Art By necroneol
Blurb
Everlee escapes her old life, adopting a new name and a hankering for bloodshed. When things go awry, she swears revenge.
Content Warnings
Graphic animal death + butchering, violence (gun, knife, + general), murder (including murder during a sexual act), rape (not shown but discussed), grooming, dysphoria, transmedicalism, transphobia (internal and external), stalking, child injury (broken limbs), child murder (not graphically shown but heavily implied), misgendering, mutilation (of breasts), slapping, partner abuse (physical, sexual, and mental), gore
Worthy of Note: This story is from the perspective of a groomer & serial killer.
**If I missed any content warnings, please contact me and I will add them as soon as possible.
1967
Sweets had never been on her own before. The furthest sights she experienced were winding hills visible from a farmhouse roof.
Now she roamed Chicago all alone, wearing nothing but a thick wool coat and her filthy pants. She shivered in the frigid weather at night, going to sleep and unaware if she would wake up. Alleyways were her new bed, libraries her daytime grounds. Day and night bled together. Now that home wasn’t a problem anymore, she needed to get on her feet. The ‘how’ would be tricky. She spent all of her money on travel. If she’d known how quickly it would spend, she would have nabbed some of Mom’s jewelry before the trip.
It didn’t matter now as she lay next to a dumpster. She’d die from the cold, or from starvation. The cold would be kinder, a slip into slumber. As she hugged herself, she came to peace with fading away. At least she got off that stupid farm.
“Excuse me? Do you need some food?”
A woman stood before Sweets. The resemblance they shared was unnatural—she looked like Sweets would if she got everything she desired. Long, straw-straight black locks flowing down petite, feminine shoulders. A peacoat hugged her hourglass figure. Sweets’ face looked back at her, but prettier and better, free of imperfections. Same blue eyes and all.
“Yes. I’m starving,” Sweets told her. “Anything you can spare would be lovely.”
“I don’t have anything on me, but I can take you out to eat.”
The stranger silently drove Sweets to an Italian restaurant. For the whole ride, Sweets couldn’t tear her eyes away from the woman’s ample chest, nor the curve of her lips. She wanted to be her, not a shoddy, unflattering clone.
As she pulled into a parking space, the stranger glanced at Sweets. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Sweets.”
“I’m Everlee. You sound like you’re from the south.”
“I am. Born and raised in Virginia.”
“Chicago’s a long way from home. You aren’t running from something, right?”
Sweets side-eyed her. “Of course not.”
Inside, Everlee implored Sweets to order whatever she’d like. Not recognizing most of the menu, Sweets stuck with tried-and-true spaghetti. For the whole meal, Everlee didn’t say more than ten words. Sweets found the silence unnerving, a sharp contrast from her wild homelife and the new bustling city streets. It didn’t help that the pair were two of three patrons in the place.
Leaving with a full belly, Sweets couldn’t disguise her shock when Everlee made an offer.
“Would you like me to book you a hotel room? Or maybe you could come stay with me?”
“Not being alone sounds nice. Are you sure you don’t mind me being at your place?” Sweets asked, eyebrows raised.
Everlee nodded. “You’ll freeze to death out here. That’s a horrible way to go.”
Leaning against the window, Sweets couldn’t help but smile. This woman was far too kind for her own good. The more she looked at her, the more she wondered what else Everlee had to offer.
Rolling up to a tall, brand-new building answered Sweets’ ponders–Everlee had money. Sweets’ should’ve known by her immaculate, crisp and well-groomed appearance. Or by her fancy automobile that boasted a fresh coat of blue paint. Unlike most of the cars in the city, hers lacked layers of dirt and sludge. Once both exited the vehicle, Everlee guided Sweets through the lobby and up five flights of stairs. Fingers intertwined, Sweets siphoned all of the warmth she could get.
Compared to the grandiose exterior, Everlee’s home was quaint. Eerily so, since like Sweets’ childhood home, everything carried a rustic, Southern vibe. Wooden bookshelves encased a fancy red couch that looked out of place. Also like her old home, trinkets and objects littered every surface. Choking down her disgust, Sweets turned to look at Everlee.
