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her eyes as she imagines me mounting her the way that bastard Santana does.
Oh, I would make her forget him!
CHOSEN TO DIE
423
Fuck her within an inch of her life.
Leave her sweating and panting and hurting with the feel of me.
Not that I would do it. It’s not part of my plan, and I’ve made no exceptions in that area. Yes, I left two in the forest in one day, Brandy earlier than Elyssa, which was a slight alteration, but I couldn’t leave Brandy alone too long. She had too much fight in her, even as she turned to me.
As for breaking Pescoli’s spirit, it would have taken too long, been too dangerous. This is better, in a way. This chase. I can be satisfied leaving her in the forest now. I have my camera in my jacket, along with a small hammer and the note. I keep a copy of them with me—in my killing jacket—always. I shift the coil of rope on my shoulder and feel a little zing of anticipation in my blood, a rush of adrenaline that keeps me going, my legs striding easily, my lungs beginning to burn with the cold, dry air.
How will Grayson feel when they finally discover her?
Desperate?
Disheartened?
Furious?
All of the above?
Good!
Bring it on. I can’t wait until the cops find one of their own, naked and dead. Then they’ll get the message: Everyone’s vulnerable. Even you, Grayson, you sanctimonious prick. Now do you think I’m not good enough? Just the pathetic son of an old lunatic and a whore of a woman who left them?
“Beware the scorpion’s wrath,” I say softly and 424
Lisa Jackson
the warning seems to slither through the icy trees and across the frozen streams, making the forest shiver with anticipation.
How often did my bitch of a mother whisper those very words before she hit me across my bare buttocks with a slim belt that stung and bit into my flesh? How many times did she force me to stand waiting, trembling in the corner, without a stitch on? Oh, I quivered and cried, anticipating her attack. And as she struck, she told me about Orion and the sting of the scorpion which had killed the great hunter. Oh, yes, she repeated the story with great relish, savoring it, as much as the beating she inflicted.
Sick, horrid woman!
And I took it. All of her wickedness and wrath while dear old Dad turned a blind eye, then poured himself into a bottle so far and so deep that his sanity fled. Oh, yes, Mother. You finally delivered your punishment until, at twelve, I turned the tables. I was as tall as you were, and as strong. I refused to strip. Grabbed that belt and swore I would kill her if she ever tried to hit me again!
But then, you had one more trick up your sleeve. One more humiliation in store for me.
You walked out of the house and died less than a week later. Got the last laugh by leaving me alone to live with a drunken old man who believed in aliens. And I got to suffer the pity and scorn of the community. I’ve heard them talk behind my back all these years. Whisper to each other. Laugh about the old goat and his sorry boy.
My jaw aches now, thinking about you.
CHOSEN TO DIE
425
I surface as if from a dream. I’ve spent too much time thinking about the past while running after Regan. Caught in my reminiscence, I’ve run on instinct, following her, but not closing the distance. No more!
Now, I focus.
Run faster.
Feel my heart beating and the coil of rope jostle with my strides. My grip on the hilt of my knife never lessens and I start closing the gap, running faster, dragging cold air between my teeth, my gaze as always, centered upon my prey:
