He studies my face, the stone expression I had kept so artfully throughout our conversation must be lost.
“Oh, you fucker. You think you love her? You think you're even capable of that? You stole her from her house. Took her away from her life, her family. I'm sure you've raped her countless times. Like you did to the others. Maybe tortured her? Oooh, but this one's different,” he mocks. “You think that's love? You think you even know human emotion? You're not even an animal. Animals don't hurt people for kicks. You're a monster. A real fucking monster. You're the boogeyman. You've already killed her, you understand? I've seen victims who couldn't come back from less. You've probably got her head so fucked, she can't function out there. But if you don't get rid of her, I promise, I fucking promise I'll come back here with the full force of the law. Fuck reputations. Fuck family. And fuck your fucking freedom! I'll make sure you fry, and then you'll burn in hell! And she'll be paraded out for the world to see. And she'll just suffer for the rest of her life. So take the fucking offer!”
Somewhere in his diatribe, he had come towards me, so by the time we're done, he's in my face with his finger pointed at me and the other hand pressing the gun at my temple. Spittle is dripping from his bottom lip, the tiny capillaries in his eyes look like they’ll hemorrhage. Just like my dad when he’d get impatient during his “lessons.”
He blinks in rapid succession, giving his concentrated the rage a chance to dilute. “You can have a life, I just want mine back,” Scooter says more calmly as he steps back.
Warm whiskey-scented jagged breaths huff against my face as he waits for my acceptance.
“Tell me you'll take care of this,” he commands. “Tell me I'll never hear about you, or her again.”
My mantra comes to mind. Nothing is as important as my freedom. I'm not the type who wants his name all over the papers for what he's done. This is my secret. Well, now it's Scooter's too. But I'd rather die than go to jail. Than to have the world that never accepted me justify it all with what I've done. Just like Scoot's doing right now. This is great for him. He gets to tell himself I was always a freak, and that he never liked me because underneath it all, I was this. I was always a psycho. It was predetermined.
“Okay,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
“You need to be gone within three days. You can sell the house from out of town. Hire an agent. But you never step foot in this part of California again.” He starts for the door. I can't let him leave without something to stew on. I understand now nothing I say will make him change his mind. He's backed into a corner with all this. He doesn't want to turn me in.
“Just remember, Scoot. You're no fucking hero. You're not doing this for her or me, or even Katie and the kids. Dad had his hero complex, but at least he believed his own bullshit. You're doing this so you can live the charmed life you've always had. You play cop so you can pretend to be a commoner. But when the true test has come, when you have to really be one of them and let go of all the things that make you so fucking privileged, you've proven that it's all an act. Just remember, you'll have blood on your hands. I've never killed a person, and my first time will be because you wanted me to.”
He pauses, whips open the screen door and hesitates before turning back.
“Listen to you,” he sniggers, “that voice as crisp as a whistle. It's all that hiding that made it so hard for you to speak, wasn't it? It must have been so difficult, holding this secret for so long. We have a task force on you. We know how far back you've been going into houses, peeping. It's been a long time.” He squints, a mischievous smirk growing on his face. “But when you're you…
“Maybe.”
My curt answer turns his face red, the grin molding into a snarl. “I wish you were never born. You were a fucking mistake,” he seethes.
“I know.”
And with that, I am alone, finally free. Truly free. Not just at night, but in a few days, I’ll be a man with nothing to hold him back.