Queen of The Reapers by Jessa Halliwell

Twenty

The house is empty.Even without double checking, I can tell I’m alone. It’s too quiet and the air in the room is too cold.

I slip off my heels and throw them against the wall, letting out a fraction of the anger brewing inside of me. They crash against the pristine white wall with a thud and a cruel smile forms on my lips. It feels good to let it out. To be the one inflicting the damage instead of feeling it.

But once I see the black scuff marks and cracks my outburst left behind, my smile fades. What did I do?

I step forward and run my fingers along the cracks, as if my touch alone has the power to heal the damage. It doesn’t. And the more I try to fix it, the more the damage spreads.

Tears well in my eyes as I step back from the wall and turn my head away. That wall is like everything else I’ve been doing lately. Acting on impulse only to regret it, and then try to make it better. But some things are irreparable and I’m terrified that tonight, I’ve finally broken the only ties I have left.

I regret how the conversation ended with Cyrus. I threw what Dimitri said in his face because I knew it would hurt him. Because everything he said was hurting me, and my instinct is always to fight fire with fire. But the reality of it is, deep down, I know Cyrus is right. Alex is gone. Dimitri can’t be trusted. And I have fallen so far from grace I can’t even tell which way is up.

I step through the foyer and slowly look around as I take everything in. I never really noticed it until now, but without the overwhelming presence of The Reapers filling the rooms, this house feels barren. Like nothing but grey walls, dark wood beams, and upscale fixtures. Cold. Lifeless. Deserted.

The energy in the house almost feels ironic given the current state of my mind. It’s like all the dark emotions swirling inside of me poured themselves all over the house. Adorning the walls and seeping into the floors. Wreaking havoc on a place that was once a symbol for a new beginning.

I walk up the stairs in an almost catatonic state. I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes, but I don’t even bother to blink them back. This isn't what I wanted. For the twins to find me like that. To see, with their own eyes, just how far I’ve fallen. But even our deepest darkest truths have a way of revealing themselves and mine is that I was never really the princess in my story. I was the villain.

I would've killed Jessie tonight. I tried to deny it in front of Cyrus and Tristan, but once they left me alone with my own thoughts, I could no longer deny the truth. And as I took the long walk up the driveway, I thought about why. Why was I so determined to kill her? Did I really think she knew where Alex was? Or was I just looking for an excuse to hurt her?

Then I thought about what kind of person does that. What kind of person just kills for sport? And when I realized the answer, I almost cried. A monster. A monster does that. I didn't almost kill Jessie because she was hiding information. I almost killed her because I wanted to. Because it felt good. Because I wanted her to feel a fraction of the pain I live with every fucking day. I did it because I’m a monster.

I approach the second floor landing and I have no idea where to go next. I can't stomach the idea of going into my room. Being alone in that room will surface too many emotions I’m not ready to face.

My eyes zero in on Ezra’s door and I move towards it. It’s probably the last place I should go, given our tumultuous last encounter, but after all this time, I still feel a pull towards his room.

I slide the door open and I inhale a deep breath as his signature scent of lavender and smoke surrounds me. This is exactly where I need to be.

I step in further and brush my fingers along the milky blue wall as I make a beeline for the bed. The room is pitch black with the exception of the moon casting a soft glow in the corner of the room, but I don’t bother with the lights. I’ve done this walk countless times and know the layout of his room like the back of my hand. I find his bed and, without second guessing myself, I sink into the cloud-like mattress and feel the tension in my body ease. I need to shut myself off, even if just for a few minutes.

* * *

I awakewith a start at the sound of buzzing beside my head. I blink my eyes open and let out an audible groan when I realize the source, my phone. I must’ve set it on the nightstand before I drifted off.

I reach for the phone and as I lift it up; I see a small piece of paper drift to the floor. I try to grab a hold of it, but it slips through my fingers and takes a dive under the bed. Awesome.

Tossing the cozy duvet aside, I crawl out of bed and get on my hands and knees to try to find it. The second I flip up the bed skirt, the putrid scent of gasoline and ash hits my nose. Where is that coming from? I lift my face away from the scent and blindly reach for the paper. It couldn’t have gone too far. I swing my hand out and my fingers latch on to two things at once. The paper that I dropped and something that feels like a pile of rough leather. I grab onto both pieces and pull them out. It’s hard to see what I’m looking at with no light, so I reach for my phone and activate the flashlight.

Lifting the pile of leather in my hands, I realize almost immediately that it’s a jacket. Or at least, it was. The inner lining reeks of gasoline and the exterior of the sleeves are so badly charred, it’s impossible to touch it without getting soot on your hands. What the hell is this? I drop the pile of fabric back down to the floor and focus my attention on the paper. Now that I’m able to see it up close, I realize it isn’t just a paper, it’s the back of a picture.

I freeze when I see the words scribed on the back of the picture. ‘Always together.’ But it’s not just the words that throw me off, it’s the handwriting too. The handwriting I’d recognize anywhere. Mine.

It can’t be.

I don’t want to believe it, but when I flip the photo over and see two familiar faces on the other side, my world caves in on itself.

It’s me and Alex. Why the fuck does Ezra have a picture of me and Alex on his nightstand?

My chest tightens, and suddenly there’s not enough air in the room. I can’t breathe and as I look around me, I know with certain clarity I need to get the fuck out of here. With only my phone in my hand, I gun it out of the room.

