Page 5 of Karma

The mystery is what makes this so difficult. There’ssomethinggoing on, something more systematic than a cult or a serial killer, but we don’t know who’s involved. We’ve pored over news articles dating back at least half a century. Especially articles about my father’s death.

Tragic accident took the life of Arthur Viot.

It wasn’t a tragic fucking accident. It was murder.

Sam wipes his gun a final time and begins piecing it together again. He doesn’t have the same passion for this as I do. He’s into the idea of catching the people who torment the town every ten years, but he doesn’t have a dog in the fight. No one he loves has been slain by these mysterious murderers. The vengeance I need is merely an afterthought for him. Unfortunately, that’s not the only time I’ve been an afterthought.

It isn’t that he doesn’t fuck me anymore—the sex is constant—but he hasn’t gotten me off in a year. Maybe longer. Eventually, I stopped keeping track of how long I’ve been in this dry spell. If I think about it too long, I’ll be knocking on the door of deeper depression.

But the relationship woes extend far deeper than his lack of care for my pleasure. Like an evil tree with poisonous roots, the issues wrap around all that I am and hold me in place. The abusestarted so subtly that I didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late.

Sam pulls me onto his lap. “You ready, babe?”

“I’ve been ready for ten years,” I say.

He kisses me, and I find myself thinking of anything besides his mouth on mine. A stranger’s face fills my mind, and I almost recoil from Sam when I realize I’m thinking about that guy who got between us this morning. His dark and gray eyes. I wonder what it would have been like to kiss him...

Maybe after tonight, I can find the courage to tell Sam that this relationship has run its course. Maybe I can free myself from more than the torment I’ve endured since my father’s death.

Thinking about the future is almost absurd, though. I’m under no illusions about what the night holds. What we’ve planned will be so risky. We could come face to face with something much bigger than we can handle on our own. But Ihaveto try. It’s kill or be killed tonight.

Historically, people on the streets are most at risk. College kids who don’t know what’s going on because schools don’t want to scare away a big money maker on this side of Colorado. Sometimes the targets are people like my father, a man just coming home from work. Either way, they’re killing innocent fucking people. Working people. I never see any rich people being knocked off on the sidewalk. The uppity women at the department stores who have a Mercedes waiting in the parking lot are nowhere to be found today.

It makes me wonder what they know that we don’t.

I pick up Sam’s pistol and flip the barrel toward the ceiling. “Let’s go figure out who killed my father.”

The rest of the day drags on, but I’m locked in hyper-focus every fucking minute. Once the sun sets, a clock ticks above my head. I sit on the porch and stare as the big yellow globe turns orange and sinks behind the horizon.

My phone chimes with a text from Adam.

T-1 hour!

Ready or not.

I pull the list from my pocket. After we make an appearance at the party and slide the masks over our faces, Adam and I will head out. The names on the list stare back at me. I’vecrossed off many already, leaving only the Granger family and the Robertsons.

It’s time to put on my murderous attire. I’m not entirely sure why they require us to dress up. I hear the sex is wild there, so it seems like it would be better to wear fewer clothes, not all this extra fabric. I wouldn’t know about the sex at the party, though. I was half dead when I was last on the property, and sex was the furthest thing from my mind at the time.

My fitted suit clings to every arm muscle, and a black dress shirt lies beneath the black pinstripe jacket. The collar is crisp and folded. I don’t think I’ve ever looked this nice. Adam told me I couldn’t come without my suit jacket, but I plan to take it off before we create joyous mayhem. Fair compromise, I guess.

With a spring to my step, I get into my car and head toward the mountains. I’ve never gone to the cabin when I wasn’t under duress, and I don’t even remember the winding roads or the massive trees that shield it. When I see a lake to the right, I know I’m getting close. Even though I was locked behind a curtain of exhaustion and fear, that body of water etched itself into my memory. The cabin sits partially suspended over the lake, which absorbs most of the screaming, leaving behind a peaceful silence.

My hand trembles as the scene from my memory materializes before me. My mind has tried to put that night behind me, but my body still remembers the pain and the hopelessness. It remembers the torture.

Hurt people hurt people. Isn’t that the saying? They must have been hurting pretty bad, considering what they did to me. Now I hurt others in the most final form.

I park among a blanket of cars spread along the side of the cabin. From all external accounts, it looks like your average house party on the lake. But I know what waits inside, and whenI walk up the cobblestone path to the entrance, breath struggles to escape my tightening throat.

A burly man in a suit meets me at the door. His hand goes up, and he stops me in my tracks. He doesn’t say anything as he slides a wand behind me, hovering over the back of my neck. The device chimes and flashes green.

“Mr. Blakely,” he says, and lets me inside.

Did they chip me? Does that mean they know where I am at all times? Or does it just tell them where I belong, like a lost fucking pet? Does that mean I’m home?

My hand wraps around the door handle, and I push open the door to a place that doesn’t feel like home. I’m met with flashes of gold amid a tidal wave of black. A slim man in a black mask places a black wolf mask in my hands. Pawns—like me—and children of the elders wear black masks. The glinting gold face coverings belong to the elders.

Adam is an elder, and I wonder if he’s among the people milling about in the middle of the room.

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