Slaughter Daughter by Eve Langlais

15

My mind blanked.I felt as if I were a stupid character in a shitty C horror flick. And then it hit me.

“You came here thinking I killed someone?” I gaped at the cops.

“You have to admit, it’s suspicious,” blustered Walters.

“Suspicious how? What evidence do you even have linking me to it?”

“It’s a pentagram.”

“And?” I prodded. “Pentagrams are a widely used symbol. Not to mention, my parents were never actually convicted of anything. And on that basis, you showed up here, ready to arrest me.” I stood as tall as I could and said in my most victimized voice, “Is there absolutely no presumption of innocence anymore?” A shame no one recorded this. It would have been a viral sensation.

“You know what? This conversation is over. Next time you want to talk to my girlfriend, talk to her lawyer first.” Jag shifted in the officers’ direction as if he’d toss them out.

“Ms. Smith isn’t under arrest.”

“Yet,” Jenkins added.

“This is harassment,” Kalinda declared. “And victim intimidation. When was the last time you went through a sensitivity training course?”

“We’re done here. Sorry to have bothered you.” Walters seemed most put out. Jenkins sagged.

They left, and I practically hit the floor, a nearby wall the only thing holding up my sagging body.

Kalinda bolted the door and leaned on it long enough to say, “I think it’s safe to say we need a drink. Cocktails in the kitchen. Now.”

If I had breath to protest, I might have. Instead, I followed her into the kitchen, parked my ass on a stool at the counter, and slouched. I didn’t know what to say. My previous encounters with the cops were about giving them information about my parents. This assumption that I might be linked to a serious crime bothered me. If Jag hadn’t been here, would they have really arrested me and thrown me in a jail cell?

“Drink. Tell me if it’s sweet enough.” A glass slid in front of me, ice cubes bobbing in the tan liquid. I’d wager it had alcohol.

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Stop being so uptight.” Sexy, purring Jag had reverted to his usual sardonic self. “Have a few swigs and relax.”

“I can’t relax,” was my miserable admission.

“Then they win,” Kalinda said.

I put my face in my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. Why can’t people just leave me alone?”

“The joys of fame.”

My lips pursed. “Infamy, you mean. I could do without. Bad enough people are obsessed with my parents, but every time shit happens, someone assumes it’s me. Because, you know, I must be some kind of psycho, too.”

“Obviously. I mean, who eats Froot Loops without milk?” Jag said from his spot leaning on the counter. He was no help.

I was mad at him, but not too mad. After all, he’d come to my rescue. By pretending we were lovers, he’d kept me out of the clink.

But that didn’t mean he could disparage the way I ate my cereal. “I like them crunchy. And I wouldn’t talk. You’re the guy who eats French fries with plum sauce instead of ketchup or mayo.”

“He is a savage,” Kalinda agreed.

Cashien entered the room. “Any reason our address was given out on a police scanner?”

It didn’t take long to catch him up.

He eyed me, and I waited for the condemnation. “They had no grounds to take you, and barely any to ask you questions. If they show up again, refuse to answer until I arrive.”

“What if they plant evidence?” It happened all the time in books and movies.

“If they try framing you, then we get it tossed out.” Cashien pointed. “What are we drinking?

“Long Island iced tea,” Kalinda replied. She reached for the glass she’d poured me and drank a few long pulls before offering it to Jag, who drank the rest.

Cashien protested. “Sharing is caring, bro.”

“Not in this case. Didn’t you say something about cutting back?”

“One-night stands, not booze,” Cashien grumbled.

“Too much alcohol leads to the former. Besides, I did you a favor. Needs more sugar,” Jag advised, pushing the glass at Kalinda.

“You’re only saying that because you have a sweet tooth,” Kalinda admonished, even as she dropped a spoonful of sugar into the pitcher and stirred. She ended up pulling out more glasses, and a moment later, everyone had their own, including me.

“What are we toasting?” Cashien asked, lifting his glass.

“To keeping Abby’s ass out of prison and teaching her to lie better.” Jag was as nice to me as ever.

“Hey,” I protested. “I went along with your story.”

“You need to work on your ‘I had a great night of sex’ facial reaction.”