“I know it’s a mess,” Everlee said. “I have trouble keeping up sometimes. This used to be my grandmother’s home.”
“Used to be?”
Looking down at her hands, Everlee frowned. “She passed away last year. My last living relative…”
“So you’re all alone?”
“Yes. I keep to myself. You’re the first person I’ve talked to in months.”
Sweets’ heart pounded in her chest. Everlee was an astonishingly easy target. With a tilt of her head, she crossed her arms. “I’m surprised you trust a man,” she said, ignoring the annoyance of labeling herself that way. But she wanted to hear Everlee’s reaction.
“You look harmless,” Everlee said. “I trust you.”
Your second mistake, Sweets thought, watching her vanish into another room.
Everlee gave her a change of clothes, a towel, and a bar of soap. In the shower, Sweets planned her next move. If she wasn’t meant to sabotage Everlee’s life, the two would have never crossed paths. She would be a fool to dismiss this opportunity. With so many delicious options, she found herself laughing as she washed her hair. She could play the long game, draw it out, and strike when best to do so. Just like she had at the farm.
But she wanted to do something new. She wanted to kill her right away.
First, she would need to find a weapon.
Leaving the shower feeling refreshed and keen to cause trouble, Sweets approached Everlee in the kitchen. She now wore a long red nightgown that ended at her ankles, along with a pair of slippers. When she turned to Sweets, she smiled.
“I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I am. You’re such a kind soul,” Sweets said, eyes scouring the countertops. A block full of five knives sat on the left side of the sink. She snapped her attention back to Everlee. “Where would you like me to sleep?”
“You can take the couch. I’ll make it nice and comfy for you.”
Everlee brought out a couple extra pillows and a blanket from her linen closet. She dressed the couch, and Sweets took the opportunity to arm herself. She shoved a boning knife up her sleeve, blade faced toward her skin so it wouldn’t poke through the fabric. Keeping the handle in place with her pinky, she came up behind Everlee with innocent eyes.
“Thank you,” Sweets said.
Brushing off her hands on her gown, Everlee smiled. Her eyes shone in an unfamiliar way as her gaze climbed Sweets from head to toe. “Of course. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Sweets’ eyes twinkled with intent. “Are you off to bed?”
“I might read a little beforehand. Were you wanting company?”
Taking a step closer, Sweets nodded. The faintest hint of pink painted Everlee’s cheeks. Now understanding the shine she saw earlier was desire, Sweets couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes. If you’ll have me.”
Frantic heartbeats thudded in Sweets’ ears as Everlee invited her to bed—a queen-sized mattress dressed in soft burgundy sheets. For a while, the two stared at each other under the dim lamplight. The knife bit into Sweets’ skin, impatient. She had no idea what to expect. The passion she detected from Everlee was a foreign concept. She’d never been desired, nor sought after once in all nineteen years of her life. Perhaps, she thought, this was the whole reason Everlee brought her here–with expectations that she’d put out.
A film of innocence accompanied Everlee’s focused gaze. “May I say something out of turn?” she asked Sweets.
“Go ahead.”
“You’re beautiful. I mean, just downright beautiful.”
Sweets’ false interest transformed into genuine joy. She anticipated a more salacious comment, or to be called handsome. Plenty of people, especially her Mama, called her handsome. Nobody ever called her beautiful.
“You don’t mean that,” Sweets replied, letting her insecurity seep into the statement.
“I do.” Everlee reached for Sweets’ face, warm hands greeting her jaw. “Your lips are especially lovely.”
“I’m starting to think you brought me here to sleep with you.” Despite her words, she placed a hand on the other woman’s knee.
“I didn’t. It would simply be a welcome addition to an already good night. But only if you’re wanting the same.”
Receiving a breathless “yes,” Everlee kissed Sweets. Everlee respected Sweets’ wishes to stay mostly clothed during the act. Sweets allowed herself to enjoy Everlee’s touches and strokes. It felt good to be desired, to be touched.
She briefly considered sparing her.
That was until Everlee disrobed. Revealed a picturesque body that made Sweets’ insides twist and churn. As Everlee suckled her neck, the farmgirl resolved herself. Her old life would fully end tonight, and she’d slaughter Everlee to begin anew. As Everlee’s mouth was preoccupied, Sweets withdrew the knife.
