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Although I can’t personally understand it, I know it’s real. I know they’re in a serious situation and they feel incredibly helpless, even when they convince themselves they’re not. It took an incredible amount of strength for Alison to leave him. When she did, he had threatened her, then tried to woo her again, and eventually tried to attack her.
I had been there and stopped it.
Ryan had always hated me. I was the son that was never supposed to happen. He wanted to be the one and only and terrorized me our entire childhood together because of it. The Good Son looked like a Disney movie compared to Ryan. Countless times, he tried to hurt me. There were moments where I was positive he was going to go to the kitchen, grab a butcher knife and follow through with his darkest fantasy, but something always held him back. I could see it in his eyes, though. The desire to make me disappear for good.
That night, when I had stopped Ryan from hurting Alison—that’s when his hatred truly festered. It bubbled into blisters and became permanent third degree burns over our relationship. I think if Ryan had the opportunity now, he would kill me.
And to be perfectly fucking honest, I feel the same about him.
After that, he had no choice but to let Alison slip away. I had witnessed his volatile reaction and intervened when he tried to attack her. He accused me of fucking Alison, and I let him believe it. There wasn’t any way to come back from that.
Ryan would rather roll over and die than take back a girl he thinks I fucked. After that, she’s tainted. Ruined forever. Disgust twisted his features when he saw me protect her, and I knew him believing I had Alison too was the only way Ryan would truly let her go.
But that’s not what I want for River. She’s been accused of being a whore since she could talk, so the last thing River would allow anyone to think is that she had to sleep her way out of a relationship. She’s too prideful, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t respect her for it.
I left her alone for nearly two months because if I had seen her, I would’ve kidnapped her. And several times a week, I had to look Ryan in the face and not fucking murder him. My resistance is slowly fading, and I’m no longer scared of what I feel myself preparing to do.
For now, I’ll respect River and keep my mouth shut about our odd relationship. But she has another thing coming if she thinks I’ll ever let her forget that we have one.
“GHOST KILLER AT IT again,” I sigh, staring down at the dead body. Same fucking kill, just different bodies. It’s becoming tiresome. And I feel like it’s fucking personal. “And I can bet my life on the fact that there’s nothing new to see with this body.”
Redd grimly shakes his head, his lips tightened with disappointment.
“Same M.O. Plenty of DNA samples. I’ll test them, but I guarantee they will match sex workers and incarcerated criminals just like the last ten bodies.”
I crouch down, getting a better look at the dead man. The word ‘Ghost’ is carved into his chest just like every other victim. The words are as neat as they possibly could be when carving words into a live, squirming human being. A little bullet hole decorates the middle of his forehead. Same gun as before.
“Do we know who the vic is?” I ask Redd.
“Nineteen-year-old Sage Blomberg. Heavily involved in the gang that runs his neighborhood,” he answers, snapping another photo.
Being heavily involved in a gang translates to drug dealer. Kid more than likely has already been in jail for dealing and possession. Every single Ghost Killer victim has been in and out of jail for some type of drug charge. Not all of them are as young as Sage or Greg, but it’s disturbing to see that the majority are.
These kids could easily be rival gang members. But my gut tells me they’re not. The word carved into their chest is too personal, too telling of whatever they did to piss off the Ghost Killer.
And I can bet that the Ghost Killer’s motive is insubordination. The suspect is a gang leader or drug lord. Someone that these victims answered to. I bet that he runs a very tight ship, as most gang leaders do. And if kids are anything these days, they’re convinced they have life all figured out.
The victims either lied, stole or betrayed the Ghost Killer in some way. Maybe some of them even challenged him, thinking they’re tough shit. Whatever the case, they acted against the wrong person and paid the price for it.
“Let me know who the DNA links to the minute you find out. I’m going to pay them a visit, even if they’re in another fucking state,” I say to Redd.
I turn away from the scene, Amar following behind me. Quiet as usual.
“What are you thinking?” Amar asks after a minute of letting me stew in silence.
“I’m going to find out what gang Sage belonged to, and then we’re staking out their hangout location. See who goes in and out.”
Amar doesn’t argue. It’s a dangerous stake-out, hanging out in the streets where crime happens in broad daylight without a care in the world. But that’s the point I’ve reached myself. I don’t give a fuck if it’s dangerous, I just want to catch the killer.
Whoever he is, he’s a cockroach. Crimes have ramped up eight percent since he started killing his Ghost’s a year ago. Overdoses increased by fourteen percent. Those are fucking massive numbers within a year’s time.
And to leave the victims out in the public for us to find shows his arrogance. He never actually leaves the bodies in Shallow Hill, but in the neighboring town where I live. He’s number one in his world. Bet he feels fucking untouchable. As if he’s a god.
I squeeze my fists until my knuckles turn white.
I can’t wait to show this fucker just how human he really is.
“Mako?” Amar barks, snapping me out of my violent musings. I look at him, stunned. Amar is staring back at me, his dark eyes filled with concern.