“I’m sorry. I had a hard time imagining you good at it,” I snapped back, and Cashien just about fell off the stool laughing.

As for Jag, I expected him to look angry, and something hot did flare in his gaze, but it was more of a smolder than a snap. “Touché, buttercup. Perhaps a demonstration of my prowess can be arranged. Because next time, Kalinda might not be around to cover your lack of a proper reply.”

“How about we don’t have a next time?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Cashien tilted his glass at me and then drank.

Jag and Kalinda followed suit. I looked at my glass with its amber liquid. I grabbed it and drank. It tasted like iced tea, and yet it warmed me as it went down. I set the glass on the counter but kept my fingers curled around it. “I can’t believe you’re being so nice to me.” I really couldn’t.

“Why wouldn’t we be nice to Abby?” Mary asked, walking into the kitchen. Within minutes, she knew the story too, and I drank some more iced tea and got a refill. The warm buzz kept me company as Mary hopped onto her laptop to find out what the cops had so far.

No one questioned the fact that she could actually find out.

“The nine-one-one phone call was made by someone walking their dog. Apparently, the dog ran inside an abandoned church. When the person went in after them, they saw the pentagram and called for help. The first officers on the scene noticed the suspicious stains and cordoned off the area for testing. Quick prelims show it is human blood.”

“How old?” Jag questioned while I took another warm and fuzzy sip.

“The more extensive lab results haven’t been posted yet.” Mary kept tapping. “But the cemetery security guard did his rounds around ten-ish, and it wasn’t there then. He didn’t find it until his second pass.”

“So, pentagram and blood. I’ve heard nothing in this story yet about a body.” Cashien paid attention to the finer details.

“Nothing according to the report I’m sifting through.” Was it only me who wondered how Mary got into the police computers? They all seemed to accept it as just something she did.

“No corpse is good. Hard to prove a crime,” Cashien mused aloud.

“That’s what you think. My parents were convicted in the court of social media despite never being arrested and charged.” Never given a chance to prove their innocence.

“What are we going to do?” Jag asked.

There was no we. It was my problem. “I’ll be moved out by the weekend.” I couldn’t stay here now. Didn’t matter if the pentagram thing was a hoax. All eyes were on me, people waiting for me to screw up.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Kalinda declared. “Whoever is behind that thing in the church just needs to be found.”

“Then we can have a talk.” Jag’s smile was anything but nice, and yet it warmed me.

I didn’t feel as despondent as usual, and I realized it had to do with the peeps sitting around me. “Why would you help me?”

“Because someone is screwing with you,” Mary replied. “I mean, come on. I’m looking at this police report. It’s bullshit. They did not have enough to accuse or arrest you.” She shut the lid of her machine. “Arresting someone because of a coincidence? That’s not right.”

“Could someone be framing her?” Kalinda asked.

“A person with a grudge might.” Jag eyed me. “Who hates you?”

“The world?” I offered with a useless shrug. I couldn’t help but think of Erik and his obsession. How far would he go?

As if reading my mind, Jag said, “Could be that rich prick you punched. Might be revenge.”

“Could be him, a copycat, or someone random.” Cashien laid out the possibilities.

“In the meantime, until someone is caught, Abby will have to be careful lest someone decides that getting rid of her will cure the ills of the town.” Kalinda gave me a worried glance.

“Maybe the perp left a trail. I’ll look for any surveillance footage around the cemetery,” Mary offered.

“Meanwhile, I’ll have a chat with the fucker who attacked you last week. See if he’s holding a grudge.” Jag flashed a deadly grin.

“Wait, what? Someone attacked Abby?” Kalinda exclaimed.

Which resulted in another explanation, including my retelling of how the dean had tried to kick me out of school but couldn’t because the student advocate came to my rescue. By the time I finished my story, Kalinda was eyeing her knives. I wondered if she had the same drunken idea I’d had about performing a Bobbitt. People like Erik needed the kind of lesson they couldn’t forget.

Apparently, violence was contagious. “The more I think of it, the more this seems like the kind of thing that sick fuck might do. I’m going to track him down.” Jag shoved away from the counter.