Right as Everlee came up for a kiss, Sweets roughly yanked her hair. Tilting her head up and exposing her neck, the blade slid across her throat. Sweets watched Everlee gurgle and writhe as she fought for her life. No use—her blue eyes dulled within a minute. Sweets closed them, cooing as she pushed her off.
“Thank you for the stay,” she said as she stood. Covering the body with the comforter, Sweets smiled. “And thanks for the new house. I’m going to love it here. And don’t worry–I’ll make a good name for you.”
Riding the high bloodshed provided, she dragged the corpse to the living room. She layered another two comforters to conceal the carnage. Another rinse off later and Sweets replaced her crimson-painted clothes with a new outfit from Everlee’s closet.
A grueling descension to the first floor followed. But as soon as Sweets started up Everlee’s car, her body secured in the trunk, she knew it’d been worth the hassle. A lovely drive to Lake Michigan later, Everlee’s body joined the fishes.
Back at home–and oh, how good it felt to call it that–Sweets trimmed her hair with scissors. Satisfied with the fringe bangs that resulted, she preened in the mirror. She could clearly see herself as Everlee; she only needed a couple tweaks, ones she’d obtain someway, somehow.
The methods didn’t matter at this moment, so she didn’t speculate. Instead, she buried Sweets in her mind, welcoming her new identity as Everlee with open arms.
1966
Chickenfeed poured from a tattered sack. Sweets hunched over, lower back aching as she filled a trough feeder. Chickens hurried from the surrounding fields to swarm her, impatiently clucking around Sweets’ legs.
“Oh, can it! I’m almost done,” she grumbled, turning the sack upright and stepping away. “There. Have at it.”
Finished with her only chore, Sweets trekked up to the farmhouse a yard away from the chicken coup. It sat on a slanted hill, facing the winding ones in the distance head on. Beyond the coup and past the barn, a fence encased the property, separating it from the neighboring farms. Sweets kicked off her muddy boots when she crossed the threshold of concrete that marked the driveway. Shouldering past the poorly parked family car, she went inside.
Her last task before relaxing involved waking up the kids of the house: her two middle-school-aged sisters, five-year-old niece, and seven-year-old cousin. She did so in her usual fashion, jolting them from their sleep with rough shakes. Her sisters and niece paid her no mind, bidding her good morning before slinking off to do farmwork. Her cousin Sarah kicked up a fuss as soon as Sweets grabbed her arm.
“Stop!”
Mom, disgruntled and covered in flour, entered the bedroom. “Now, what’s all the ruckus about?”
Sarah ratted Sweets out and, as usual, Mom dismissed the complaint. After all, she’d been the one to grant her middle child the name ‘Sweets.’ And out of all five children, she was her favorite. Her precious only ‘boy.’ The rest were crotch spawn she cared little for. Sweets regularly used this to her advantage, though she never really felt like a ‘boy,’ nor a ‘man.’
As soon as the little ones fled, Mom made the beds. Sweets watched, taking off her straw hat. “You need me to go into town today? Sell some eggs?”
Mom fluffed out a comforter. “Ain’t got no gas in the tank.”
“I can walk.”
“Oh, that’d be splendid. Thank you, Sweets.” She granted her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “What would I do without you?”
Sweets headed off with a bag full of eggs, all expertly wrapped in cheesecloth to prevent cracks. The trip to town took forever as always. She trekked through miles of cornfields, until the stalks traded for decrepit, hardly standing stores. Vehicles crowded the street along with hootin’ and hollerin’ townspeople. As always, Sweets avoided gazes to scout out a good selling spot.
She nestled in front of a tailor shop, holding up a cardboard sign. The sun was just tolerable enough to withstand an hour or two exposed to it. Miraculously, she managed to sell a dozen. Her pearl-white skin burning red, she decided to end the journey.
