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That’s why viewers have tuned in.
Revulsion curdles my blood.
I rewind once more, seeing the disjointed images reverse in quick jerky movements, the sound a garbled babble until I reach the interview again. Then I study the screen as a smiling Renee-Claire asks her guests questions, each more personal than the last. The host is loving it, too, nearly creaming herself. I can see it in Renee-Claire’s eyes, so bright with interest at exposing all the dark, scandalous secrets of her guests’ lives.
No more.
I clench my teeth.
Tonight it ends.
No more pain.
No more suffering.
Time for retribution.
I lick my lips in anticipation.
I’ve waited so, so long.
With new fortitude, I walk to the small closet, find my poncho, ski mask, and dark glasses inside. After I’m dressed, I see that the television is still on, the vile program running, and I hit the pause button on the remote.
The screen freezes on a frame filled with a head shot of Kristi Bentz. She looks intent, her eyes wide, her auburn hair gleaming under the studio lights.
Beautiful.
Smart.
And, I think, pulling on my gloves, soon to die.
* * *
Cruz knew he shouldn’t return to Kristi Bentz’s place. Going back was sure to be trouble. Big trouble.
Astride his Harley, he sped along the streets of New Orleans, kicking the bike into a higher and higher gear, listening to the engine whine as he considered the open road. Soon he would reach the interstate and he could leave the Big Easy in his dust.
There was no reason to return. Nosanereason.
If he did, he would be playing with fire.
Yet he was compelled.
For a reason he didn’t understand.
“Hell.”
He pulled a 180 and turned his bike around, heading back to the heart of the city, and ignored the blare of the horn from the driver of a cherry-picker truck that he zoomed past, the lights of New Orleans calling, a siren song he couldn’t ignore.
He thought about Kristi Bentz and told himself that what he felt, a connection, was all in his head, a damned figment of his imagination. His jaw tightened. But who else did he have to turn to?
His family?
All of his siblings had their own lives.
What about his cop brother?
Cruz scoffed at the idea. Reuben had an obligation to his family and his duty as an officer of the law. He shouldn’t have ever reached out to him. That had been a mistake. A major mistake. One, he was certain, that would haunt him.