“No hitting him,” Cashien admonished. “You’re already on probation.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Jag mumbled, slouching off.

Cashien also left, declaring he had some studying to do, which didn’t explain his choice of skin-tight leather pants. Mary skulked off next, something about an online group event. Meaning it was just Kalinda and me. The silence stretched.

“I’m sorry,” I ended up mumbling. “I knew this would happen. My past. My parents.” I fluttered my hands.

“You didn’t cause this.” She cleared the counter of dishes, smoothly slipping them into the dishwasher.

“Maybe not, but the fact of the matter is I’ll never escape the rumors, and that’s disruptive and unfair to you guys.”

“You’re not moving out,” she stated, grabbing a dishcloth and wiping the granite surface.

“It would be best.”

“For whom?” she asked, stopping in her tidying up to eye me. “You need us.”

I didn’t understand her insistence. “We’re just roommates. It’s not a big deal. I’ll find another place.”

“And then who will be your alibi the next time the men in blue come knocking?” She arched a brow.

“I can’t have someone glued to my side twenty-four-seven.” I pushed from the table and left, knowing I should be more grateful for their help. Instead, I was angry at them for being so nice. For being supportive.

Did they understand how much I wanted friends? Someone who believed me—believed in me? At the same time, I knew my supposed sins would tarnish anyone associated with me. Jag might have meant well coming to my defense, but he’d probably regret it later. With Jag coming out as my alleged lover, the cops would now scrutinize him, as well.

Life could be so fucking unfair.

The alcohol gave me a nice, warm buzz, enough that the thought of going upstairs to my room didn’t appeal. It was probably the height of stupidity to go walking by myself after the visit from the cops. What if someone’s cat went missing? I’d become the number one suspect.

My shoulders hunched as I trudged, bypassing the campus’s lit paths for the meandering roads of town. At this time of night, the lamp posts’ fluorescent heads shone. There was little traffic, just the occasional car moving past me on the road, the faint boom-boom-boom of music a fading noise as they sped away.

I was on a quiet street with rows of townhouses, each sporting a single spot driveway, almost all of them with a car parked. The stoops in front of each home led to a door, all of them different, some with big windows, others solid and carved.

My feet slapped on the concrete sidewalk, and I kept my head down, hands shoved into my pockets. I heard the whisper of someone following.

Was I being stalked? Would I be mugged? Raped? Worse?

Not another soul around except for the footsteps behind me.

It occurred to me to whirl around and confront the person. Face my fear. What if I frightened myself for nothing and it was simply someone out for a walk, nothing harmful intended?

A door opened, spilling light onto a wooden stoop painted white—maybe gray, hard to tell in the low light. A figure moved down the steps, male and dressed in a jacket to go with pressed slacks. It wasn’t until he hit the sidewalk and looked at me that I recognized him.

His name slipped from my lips. “Mr. Mathews.” My savior from the dean’s office.

He frowned, obviously not happy to see me again. Only his gaze went past me, and his eyes widened. “Behind you!”

A violent shove sent me flying. I managed to get my hands out to break my fall, the pavement digging and scraping at my palms, while my knees bruised at the hard impact. As I gasped at the pain, my hair hanging in my face, I heard the running steps and the shouted jeer. “Murdering cunt.”

Tears pricked.

Mathews crouched in front of me. “Are you all right?”

I peered at Mathews through hanks of hair and managed through a tight throat, “Never better.” Such a lie. All I wanted to do was cry. And that, in turn, made me angry. I should be chasing after the bastard who’d attacked me, smashing his face off the ground.

“Let’s see those hands.” He grabbed me by the wrists and didn’t give me a choice but to rise and rock back on my haunches. He inspected my palms. “Those scrapes need to be cleaned.”

“I’m fine.” I snatched back my hands and pushed to my feet, unable to stop a grimace as my knees throbbed in protest. I took a step and winced.

“You are not fine. I’ll give you a ride back to your dorm.”

At the offer, I finally looked at him and his stony—hinting at pissed—expression. “I don’t need your help. I said I was fine.”

Something sparked in his gaze. “You’re obviously not okay. Not to mention, you probably shouldn’t be walking by yourself given what just happened.”