Before going home, she made her usual stop at a jewelry store. She leaned over a display case containing hundreds of necklaces, earrings, and rings. Closing her eyes, she pictured herself adorned with the items, glistening in diamonds from head to toe. She longed to look like the women who accompanied her in the shop; well-kept luscious locks, fancy pastel dresses, a good lip and eyeshadow combo. Thin plucked eyebrows raised as they stifled laughter, casting glances in Sweets’ direction. Burning with envy and embarrassment, Sweets exited.
Back home, before a bath, Sweets studied her reflection in the mirror. She ran her hands down her bare flesh, pinching her tummy. It was wider than her hips and her flat chest. She shared a similar body type to her late father, a lithe man with a liquor gut. The look suited him far more than it suited her. As she eyed the stubble forming on her jaw, she scratched it. I hate you, she internally spoke to the reflection. Fucking disgusting.
And although she wanted to cry, she didn’t. ‘Men’ didn’t cry unless an unspeakable tragedy struck. Not over bodily woes.
At dinner, Sweets zoned out as the kids screamed and carried on. She shoveled food into her mouth at lightning speed. Once excused from the table, she hurried to her bedroom, which she shared with her older sister, Linda. Linda entered not soon after, hosing Sweets down with a sad look.
“May I help you?” Sweets questioned.
“You got to go into town today,” Linda said quietly.
“And why does that matter?”
“Nothing….” she spoke trepidly. “I just…I just wish me and the girls didn’t have to work all day. You don’t do much by comparison.”
Linda spoke the truth. Sweets didn’t do shit besides feed the chickens, similar to Gramps. But Sweets refused to give her the satisfaction. Sweets turned to her, malice burning bright in her eyes. “Go complain to someone who cares, Linda.”
That night, as Linda snored obnoxiously in the bed across from her, gears turned rapidly in Sweets’ mind. Mom’s pampering and constant attention wasn’t enough. A mother’s touch couldn’t suppress Sweets’ desire to run free, nor the instinct that manhood wasn’t for her. She could never tell her mother such thoughts, nor her other family. She had two options: die on the farm, or take all the lives on it and flee.
1987
Everlee was growing tired of her playthings.
Over the past twenty years, she achieved everything she desired in terms of appearance. Through the black market, she retrieved Estrogen. By the same means she found a surgeon who provided all the cosmetic surgeries she needed; starting with breast augmentation and, most recently, a vaginoplasty. The man kindly warned Everlee of the risks involved, but she didn’t care. She was sick of not being a real ‘woman.’ By this point, she’d come to terms with her transgenderism–on the precipice that it was okay as long as she conformed. As long as she looked like Mom, her sisters, and ‘real’ women, she couldn’t go wrong.
Although she was (mostly) happy with her appearance and new life, it didn’t take long for tedium to overtake. No matter how much she tried to enjoy normalcy, she itched to kill. Nothing felt better than knowing she could control someone’s fate, a life in her hands resembling putty. But killing alone was boring. Growing up in a loud, rambunctious home, this newfound isolation scathed her, extending to her murder habits.
So she started hunting, looking for company. Her playthings–any unfortunate woman she stumbled across who needed help–made things fun, at least for a little bit. It never lasted long, either due to the other party’s unwillingness to continue killing, or Everlee’s own boredom.
Her most recent toy crawled slowly across the apartment floor, leaving a trail of blood. Everlee stood nearby, rolling her eyes as the other woman tried to reach the door.
“You know, you’ll bleed out before you get there,” Everlee said. Cutting off her path, she grinned down at her. “Why don’t I make this quick for you, doll?”
“Fuck you, bitch!” The woman rolled onto her back. “Fuck–”
Lifting a heel above the toy’s head, Everlee stomped her face in.
She visited her usual dumping grounds. Her disposal had evolved from shoddy bedsheets to plastic wrapping complete with zipties. If someone found the body, she wanted it to take great effort to identify the victim, if at all. Which is why she very often destroyed her toys’ faces, cut off their fingers, and pulled out every single tooth. She kept these trophies in her office safe, preserved in jars. The less the cops had to work with, the better. It’d done her perfectly well so far; no trouble yet.
That night in bed, she added a fifteenth tally to her journal. She sighed in frustration as she closed it. The next toy needed to be an anomaly, to break the mold and surprise her. She wanted someone stubborn like her, but still degradable. A gradual and grating break would be infinitely more satisfying than a clean one. It was no fun if a toy broke too quickly.
