Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais
12
That night,I dreamed of my dad. It had been a while, and yet he looked as I remembered. Which made me angry.
Get out of my head, I yelled at him.
He said nothing. Just stared at me with a sad expression.
I woke feeling bad and then cursed myself for it. Why had he reappeared to haunt me now? Why couldn’t I let go?
I made it through week two, knowing my notoriety had spread by the number of people eying me and the sudden increase in party invitations—which I ignored, as I lacked any interest in being a fetish object for them to gawk at or try to fuck.
Saturday rolled around, and after I’d helped clean up after dinner, Kalinda announced, “I’m going out.”
“Okay.” Smart thing for her to ensure that someone knew. “Where’re you going? Will you be back tonight? What’s an emergency number if something happens?” I asked, ticking off the things I should know.
“What’s with all the questions?” She pulled off her apron.
“Isn’t that why you’re telling me? So if something happens, the cops know where to start looking?”
She blinked at me with beautiful, thick lashes. “Don’t you dare call the cops if I don’t come home one night.”
“What if it’s been twenty-four hours?”
“No. You tell Cashien or Mary. Anyone in this house. Not law enforcement.”
“Okay,” I agreed, not even sure why I’d insisted. I hated the cops. Didn’t trust them one bit. “Have fun.”
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.
“Studying.” What else was there for me to do?
“You should come out with me.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to get started on my homework.”
“You’re always doing homework. Take a break.”
“Really, I’m fine. I’m not much of a going-out kind of person.”
“You are seriously repressed.”
“Who is?” Cashien walked in, his pants tight enough they probably needed butter to get into, his T-shirt molded to his upper body. A man on the prowl for another man. He more than likely wouldn’t be home tonight.
“Abby is staying home to do homework.”
Cashien paused before stealing a chunk of brownie from the container on the counter and popping it into his mouth. “But it’s Saturday.”
“I tried to tell her that she was being seriously boring.”
Boring was good. Especially since I lived in fear of their reaction when they heard who I was. Surely, they knew by now. And if they didn’t, it was only a matter of time. They might respond better if the news came from me.
“Listen, you guys have been great with me, but I should warn you before you hear about it somewhere else… My parents—”
“Were never actually convicted of anything.” Jag walked in with that bold statement.
“You know?” My tone hit a low note.
“That you’re the daughter of the Pentagram Killers? Since day one,” Cashien said.
My cheeks heated. “I was going to tell you.”
“Tell us what? That your parents are famous? I also knew,” Kalinda remarked. “Who could forget your face? That meme of you and the cops made you famous.”
“But you never said anything.”
She shrugged. “Why would I? You didn’t kill those people.”
“Neither did my parents,” I exclaimed.
“If they’re innocent, then I don’t know why you’re hiding.” Kalinda sounded matter-of-fact.
“It’s called being discreet,” I mumbled. I went for the counter and the brownie I’d refused earlier. I needed something sweet, but Cashien had stolen the last cut piece.
Kalinda offered me a knife from the wooden block as I sighed at the treats in the pan.
Jag’s grin widened. “Are you sure we should let the daughter of the unholy killers use a knife?”
I stiffened, Cashien snickered, and Kalinda looked as if she’d toss the blade at Jag’s head. I kind of willed her to.
“She’d better not borrow my knives for any killings. They’re mine,” she snapped. Then gave me a glance. “But if you need something to pummel anyone with, you can use the hammer. No one’s claimed it.”
“I am not killing anyone,” I hotly declared.
“Pity. It might have made you more interesting.” Jag swept past me, and I glared at him.
“He’s right,” Kalinda said, catching my stare. “You’re a college student in bed by ten. It’s appalling.”
“I read past midnight,” was my feeble defense.
Cashien made a disparaging noise. “That’s not something you should brag about.”
“Nothing wrong with reading,” I mumbled defensively.
“Screw that. I prefer to be doing,” Jag declared, turning from the fridge with a beer in hand.
“What are you doing? I thought we were going out tonight,” Kalinda declared.
“Still am. Just having one for the road.” He winked. “Things to do. People to see.”
They all had stuff happening, meaning by ten o’clock, the house was dead-silent. To prove a point, I ignored my bed and sat at my desk, studying. By eleven, I’d given up on homework.
I couldn’t concentrate, not when I still mulled over the discovery that my roommates knew who I was and didn’t appear to care. It honestly baffled me.
For one, why not mention it? Surely, they could have alluded to it in passing. Two, they had to be lying about not being bothered. Human nature practically ensured it preyed on them. The fact that they’d pretended not to know until now set off all kinds of alarms.
What if they were setting me up, Carrie-style? Could be they were spying on me, maybe with hidden cameras, feeding news of my every move to a public paying to watch it? The web was an ugly place with the worst kind of voyeurs.
The idea of being spied on had me pacing and searching the room, looking for stealthy video recorders and microphones. It wasn’t that I was worried they’d see something. I was as boring as Kalinda claimed, but I deserved privacy.
By one a.m., I was still awake as if I’d chugged a vat of coffee. With my mind moving a mile a minute, I put on my running shoes and headphones and headed out for a jog.
Stupid, right? Women weren’t supposed to go running alone at night. I read the damned articles about them going missing, only to be found dead. I heard the lectures about how if women didn’t want to be victims, they should stay safely inside.
It pissed me off. Sometimes, I wanted to run at night. Needed to feel the cold breeze on my skin, the darkness on my flesh. There was a certain heavy quiet that you could only experience at night, not the same as the predawn silence. That one trembled with pending wakefulness. But at night, you shivered with fear as the worst you could expect emerged to stalk.
I threw myself into a jog, figuring I’d play it safe and at least run inside the college campus on the well-lit paths. The campaign led by previous assault victims to make the area safer had borne fruit. Now, lights were strategically placed, and every few posts, cameras watched. Nothing could happen that they wouldn’t see.
I went around the quad once, the initial burn fading into a pleasant warmth. I veered into a second lap, my earphones playing soothing ocean sounds. I couldn’t hear my steps, just feel them, the soft pounding as the soles of my shoes hit the pavement.
The sudden grasp of my arm startled and had me acting. Reflexes honed by years of martial arts kicked in. I grabbed the offender and used my weight to flip them. They hit the ground with a satisfying thud.