That caused a hysterical giggle to bubble up and escape. “Do you really think this is the first time?” I’d been shoved into lockers, had rocks thrown at me, been spit on, threatened.

Maybe he had a point.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Listen, I get you don’t like me—”

I interrupted. “I never said I didn’t like you, but it’s pretty obvious you don’t have a high opinion of me.”

That brought a frown. “It’s not that I don’t like you.”

I arched a brow. “Then what is it? What have I done to you?”

He stared for a second, and then he sighed. “Nothing. Let’s just chalk it up to me not being a people person.”

“Aren’t you the student advocate?”

“I don’t need to like people to help them.”

“Then it seems like an odd job choice.”

“Not when it helps pay my tuition. Come on. Let’s get you home.” When he would have touched me, I jerked, and he froze before gesturing instead. “My ride is parked at the curb.” He pointed at a nice car, two doors, sporty-looking. I couldn’t have said what make or model. I didn’t pay attention to those kinds of things, but the seat hugged my body when I sat.

Mathews slid into the driver seat and didn’t say much as he pulled away from the curb. “Where to?”

I gave him the address, and silence fell. To my surprise, he broke it, but only to chastise me.

“Given what happened before, I would have thought you’d learned your lesson about going out alone at night.”

My lips pinched. “It’s not fair. A woman should be safe to walk by herself at any time of day.”

“The world isn’t a safe place to start with. Add in your past, and that only multiplies the danger for you.”

“Meaning I deserve it?”

“I never said that. But that guy didn’t attack because you’re a woman. He did so because of who you are.”

“And who is that exactly?” I replied, the words dripping with bitterness. “Because last I checked, I was a girl who thought her life was boring and normal until the cops showed up at her school. I’m the girl who has been bullied out of just about everywhere at this point. Who can’t even walk down the street without being attacked for something I didn’t do.” I stopped my tirade, my chest heaving.

It took him a moment to reply. “I’m sorry.”

I blinked and then looked at him. Mathews had stopped for a light and stared right back. He really had nice eyes.

“Are you sorry? Because, technically, you’re just like the rest. You didn’t want to defend me. You hated me on sight.”

“I don’t hate you. Although I will admit I might have let certain rumors color my view of you. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to justice. And you certainly don’t deserve to be attacked.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered coming to my aid,” I said with a sigh. “Now that the dean’s been embarrassed, she’ll be looking for any excuse to ditch me. And if she’s the vindictive type, you might get caught up in my trouble.”

The car rolled into motion again. “I can handle myself.”

I snorted. “I thought I could, too. But life has a way of fucking with a person.”

He parked the car by a curb outside a house I didn’t recognize. “This isn’t my place.”

“It’s mine. Since I’m not sure what you have on hand for first aid, I thought we’d make a pit stop and get your wounds taken care of.”

“You don’t have to help me. I’m okay.” So long as I ignored the stinging and the fact that I’d have to dig tiny bits of gravel out of the wounds.

“Let me do this.” His gaze remained intent. “My way of saying sorry for being a dick before.”

It would be bitchy to refuse his apology. “Fine.” If he was a psycho who wanted to hurt or kill me, he’d find himself surprised. Because I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He lived on the second floor of a converted triplex. I entered a modern space with more color than expected. White walls provided a stark backdrop for the vivid art. Bold slashes of color that changed almost as I moved into the space, the images within ever-changing.

The couch was white leather with bright cushions. The kitchen chrome and white marble, yet all the accoutrements were bright red.

“Sit. I’ll get the first-aid kit.” He waved to the couch, but I chose a chair. Let it be a subtle hint that while I might have entered, I wasn’t looking to hook up.

He returned and said nothing as he laid the red box with its white cross on a chrome and glass table. He crouched on his haunches and reached for a hand, only to frown. “We should wash these out first.” He tugged me to my feet, but rather than take me to the kitchen, he pulled me into a short hall with three doorways, two of them closed. We went into a large bathroom.

He turned on the water and stuck his hand under before indicating that I should rinse mine. The babying amused me because I seriously could have done this on my own. Just how inept did he think I was? Then again, he had seen what’d happened.