It typically took a couple weeks to scout out a new person. Her favorite place to do so was the bus, always packed full of interesting characters. So the next afternoon, she boarded one after another, keeping her eyes peeled. She brought her typical magazine, a way to tear her piercing stare away from anyone who happened to look back.
She’d been fake-reading an article when a man started breathing down her neck. He begged for her attention, slurring his words. Disregarding him, he soon ripped the magazine right from her grasp. Ready to defend herself, a stranger cut in, stepping in the middle. Orange locs sat right above Everlee’s eye level.
“Give it back and leave her the fuck alone.”
Everlee’s heart skipped. The intimidation worked–the man apologized and stepped aside. When Everlee’s savior moved away, she admired her. Her strong stature and demeanor boasted potential. As Everlee looked into her deep, dark eyes, she envisioned a future of homicide, mayhem, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of romance.
This was the one.
1989
“Are you still on the fence about–”
“Don’t.”
It was the height of Everlee’s fascination with Masika, her new toy. Things had been…rough, to say the least. Her deeming Masika an anomaly had been too on point. She questioned Everlee’s methods, her definition of womanhood, and more. She even foolishly ran away for a couple weeks, only to come crawling back. For the first few partnered kills, she clammed up, forcing Everlee to threaten her. Even now, after being a willing participant multiple times, she still froze. It was a good thing Everlee found herself infatuated with the woman—otherwise, she would’ve killed her like the others.
Without Masika’s chaos, Everlee would have never stopped murdering with her own hands.
For decades, she’d gotten away with the unspeakable. But after a kill went awry, Everlee had no interest in continuing. Now forty years old, she decided it was time to sit back and let someone else do all the work. She’d spent her youth doing what she wanted, and now she could pass the torch.
And who better to pass it to than her perfectly crafted killing machine? Everlee would give Masika all the hormones and money she wanted in exchange. Everlee wanted to don the role of a puppeteer, making Masika run around like a chicken with her head cut off. And, in between, use her body.
Everlee was more than aware it was wrong. The poor kid had been nineteen when Everlee brought her to the loft. Furthermore, Masika went completely catatonic at the gun range and subsequent bedroom tussle. But Everlee didn’t care, and Masika rarely asked questions. To Everlee, that meant a free pass to keep her dirty laundry concealed. What Masika didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Now, Everlee moved towards her final phase—convincing Masika to undergo a full transition. Sure, the Estrogen did far more for Masika than it did for Everlee, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard Everlee tried to convince her, though, the woman insisted she didn’t want surgeries. Time and time again the two scuffled over the subject. Tonight was no exception.
Appalled by the strength behind Masika’s ‘don’t’, Everlee scoffed. In spite of this, she watched Masika’s naked figure vanish into the bathroom. Everlee spoke over running sink water. “I’ll keep bringing it up until you realize it’s good for you.”
Returning with a towel, Masika wiped her wet face before dipping down to the floor to get her clothes. “None of that’s for me. Feel free to keep wasting your breath though. Maybe you’ll lose your voice and I’ll be free of you for a bit.”
Eye twitching, Everlee sat up, wiping sweat from her brow. “You’ll never be free from me. Just like you’ll never be desired on hormones alone.”
“That’s funny, considering you were all over me a moment ago. So is that true? Better yet, why so touchy?” Catching Everlee’s eyes on her breasts, Masika tutted. “Ah, that’s right. Jealous, you are. Maybe if you didn’t have a stick up your ass, the Estrogen would’ve done its job.”
Everlee launched out of the bed and slapped her. Masika staggered with a glare before delivering one right back, dropping the clothes and towel. Responding with messy, angry kisses, Everlee reeled her back onto the bed. As her teeth grazed Masika’s neck, the comment replayed in her brain. She knew that’s not how Estrogen worked. And she knew she was still better than Masika in every way. Whether Masika liked it or not, Everlee would mold her until they shared shapes—so comparison would no longer eat her alive.
