that fucking smug, snotty bitch smile right off her face.

  Inside the fridge, he found some wine coolers, a twelve-pack of Diet Coke, and a few containers of yogurt. He grabbed all the wine coolers and then rummaged in the cabinets. Inside one, he found some crackers and a bottle of whiskey that was nearly three-fourths full. He took the six pack of wine coolers and the crackers and settled on the couch with the remote control.

  After he drank the wine coolers, ate two sleeves of crackers, and binge-watched two episodes of a crime drama, he topped off his meal with some chocolate he found in the freezer. Finally, feeling buzzed, he decided to snoop around more.

  First, he dug through the Stacy’s underwear drawer, plucking at the tiny scraps of cotton and satin and then dumping them out on the floor.

  In the bathroom, he opened and smelled all her cosmetic bottles and perfumes and then took a massive shit in the toilet. He thought about leaving it, but decided to flush in case shit had DNA in it. That thought sent him into a frenzy, cleaning every surface he touched that might leave a fingerprint. By the time he was done, he was ready to crawl into the girl’s bed and sleep for a few hours. He’d be up early in case she was an early bird.

  He lay there under the covers and had a few minor spins from the alcohol for a little while. Once they subsided, he realized he was getting a hard-on just from the girlish smells emanating from the sheets and comforter just under his nose. But when he half-heartedly tried to jerk off, he fell asleep, his hand tucked into his underwear.

  When he woke, he jerked up and looked at the time. The clock said seven. He crawled out of the Stacy’s bed and headed for the bathroom. She probably wouldn’t be home for a while, but he couldn’t be sure. Inside the medicine cabinet, he eyed the pills he’d seen the night before. They were for anxiety. He had been on that prescription once before switching. He tucked the bottle in his pocket and then tried to log onto her computer, but he couldn’t crack her password.

  He heard a sound. A car pulled into the driveway. His pulse raced with both fear and excitement. Quickly, he grabbed the mask from the coffee table and yanked it on, taking position behind the front door.

  21

  Molly

  Molly pulled into her driveway, thinking about all the things she had to do that day.

  She needed to water the plants out front. They were looking droopy. She’d open up all the windows in her place and let the breeze in. She had about four loads of laundry to do before she had to work at the restaurant the next day.
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  And she would probably spend a good chunk of the afternoon scanning for new auditions that had been posted while she was hanging out with her loser friends at the beach.

  Natalie had texted her this morning about four. The girl hadn’t even gone to bed yet, apparently. She’d talked about how some has-been, B-movie actor was all over her! And that he was hot! And that they were at the airport on their way to Vegas!

  When Molly had asked whether any talent scouts or directors had been at the party, Natalie responded with: “Can’t you just have some fun once in a while?”

  Which Molly took as a no.

  Her hard pass on the party had been the right call. It’d been a bunch of B-movie actors at a party looking for easy prey. She wondered if Natalie was footing the bill to Vegas. Somehow, she thought that might be the case.

  After retrieving her suitcase from the trunk, she had to crouch down on the sidewalk in front of her front door to find her keys. She’d thrown them into her bag when she was getting her suitcase.

  She unlocked her door. Right before she stepped in, something made her pause. It was a smell. Something foul. She brushed it off, thinking that she must’ve left something in the trash that had gone bad. Even more reason to scrub the place today.

  She stepped inside, turning behind her to make sure the wheeled suitcase she was pulling cleared the door jamb. As soon as she closed the door, the faint ripple she sensed in the air became white-hot searing pain.

  22

  Sebastian/Username: ChadHater

  He stood above her, panting. His entire body shook. The gun he’d used to strike her hung at his side. He set it down warily and eyed her.