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“Doyouwant children?” He looks at me intently.
“I don’t know. I used to dream about getting married and having children. After everything I’ve been through…I don’t think I do anymore. I’d always worry about being able to keep them safe.”
There’s a troubled look on his face. “That’s good. I can’t see me ever being a father. It wouldn’t be fair for me to father a child. The blood of monsters runs in my veins.”
I don’t completely agree with that, because I believe that if he and his brother hadn’t been raised by a sadistic tyrant, they wouldn’t have grown up to be the way they are. But it’s also not a point worth arguing, because I’m starting to worry there might not be any future for us even to speak of. I’m afraid Joshua’s just given up on us, and I don’t understand why.
I’m trying to talk about our future, yet he’s not even looking at me; he’s staring over my shoulder at something a million miles away. It wasn’t so long ago that he laid claim to me, body and soul, vowing never to let me go. Trying to make me decorate our imaginary future home. Threatening terrible punishment if I tried to escape him.
Now I don’t even know if he’d notice if I got up and walked out of the room.
The thought of Joshua leaving me sends a spear of pain through my heart.
I start babbling, nervous and frightened. If I talk about our future, it will make it real, won’t it? “So what do you imagine will happen once your brother’s caught? I’d like to go back to school.”
He scowls at me.
“Tamara, I haven’t slept in four days and I don’t want to talk any more.”
Damn it.How can he not see how bad things are between us? “What are you going to do about it?” I cry out. “You can’t keep going on like this. You said you’d talk to me, but you keep pushing me away. You need to see a therapist.”
“Excuse the fuck out of me? You don’t tell me how to live my life.” He slams his hand down on the table and shoves his chair back.
Now I’m getting pissed. “You aren’t living your life! You’re like a damn zombie. Joshua, you can barely function.”
He draws in an angry breath through his nostrils. “I can function just fine. I’ll deal with it.”
“How?” I challenge him.
He stands up, turning away from me. Dismissing me. “The way I always have.”
I jump to my feet, in tears. “By killing your father over and over again?” I yell. “How’s that working out for you?”
He twists around to stare at me, and the look in his eyes is dark and alien. “What did you just say?” A chill runs over me at the sound of his voice.
“Those men you chose to kill—you showed me the pictures of your future targets. Men in their late forties and fifties. They all have dark hair and strong cheekbones. Most of them have light-colored eyes. They all look a little bit like you, which means they probably look a little bit like your father did.”
He’s growing agitated. He starts pacing, not looking at me, his expression wild and his body tense. “No. They don’t. That has nothing to fucking do with it. I told you how I select the men.”
Yes, he did. He picks men who are predators, and who he also thinks are worthy opponents. Men who are physically strong, who can fight back. But that’s only part of it.
Why is he denying the obvious? It’s not even that big a deal. He kills bad guys. They happen to look like his father. He needs to just acknowledge it and move on. I’m sick of his denial. “Joshua, out of all the abusers out there, you’ve narrowed it down to men who look like your father, and who specifically abuse women and children. Middle-aged white guys with dark hair, the same age your father probably was when you killed him. Did you never realize that before?”
Suddenly the look on his face terrifies me. He barely looks human.
“Get out.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell at him.
“Get out before I kill you!”The voice that’s coming out of his throat is barbed with hatred and deadly intentions.
I take one look at him, and I get up and run for my life.
* * *
Joshua
When I return to my senses, I’m standing at the very back of my property, and I’m fucking terrified, scared out of my mind like I’ve never been before. Scared down to the depths of my sick, deformed soul, choking and gasping with panic.
