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That was one of the first kills the cops tried to pin on me, but I didn’t kill without a cause. I also didn’t kill teenagers that were getting high. I didn’t want the ‘factory worker’ who was curious about how “the machine” worked. I wanted the builder of the factory, the CEO, and the whole corporation of companies who allowed this type of behavior to happen.
Randall knew what I was.
He was probably the only one who was not afraid of me. At times, he had helped cover for me with law enforcement. During others, he’d helped be my ears for any new peddlers slinging around poison.
He wanted to see the end of drug dealing as much as I did. But Randall was a good boy. He tried to see the best in people but was easily swayed into believing a sob story or the hope of redemption for evil.
I jiggled the zipper of the tent. The action was like a knock on a door, a polite way of greeting. Randall came outside, his springy black hair bouncing as he waved warmly to me. There was a slight sheepish way he grinned, and I knew he was hiding something.
“Funniest story today, Randall,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest.
“Yeah? Well, I have a sorta funny one, too, Ember.”
I raised my eyebrow expectantly. Sure enough, he pulled the back tent flap aside, and there was the baby drug dealer huddled up in a ball, sipping water from a canteen.
“I had to do something, or he was going to alert the cops,” Randall said. “All of his squawking and rattling of the metal…. We all heard it from under the bridge.”
I let out a breath, annoyed at the predictable nature of my friend.
“You gotta be more careful, Em.” he chided, shaking his head and running his hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “We got pigs acting like they give a damn lately because of all the ODs. There was a nice guy who talked to us. Detective Quinn, I think that’s what he said his name was. Solid cop. Nothing like the dirty ones I usually see.”
“Any cop, nice or not, is no friend of mine.” I was not going to be challenged on this matter. “And pampering the scum I need to question isn’t going to make “friends” with me either.”
The hurt rolled off of Randall’s being, and his form slumped. His big milk chocolate eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, well…” his deep voice began. “How ‘bout you? Stop being careless and only thinking about yourself. You’re bringing these people down here. Did you ever think you could be the reason the other tweakers come here to sell their shit?”
Now, it was my turn to feel a slice of tangy pain. I schooled my features, not wanting my anger or hurt to shine through.
“I do not need you telling me how to do business.” I scoffed. “You couldn’t keep your own blood safe, and you think you can keep people who are viewed as stray animals from harm? Don’t fool yourself, Randall, or you’ll be the one ending up in a morgue with Trevor.”
The betrayal washed over me like ice, the hum of his being sending daggers into my cold heart. I didn’t wait for a reply, though. Instead, I grabbed the dealer by his shirt and hauled him back under the bridge. I ripped the canteen out of his hands, tossing it aside.
I was fuming, frustrated, and hurt. The one person I actually liked in this shithole world just turned against me. I saw Randall as a little brother. I basically raised him when he came here. Carelessly pulling the idiot dealer along, I reached the docks again. Tears stung my eyes, feeling annoying and foreign.
I faced the water and heard the icy river licking the dock, splashing frigid waves onto the concrete. Kneeling down next to the jerk, I heard an odd crunch under my knee and saw a piece of red paper-like item on the ground. My hands stalled from shoving this low-life into the murky depths.
The item under my knee was a folded piece of paper in the shape of an apple. The delicacy was strange in a rundown place like my home. I licked the paper. Some thick blood and oil were on the edges, and there was a word written in the middle.
Opening the folds, I read aloud, “Sweet dreams.”
A sharp sting slammed into the back of my head, and my vision went black.
Being called to the station at the crack of dawn was frustrating on a good day, and I had not been having the best week. I’d awoken in the middle of the street at three in the morning and only had about four hours of sleep.
I had a pounding headache, too. My migraine today was even worse than usual. That was until my cursed phone made the pounding and throbbing more intense.
“Hello, Detective.” The annoyance in my voice was evident. Trying not to wince at Quinn’s raspy, sleep-filled tone was almost impossible.
“Yeah, I know, Ella. I’m not thrilled either.”
The chief was an asshole, plain and simple, for demanding overtime, and whatever was happening at the station made him even more fun. Most of my absences lately, I’d blamed on the chief. There were only so many times I could be summoned to do someone else’s ‘bitch work.’ On top of that, the perfect-Emily made sure the chief knew about any time I was late.
Was this why he was making me take a missing person’s case?
The chief never called me. He just barked orders in a text message or sent his lackeys to get my ass and take me wherever I was needed. I didn’t deal with any cases not related to the Snow White killer. He or she had enough kills to keep me busy.
“Why does the chief want me for a missing persons case?” I was confused as to why I was even having the conversation.