1990
Everlee blipped in and out of consciousness. The agony pervading her torso always put her back under whenever she was up for more than thirty seconds. A disembodied voice clinically spoke to her in snippets, until the void fully took her. When she came to, a cold table chilled her naked back, fluids pouring into her through an IV. She gasped for air. Vision halved, she slowly rationalized her surroundings. The loft’s interior greeted her along with her surgeon, who rushed up as soon as he heard movement.
“Don’t move. The stitches are fresh,” he instructed.
She weakly nodded in understanding.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“I couldn’t do much about your eye. I had to remove it,” he explained. “And…as for your chest…”
As soon as he said it, memories burned brightly in Everlee’s mind; Masika clutching a glass shard, casting down an enraged gaze as she fell on top of her. The agony resulting from Everlee’s flesh tearing and squelching, her attacker’s sobs as she ripped out each silicone shell from her breasts. All of it felt more tangible than it had in the moment, drugged out of her mind and paralyzed. Her fingers curled into fists as tears slid down her cheek.
He continued, “The way you were cut up? I couldn’t salvage your breasts. I’m sorry, Everlee. I did the best I could.”
She wanted to chew her surgeon out, tell him to get the fuck out. But she was vulnerable, and needed him for recovery. So she redirected with a question. “How much is this gonna run me?”
“I’ll need to be here for at least two more days. Taking supplies, medication, and labor into consideration, how does ten-thousand sound?”
Gritting her teeth, she agreed with a nod. You’re lucky I need you, she thought.
***
It took the full three days to regain mobility, and another to walk. Everlee sent the surgeon home as soon as she could, not wanting him to have any more of her money. It was already bad enough when, upon checking her stash, she realized Masika robbed a tenth of it. She’d taken all her Estrogen too, resulting in a full on tantrum from Everlee. Destroying her bathroom, she sobbed violently on the floor.
A week after the attack, she took a bath, daring to stare at her nude body for the first time since. As soon as she saw the jagged stitches where her breasts used to be, she laughed. Her own reaction shocked her, as she’d been crying and fawning for days. But it was a bit funny, in a warped way. All she’d done was free Masika from a person that would never love her as much as she did. And when she implored Masika to return to her true partner, this was how Masika thanked her.
This wasn’t right. Playthings weren’t supposed to cause this much damage. Ruefully, she recognized deep down, Masika was far more than a toy. A raging fire of a woman, there was no way Everlee could’ve maintained control for long. And trying to put her out only resulted in further destruction.
If she couldn’t control Masika, she could sure as hell make her pay.
2003
Everlee completed a fifth, thick leatherbound journal detailing her crimes.
Or rather, tales she spun of Masika forcing her to commit them.
She couldn’t blame Masika for every murder she committed, considering the other woman had been born two years after her farm escape. But she did place responsibility for everything that occurred after 1985. She had claimed the two met a couple years sooner than reality, but who cares? Spinning lies was her specialty–she’d have no trouble keeping track of the mismatched details.
The past thirteen years she’d spent largely holed up in the loft, mulling over what Masika took. At first, she tried to locate her, travelling all over the Bible belt where Masika came from and further north. Months of no luck rendered Everlee desperate, and she wound up hiring PIs. Over the years, all the PIs failed spectacularly, or outright refused to carry out the investigation. A man named Sid would be her last ditch effort before trying again herself.
She hoped that, by fabricating years of abuse at Masika’s hands, she could put her behind bars. All the time stewing shifted her priorities. She no longer cared about possessing Masika or keeping her around, instead craving a chance to get even. Putting Masika away and knowing she’d rot in a prison cell was the perfect revenge.
Once the thick gel ink settled into the paper, Everlee closed the journal. A knock resounded from the front door. She took a sip of wine before getting up to peer into the peep hole. Recognizing Sid’s ridiculous fedora, she unlocked the door and let him inside.
“What have you got for me?” She asked when both sat in the living room.
“You’ll be very pleased.”
Everlee doubted him at first. He opened a manila folder, first showing her a candid of Masika. The doubt exploded into bits at the sight. Masika wore a ballcap, obscuring half her face, and baggy clothes. Sid withdrew another, and another, all showing her leaving the same grocery store.
“Where was this?” Everlee demanded.
