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While he’s been lost in his memories, his underwear displays the true lack of his remorse. An erection tints the dingy material. I advert my eyes in disgust.
I have to know, however, if this man is capable of change. I force my gaze back onto Roger. “Can you release him?” Not will he release the boy. But can. The two words are not interchangeable to a vile man like this.
His mouth twitches as he attempts to form the words. It’s a telling micro expression. My sight is hindered, especially in the dark, and yet he’s unable to mask his true feelings.
“Yes,” he shouts. “Okay? I will release him. Let me go, and I’ll take you to him.”
Liar.
“But what about the others?” I insist. “All the future children you plan to harm. How can we trust that you’re reformed, never to damage or kill another child again?”
His laugh bounces over the clearing. “Are you serious?” He glares at me. “You’re a fucking therapist. You know how my illness works.” He releases a lengthy breath. “I’ll try, all right? I’ll get help. I’ll go to the meetings. I’ll put a goddamn chastity belt on my dick!” He fights the harness more. “Now get me the hell out of here, you fucking cunt.”
Yes, Roger has many more disorders to unearth. Woman-hating misogynist is on that list. There’s no reform in his future. If he’s set free, he may do time in prison. But he’ll be released eventually. Set loose to prey on innocent lives.
Our justice system fails when it comes to the predators of children. The very lives that need the most protection and shelter. Grayson was a victim to a monster just like Roger, and so were my sister and I. Now, there is no rehabilitation for any of us.
“What are you waiting for?” Roger yells. “Do it!”
One will free him. One is the kill switch.
I yank the rusted key.
Roger’s scream arcs over the maze before his body plunges feet-first into the tank of acid.
He sinks to the bottom of the container. The water bubbles and froths, bleeding pink at first, then a deep blood-red. Flesh bobs and hits the sides, then floats to the surface. I won’t look away—I can’t. I watch the gruesome death unfold.
Minutes pass, or maybe only seconds. The liquid thickens into a paste-like substance, too thick to discern Roger any longer.
My thoughts are a void. Hallowed out of me and splashed against the night. I only am—the purest sense of acceptance melds into the natural order. My existence in balance.
Then I feel arms surround my waist.
Grayson pulls me against his chest. I lean my head back, feeling his heart race in time with mine. His solid form embraces me as he says, “Our first kill.”
29
Deliverance
Grayson
A buzz fills the night air, a charged current caressing, embracing. I feel the electric pulse of i
t vibrating along London’s skin.
Our first kill.
I’m drawn to her heat like a moth to the flame, like her body can ward off the demons of our past. She’s my temple, and I want to kneel at her feet and worship.
“I’m on fire,” she says. Adrenaline still courses her bloodstream, her flesh simmering beneath my arms. The tendons of my forearms tense as I ache to crush her body to mine.
She doesn’t need to explain. I understand what she’s feeling. I’m lit from the thrill of our kill—I can’t stop touching her. Every texture between us a tantalizing, erotic pleasure.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. “So alive.” I find the clasp of the dress and drag the zipper down her back. My fingers trail her skin, my whole being ablaze, desperate to touch her.
“I may have passed your test, but I failed mine.” Her body goes rigid.
The boy. I can’t help the smile that steals across my face. We’re so close to being one. “Would knowing the boy was out of harm’s way have changed the outcome for you? Would you have chosen differently?”
