I step away from it like it's infected. Suddenly I don't feel so special. I am forced to confront that I am just another victim in a long line of victims of this predator. He collected pieces of us. And I have no doubt that if he could have placed them proudly up on his walls, he would have. Smiles radiating from these pictures, stolen. Lives interrupted.
I raise a shaky hand over my mouth as tears flow down my cheeks. It hurts in a way that I didn't expect. Like when you find a love letter from your beloved to someone else. A betrayal. A deceit. He never told me he wasn't that man, but he showed me something different. And I believed him. I did. I couldn't believe in the handsome guy who wears his pain on his skin and that person behind the mask. They couldn't both exist in him. One had to die. Just like the old me dried up and withered to make room for the person here now.
I pull something out of my bag and place it where the box was. A message of sorts to Sam. Then I slam the lid down on the box, unable to stomach it for another second, latching it closed. I need to keep this, as insurance, as a reminder.
She took the fucking box. It shouldn't make sense. There's no way she could have known where the house was without doing some serious legwork. And yet, she found it. She's thinking about me as much as I think about her.
I left that house in a hurry. My thoughts twisted about what to do with Vesp. I was going to kill her. I was. I would dispose of her and come back to the house to clean up after myself.
She always fucks up my plans. And the next thing I know, I am dropping her off a mile away from the park ranger's station and I'm running. Because she could turn me in. She could tell them what I look like, my fucking family history, the make and model of my truck. At that point, physical evidence would just be icing on the cake. I had to give myself a head start. I did what most fugitives do, drove south, stopping at a diner around LA, hoping to catch some news on the small fuzzy television screen behind the counter.
“Coffee?” a waitress asked, chewing her gum like a horse as she slid over the apple pie I pointed out on the menu earlier.
I nodded.
It's weird. I think I could have talked to her. I might have had a little hang up here or there, but I finally don't fucking care. I don't care what anyone thinks of the way I sound. And I don't have that invisible hand of the secret clenching my throat the way it once did. I was running, but I had also come to terms with it being the end. With this bitter diner coffee and apple pie being my last meal. With the world knowing who I really am. There's a peace in that. I hear that's what it's like when you know you are going to die. A calmness takes over.
I could have talked, but I didn't want to. I'd save my breath for Vesp if I ever saw her again.
Finally, the evening news started and the top story was no surprise to me.
Missing Sacramento area woman Vesper Rivers has been found in Sequoia National Park today. Authorities need help locating this man.
I took a sip from my mug, waiting for the perfect rendering, or even better, a photo of my face to appear on the screen. For the waitress to freeze and slowly look over towards me and look for an excuse to make a phone call.
A rendering popped up, a different version of the same shit.
I lowered my coffee down to the counter, and sliced my fork into the pie.
A face shrouded in a mask. Just eyes peering out.
A bulleted description: Male, 5'10”, Brown Eyes
I snickered to myself and it caught the waitress' attention, but I didn't give a shit. She could look me right in these eyes and see I'm not that man.
Vesper fucking did it. She protected me. There's no way my brother could have covered this without her cooperation. I stood up, buzzing with energy and slapped a five on the counter, shaking my head to myself. Mister Ed eyed me as I walked out.
I'm free. I'm fucking free. But as soon as I stepped out into the dusty air, hunger stole my relief. I was prepared to die. To stop existing. But now that my plan had truly worked, and I had made her into someone who would do this for me, I couldn't have her. What the fuck was I supposed to do now?
I made my way to the pay phone outside of the diner and pulled out a few yellow sheets from my pocket. I ripped them from a phone book before I left town.
Peters, Dr. Richard
I slipped a dime into the phone and pounded out the numbers. I just needed to hear her voice. I didn't have to say anything. I just needed to know she was there. She had to know that I didn't stop craving her. That she did good. This was her reward.
The phone rang about five times. I slammed it and the change jingled down. I collected it and inserted it back in the slot. This time I looked at the other page. The one that made my hand tremble with rage and disgust. Mr. Perfect. That's the only other place she would be.