“Cradyon, Nevada.”
Of course. Everlee never travelled beyond the middle of the country, foolishly thinking Masika would dwell in the north and south over the east and west.
“There’s more.”
The next photos showed Masika arriving home, a child running into her arms and making her drop groceries. One frame showed her looking over her shoulder fearfully, hiding the child’s face with a hand. Everlee’s heart dropped at the sight. The investigator continued, disregarding her shock.
“And perhaps the most fascinating; I saw this man arriving at the home as well,” he said, taking out one last set of photos. “His name is Aiden Zetrenne. He seems to work at a nearby school. He’s on the FBI’s most wanted list.”
“For what?” Everlee asked.
“He allegedly helped his sister kill an officer, ran off after. Maybe you and I can split the reward profit?”
Everlee stood from the couch, rounding the chair he sat in. As he chugged his water, she withdrew a pistol, aiming it at his head.
“No. But I appreciate all your hard work,” she told him right before pulling the trigger.
She picked up three photos, wiping brain matter and blood off with her sleeve. Homing in on the child and the fear on Masika’s face, jealousy burned within Everlee. The audacity Masika had to rend her flesh, mar her, just to run off with some random person and copulate. Everlee imagined how comfortable she was, knowing she’d come home to a happy family. Knowing she’d never come home to Everlee again.
Everlee didn’t just love Masika, she made her. Without Everlee, she would’ve died on the streets. Would’ve suffered a gnarly fate. She gave Masika hormones, showed her pleasures beyond imagination. And what did Masika do? Spit in her face in every way possible. The gall of it all made her want to rip the photos to shreds, but she knew she needed them.
She spent the next four hours hunting for more information about Aiden. Sure enough, he and an identical twin were on the list mentioned to her. The five-hundred-thousand dollar reward made her laugh. He had to be a fool to work a day job with that big of a target on his head. Unless, she mused, he has no idea.
Jotting down the tipline number and more info, she then located a magnifying glass. Scouring the photos, she found the last two numbers of the apartment. Praying that knowing the number and the town would be enough, she searched through white pages online. While she couldn’t find a corresponding address, she did find all the schools in town.
It would do just fine as a start.
***
Everlee rolled into Craydon, Nevada on a chilly February night. She’d taken a flight as soon as she got rid of Sid. On a sticky note residing on her steering wheel, a list of school names and addresses sat. There were two total, considering the town’s miniscule size. The first school–the larger, more populated one–reaped no rewards when she investigated the next day. She’d stationed herself in its parking lot around seven a.m., leaving after dismissal.
On the third day, she struck gold.
Parked off in the shade for less than five minutes, she watched a motorcycle zipped into the staff lot of a tiny school. Upon seeing the body type of the rider, she knew it was Aiden. He parked, taking off his helmet and confirming this for a fact. Near her thigh, Everlee picked up the photo to double-check. Yup.
As small, Black girls moseyed down the sidewalk, each stopped to give Aiden a high five. Everlee’s lip curled into a snarl. His radiant, kind demeanor pissed her off. She noted the cane he walked slowly with until vanishing into the building. Though her stomach begged for sustenance, she didn’t move a muscle, afraid of losing sight of him despite knowing he likely wouldn’t leave for a while.
Around five-thirty p.m, as Aiden’s motorcycle peeled out of the parking lot, Everlee turned over the engine.
1967
Sweets sang to herself as she sawed off a pig’s head.
Livestock corpses circled her in the field. Crickets droned on in the distance, singing along to her voice. As she detached the pig’s head from its body, she smiled. Holding it up in front of her face, she nodded in agreement with herself. “Pefect,” she breathed.
Fifteen minutes later after some ‘arts and crafts,’ she stood, picking up a machete. Glancing up at the cloudy sky vacant of stars, she took in the death-filled air. Tonight was her final night on the farm. She’d killed all the animals to spare them from starving to death. After tonight, there would be no humans to take care of them. The quick throat-slits were mercy compared to the stomach eating away at itself.
Whistling, she skipped up the hill, and reentered the house. She checked the clock in the kitchen, satisfied to find it was still midnight. Not another soul awake in the house, now was time to strike. She placed a mask on the table.