To the casual observer, I must have seemed pretty placid. It hid the inferno inside that wanted to scream and hit back.

The water stung my abraded skin. I hissed but kept my hands moving back and forth under the spray, seeing the blood and dirt rinse away until I had only scrape marks left.

He offered me a dark blue towel, part of the matching set he kept neatly folded on the bars.

I hoped this was a guest bathroom because no man should ever be this neat. Or a woman, for that matter. It was unnatural.

Once I’d patted dry, he inspected me again, his fingers more callused than expected.

“Looks like we’ve got all the dirt out,” he stated. “Take off your pants, and we’ll do your knees.”

I laughed. “I don’t believe it. You’re using this as a creepy come-on line.”

“What? No.” His brows pulled together. “You tore your pants.” He pointed to my leg. “I can see the blood.”

I glanced down. My knees didn’t look so good now that he mentioned it.

“I am not stripping to my thong.” Too late, I realized what I’d admitted.

He did, too, and grinned. “While I’m sure you look amazing in your underwear, I’m really only trying to help. Can we roll up the legs?”

I nodded. The thin fabric of my leggings slid up easily enough until it got past my knee. Then it started constricting my circulation, but my virtue remained intact. More or less.

He carefully dabbed at me with a washcloth, grumbling each time I winced. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” I said as I hissed.

“It was a dick move.”

I didn’t disagree.

When my wounds were clean to his satisfaction, we returned to the living room, where I sat in the chair once more. He dabbed at my scrapes with an antibacterial cream, but I drew the line at going to the hospital for stitches. I did agree to bandages and grimaced as I emerged, looking like a mummy. Not much choice, though, given my left knee kept bleeding. I’d have a nice scar once skirt season came around again. Great.

It felt odd to have a man kneeling in front of me. A man who didn’t say much. A man I didn’t know how I felt about. He’d admitted to disliking me. Apologized. Now, he tended me. It made a girl wonder what he intended next.

Apparently, nothing. As soon as he’d patched me up, we headed out the door to his car. I finally asked, “That house you came out of. Was that your girlfriend’s?” Yeah, I was fishing.

“Friend.” He said nothing more as he drove me home. To my surprise, he walked me to the door.

In front of the closed portal, I faced him and found myself oddly shy. “Thanks.”

He stared at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. I should have expected his brusque, “Try and stay out of trouble.”

He walked away without a backward glance. I shrugged and entered the house. Thirsty, I grabbed water from the fridge. Jag came in the front door just as I was heading up the stairs. He looked annoyed and flushed.

“Whose car was that coming down the drive?”

“Mr. Mathews. I don’t know his first name.”

“You let a guy you don’t know drive you home?” Jag’s arms folded over his chest. Angry. Formidable. Sexy.

“Mathews isn’t dangerous.” Not like someone else I knew. I glanced down at his scraped knuckles. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

Lie. He’d done something. “Did you beat up Erik?”

“No.”

He strode into the kitchen, and I followed. “Then who did you fight?”

“No one.” He slammed open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

“You’re pissed.”

He shot me a dark look. “No more than usual.” It was then that he noticed my bandaged hands. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I fell,” I lied.

He growled as he suddenly came at me, all tall, bristling male, who bumped into me as he said again, “What happened?”

“Somebody thought I was taking up too much room on the sidewalk and shoved me. Not a big deal.”

“Who?” His expression turned dark. “Did anyone see him?”

I rolled my shoulders. “No idea. And not worth finding out.”

“They intentionally hurt you.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t deny or defend.

He grabbed my wrists more gently than I would have expected. He lifted them and stared as if he could see through the bandages. His jaw tensed. He glowered. Then glanced at me. The intensity of his stare caught me. I swayed in his direction, and his eyelids dropped to half-mast. Sultry. Sexy.

Rather than kiss me as expected, he suddenly dropped my hands and strode off, taking the stairs two at a time. Thump, thump, slam. Someone was in a mood.

I, on the other hand, felt kind of good if I ignored the sting in my hands and knees.

The next day, I woke and went to class with a smile.

It didn’t last long.