The Killing Kind

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

March 22

Missy’s breath came in quick, shuddery gasps. Her face felt hot. Sweat was beading on her brow. The thump of her heart seemed as loud as a drum. Her hands were shaking. Anger bloomed within her again as she watched the tremors. It had been so long since anyone had gotten to her like this. So long since anyone had made her feel so small. So stupid and insignificant.

Four years, to be exact.

Daddy used to make her feel like this. He’d call her stupid and ugly all the time. And though she knew she was neither, it felt true when her daddy called her those things. That feeling was worse even than the other things. The beatings. The bad touches. Those things were bad. Horrible. They made her want to kill her daddy. She didn’t because a part of her clung to the need for her daddy’s love and approval. He was a bad man. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that. But she kept loving him anyway, hoping that somehow, just maybe, he would change and become the kind of daddy other girls had. But it never happened. He called her a “mistake,” telling her how one of his biggest regrets was failing to raise the money to have her aborted. And he told her the reason she was so fucked in the head was a result of all the times he’d punched her mother in the stomach in an effort to make her miscarry.

“I scrambled your brains but good, kid,” he liked to say.

She killed him the night she turned sixteen. He came into her room stinking of beer a little before midnight, stumbling around and cursing in the dark. Then he fell into her bed and reached for her, as usual. But this time she was ready for him and gave him a great big surprise.

The big carving knife penetrated his flabby belly with shocking ease.

He opened his mouth to scream and she slashed his throat, a deep gash that severed his vocal cords and brought forth a great geyser of arterial gore. Then she was on him and attacking him with a savagery worthy of the most ferocious and predatory segments of the animal kingdom. He struggled to no avail as she clung to him and slammed the knife into his body over and over. Dozens upon dozens of times. She kept stabbing him after he was dead. His whole torso was a sticky mass of coagulated blood and exposed organs. She would later guess she’d stabbed him as many as a hundred times, perhaps more. But she didn’t stop there. Next she went to the room Daddy shared with Mom. Then she went to her brother’s room. And then to the “guest” bedroom long inhabited by her deadbeat uncle. She killed them all. Brutally. Then she took a shower to wash away all the blood, gathered a few things, and burned that fucking house to the ground. She left her hometown that night feeling powerful for the first time in her life. She emerged from that nightmare a changed girl and since then not one single person had ever made her feel the way her daddy used to make her feel…

Until now.

She stared at her shaking hands and redoubled the mental effort to still the trembling. Her breathing became more regular. The trembling began to slow.

She reached into her bag and her hand dipped to the bottom, finding the grip of the gun by instinct. No. She was smarter than that. She couldn’t walk into a coffee shop in broad daylight and blow a man’s brains out.

She relaxed her grip on the gun’s handle and groped around the bottom of the bag until her fingers closed around a cellophane-wrapped pack of cigarettes. She kept groping until she found a lighter. A cigarette would help her think. They always did. She tapped a Marlboro menthol out of the pack, popped it in her mouth, and lit up. As she exhaled smoke, she began to feel more centered, more like herself. And as she grew calmer, she realized something. She could just let this go. Yeah, the guy had upset her, but she’d lived in a state of near normality for months. It was sort of nice. She rented a room on the other side of town and the city’s bus system took her wherever she needed to go, like this funky little strip mall with its pseudo-bohemian vibe. It wasn’t a glamorous life. Nor was it one she could likely maintain for long. But it was a nice break in the madness of life on the run, and she hoped she could hold on to it a little while longer.

“Hello, Missy.”

She jumped at the voice and whirled around. Her eyes got big and her breath caught in her throat. It was one of them. “Wh-what?”

The girl was roughly her age. She was gorgeous and looked like a model in her chic clothes and expensive haircut. Everything about her screamed money and privilege. She looked the way Missy often wished she could. Regal and poised. Above it all. As she stared at the goddess, Missy’s feelings were a stormy mix of envy, hatred, and desire.

The girl smiled and looked her over. “You know, you’re way cuter than you were at sixteen. You’re a real stunner now, Missy.”

Missy dropped her cigarette and ground it out beneath her heel. “That’s not my name.”

“Of course it is.”

The girl’s expression was very intent. Missy knew she should be afraid. Somehow this person knew who she was. But something in her demeanor set her at ease. It was crazy. She should be running. Should be on her way out of town right now. Recognition meant danger and an increased chance of apprehension by the law. And she didn’t want to go to jail. She’d rather die. But she wasn’t afraid. Not being afraid made no sense at all, but it was the truth.

“How did you know?”

The girl shrugged. “I saw your Cold Case Files episode.”

“Oh. I…sort of forgot about that.”

The girl extended her hand. “Too bad. It’s one of my favorite episodes. I’ve seen it a bunch of times. My name’s Emily, by the way.”

Missy shook her hand. “Um…nice to meet you.”

“What’s it feel like to stab your father a hundred fucking times?”

Missy’s face reddened. “Um…”

Emily laughed. “Never mind. We don’t have time. Any second now my friends will finish their drinks and come outside. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Missy frowned. “Um…”

“It involves killing the fucking asshole who insulted you.” She reached into her little handbag and pulled out a notepad and a ballpoint pen. She flipped the pad open and began to write. “You’re probably wondering why I’d want you to kill him. I should clarify. It’s not just him. I want you to kill them all.”

Emily tore off the sheet of paper and gave it to her.

Missy frowned at the very neat handwriting. The note included a street address, some basic directions, a phone number, and another series of numbers. “I don’t get it. Why would you want me to kill your friends?”

Emily smiled. “Friends. Well, I guess some of them think of me as a friend. But I don’t have friends, Missy. Just people I spend time with because that’s what people do. I want you to kill them all, preferably as violently as possible. When the story hits the media, it’ll be big. Bigger than big. These are sons and daughters of important people. As the only survivor, I’ll be in demand. I’ll be fucking famous.” Her smile broadened, becoming almost beatific as her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “And, Missy, fame is what I want more than anything else.”

Missy grunted. “That’s fucking crazy.”

“Maybe. But it’s what I want.”

“So, what…? You recognized me in there and came up with this insane scheme on the spot?”

“Yes.”

“Like I said…fucking crazy.”

“Will you do it?”

Missy thought about it. Crazy though it was, the scheme did sort of appeal to her. She started to get excited. She hadn’t killed anyone in months and she missed it. What was she doing in this town anyway? The idea that she could live a normal person’s life, at least for a while, had been exposed as a delusion. She was an instigator of chaos, pain, and terror. She’d burned herself out on these things for a time, that’s all.

She shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

Emily grinned. “Thank you, Missy. You have no idea how much this means to me. Now get moving before my so-called friends see you talking to me. Take a good look at that big blue and white Chevy van on your way out. That’s our ride.”

Missy heard the coffee shop’s glass door open. She turned away from Emily and set off at a brisk pace across the strip mall’s parking lot. She scanned the lot, looking for something she hadn’t needed in a while-wheels. She noted the Chevrolet Express and kept moving. She saw a few possibilities, but nothing very appealing.

Then she saw the Galaxie parked at a gas pump across the street.

She smiled.

And started moving that way, knowing these were the first steps in a great and wondrous journey.