Sweets entered Mom’s room. Half of Mom’s body hung out of the comforter, hand twitching while she slept. Sweets took it, aiming the weapon at Mom’s inner forearm. The older woman’s eyes opened, but it was too late. Sweets slashed vertically, making blood pour in heaps.
“It’s okay, Mom,” She said, watching the life leave her mother’s eyes. “See? Quick and painless. And you won’t have to hear when I kill the rest. You’ve basically won the lottery.”
***
Sarah awoke with a full bladder and dry throat.
She hopped out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she went to the toilet. The house smelled funny, like copper, but she ignored it. As soon as she finished up in the bathroom, she walked towards the kitchen.
A thud echoed from one of the four bedrooms. Gramps fell again, she thought. Normally, Aunt Justine would come out running to check on him, so Sarah proceeded with getting water. She filled up a cup as a hinge creaked nearby. When nobody moved in the hall, she sighed.
“Gramps fell!” she shouted, expecting aunt Justine to shout back.
Silence greeted her instead. She chugged her drink before setting the dish in the sink. She returned to the hallway, only to stop dead in her tracks.
At the end of it, a figure stood, shrouded in darkness. Sarah’s heartbeat picked up. Though it looked human, she could see the faintest impressions of an animal’s head. She flicked the hallway light on, the terror building when the person didn’t move an inch. They wore a pair of fleece pajamas, soaked in red that poured from a slack-jawed pig head. Squinting, she espied their veiny, long hands, throat tightening in recognition.
“Sweets? Is…Is that you?”
The demon answered with a nod, slowly tilting its head. It twirled a machete in its hand. “Yes. I want to play tag with you, Sarah.”
Sarah shook her head rapidly. Even outside of this unique situation, Sweets’ games of tag always ended in some type of pain or violence. “Where’s aunt Justine?”
“Her and the others are sleeping. Don’t worry,” Sweets chimed. “Come on, Sarah. Don’t you wanna have some fun?”
Without thinking, Sarah bolted for the front door. Loud footsteps followed her through the house. She frantically tried to unlock it, only to find it deadbolted. Before she could find a way to reach it, a blade swiped in her direction. Narrowly dodging it, she fled into the hallway once more, barrelling into Gramps’ room and slamming the door shut. She screamed at the sight of the old man slumped over and headless in bed. She climbed over him to reach his window, unlocking it as the door opened. Pushing it upward, Sarah threw herself out of it.
She landed on the hill, rolling down at an uncontrollable speed. Hitting the chicken feeder with a sickening thud, a couple cracks accompanied it. Stars spun in her vision as she tried to move her arm, or any of her limbs. Only agony pervaded her body, eliciting sobs and yells.
Seconds later, she pitifully dragged her body across the field. She did her best to disregard one leg and arm bent at strange angles. If she could get to the fence, into the neighbor’s yard, she could scream for help. Someone would hear her and save her.
A shadow loomed over her. Already knowing who it belonged to, she sobbed.
“Please, Sweets. Please don’t hurt me. Please, please, please–”
Everything went black.
April 24th, 2003
Everlee hummed a jolly tune beneath the sounds of a door breaking down.
It took a long time to finish her preparations, but now, she sat in a van as goons raided Masika’s home. The instructions Everlee gave were clear—kill the wild orange haired lady, and anyone else in the home. She knew the men wouldn’t succeed. They were pawns to buy time and distract Masika.
As Everlee loaded up a shotgun, she contemplated the circumstances. The night would end one of two ways: either Everlee would slaughter Masika’s family, incapacitate her and call the authorities, or somehow, Masika would get the upper hand, and Everlee’s life would end. In the event of the latter, she paid her surgeon to make a couple calls. He would wait a full twenty-four hours to do so. One to the FBI, another to Cradyon’s police department. He had all her journals ready to turnover. The family would be shredded apart someway, somehow.
As the door caved in, Everlee fished a photo out of her pocket, the one of Masika holding her child. Everlee focused on the kid’s adorable coils, the big smile barely concealed by Masika’s hand. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of getting the upper hand.
Because she wanted nothing more than to hear Masika’s spawn beg for their life.