Vomit forces its way up my throat as I thrash through the bathroom door and the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place. The burned jacket. The picture. His absence. Everything is pointing to something I don’t want to believe. That I can’t possibly believe.

My knees crash to the floor as I brace myself over the toilet and my stomach heaves up all of its contents. My body shakes violently as nausea continues to assault me, forcing me to purge up everything as if that will somehow erase the image from my mind. He wouldn’t hurt Alex. Would he?

Someone knocks on the door and my head snaps up. I frantically wipe my tears away as I flush down the contents of the toilet and move to my feet. I don’t want any of them to see me like this. Not until I know for sure. I take a deep breath and open the door, but when I see the man behind it, my facade crumbles and all the air rushes out of my lungs.

Ezra stands on the other side of the door and stares at me. There is no sympathy in his eyes. No fear. He knows.

“Is she still alive?” I ask softly, blinking back the tears as they well in my eyes.

“Is who still alive?” He asks, inching closer to me.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Ezra.” I snap, shoving him back into the hallway. “Is. She. Still. Alive?”

Ezra scoffs as he slowly shakes his head. “That guilt you’re feeling over what you did.” He hisses, looking at me up and down. “Has nothing to do with me. You made your bed. Lie in it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not talking about Jessie.” I spit. “I’m talking about my sister. Is she still out there somewhere, alone and scared? Or did you make it easy on yourself and just kill her?”

Ezra makes a move to respond, but I quickly cut him off. “Wait, what am I thinking?” I hiss, shaking my head. “Of course you killed her. It’s who you are. You don’t a give a fuck about the people you hurt or the damage you cause, all you care about is yourself.”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as the tears pour harder. I don’t care how weak I look or how much my voice shakes. After all the pain he caused, he needs to hear this. All of this. “I slept in your room today,” I confess as I visibly swallow, “because I felt so broken that I thought just being closer to you would make me feel better. Isn’t that fucking pathetic?”

He says nothing, so I continue. “But I see who you are so clearly now. You never healed me. You never made me feel better. You never made me feel loved. You changed me. You made me numb to your violence. You made me forget about all the things that make me human. And the fucked up thing is, I wanted so badly for you to love me that I was willing to do anything to be your equal. To show you how strong and how ruthless I could be. Just so I could walk hand in hand with your monster and show the entire world we belonged together. But you know what? I was wrong. The truth is, there’s no hope for you, Ezra Cole. You’re a sick, sadistic killer and no amount of love or acceptance from anyone will ever change that. I regret ever meeting you. I regret wasting my time on you. And I regret turning into the monster you always wanted me to be. ”

I stare at Ezra and wait for him to respond. Part of me wants him to deny it. To grab me by shoulders, shake me, and scream that it wasn’t him. That I got it all wrong and that he’ll do whatever it takes to prove it. But his expression is as cold as ever and as he moves closer to me, I can almost feel the ice radiating off of him.

“You’re right.” He hisses, cocking his head as he slowly backs me into a wall. “I am a monster, but I’ve never pretended to be anything else. You’re the one that thought you could change me. That I would magically transform into some prince that’ll come through and save the day. But that’ll never be me, and it isn’t my responsibility to live up to some warped ideology of who you want me to be. You may be right about who I am and all the things I’ve done, but you’re wrong about one thing. I never wanted you to be a monster. That you did all on your own. I’ve accepted the blood on my hands, Angel, your sister’s included. But when the fuck are you going to accept yours?”

As soon as I hear the confession fall from his lips, I stop listening. I’ve heard enough and hearing anymore will only make it hurt more. Ezra walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway to deal with the damage he caused.

His door slams shut, and I sink to the floor. I wrap my arms around my knees and slowly rock myself as my tears continue to pour. He did it. He actually fucking did it. Ezra killed my little sister. Pain slices into me as the reality of his betrayal hits me over and over again. I trusted him. I trusted all of them. How could I be so fucking stupid?

I look around the hallway, and the sudden need to escape hits me hard. I don’t belong here. I shake myself out of my sadness and force myself up to my feet. No. I think to myself, shaking the tears away. No more crying. You’ve already wasted so many tears on men you barely knew. Don’t let Alex’s death be in vain. Get the fuck out of here now, before it’s too late.

Stuffing my emotions back down, I rush into my room, grab my duffel bag, fill it with as many necessities as I can think of, put my sneakers on, and storm right back out. If I stay any longer, it’ll be even harder to leave.

I race down the stairs and head straight for the back door. After my first failed escape attempt, I figured out a better route. I never thought I’d have to use it, but it’s just another sign of how drastically things have changed.

Once I make it into the backyard, I slip past the servants’ quarters, scale the back access gate, and enter the lush forest surrounding the estate. There’s only about two miles of trees until I hit the main highway, but the only way I’ll be able to make it down the hill is with some outside help.

Shit. I can’t do this alone. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my messages to find the number I never saved. The one I thought I’d never need again.

Me: Hey. I know it’s late and I’m probably the last person you want to hear from, but something happened and I have no one else to turn to. Will you help me?

As I findmy way through the forest, I keep the message app open, willing for those three little grey dots to pop up. Twenty minutes pass and I’ve all but given up hope on getting a response. It’s almost 3:30 AM, and it was dumb for me to assume they’d even want to help me again after everything that’s happened. Just as I’m about to slip my phone back into my pocket, it buzzes, and a message pops up on the screen.

Unknown Number: Sure. Where are you?