Page 30 of Corrupting Ivy

He tipped the brim of his baseball cap, then left, clicking the door shut behind him. I bolted towards the door and locked it so no one else could come through unannounced.

I’ve had enough for one day.

I watched the manwalk in unannounced, then leave shortly thereafter. Was she involved with him? Did it matter? All I knew was it took everything in my power to not waltz up there and beat him to a bloody pulp for touching her. Was he touching her? I groaned as savage thoughts splashed across my mind. I’d leave a bloodbath in my wake if I gave in to every temptation of violence that afflicted me.

Thankfully, I had more control than anyone gave me credit for. If only they knew the despicable things that crossed my mind.

Instead, I watched him get into his truck, then drive away. Once I was sure no one else came to call, I drove to Ma’s, waiting for the rental truck to arrive. I’ve had enough of her beat-down piece of trash, and I needed air conditioning in this heat. It’s amazing how I’d forgotten so easily about the humidity. Besides, it couldn’t have come at a better time. I needed the distraction from the storm brewing upstairs.

Then there was the problem with Doug's bones, the man who called himself my father right up till the time I put a ball peen hammer to his skull, plus the minor discrepancy in the report. I wish I could say I didn’t take great pleasure in torturing the man, but that’d be a lie. I’d only wish he was my first kill. There is nothing like the rush of taking someone’s life for the first time.

I’ll always chase that high, wishing it’d be the same or even better. It was with the Sabinas Cartel, running guns across the border, that I got my first taste of blood. That was when I knew I'd found my calling. Of course, I was only twelve then, but bloodying my hands at a ripe age helped me find my path in life, to give me an outlet for the uncontrollable fits of rage I’d experienced.

Hernandez Sr. el Jefe, at that time, put my skills to use and trained me to become the ruthless man I am now. So when Doug came around for my fifteenth birthday, unannounced, I snapped. That was the day I flipped the switch, sunk into myself, and never let another person inside… that is, until her.

I pulled into Ma’s driveway, noticing the government-issued blue car parked on the gravel beside the house. I shook my head. Ma didn’t do well with authority figures, and she hated anyone that worked for the federal government.

Three FBI agents sat around the table, a glass of untouched waters placed in front of them, while Ma flipped a page on the old family album—the only one we had.

She appeared coherent today. That would be helpful once I got rid of them.

All heads turned towards me as I closed the screen door behind me with a loud snap of the wooden frame. “Ma?”

“Spence,” she smiled, “these fine folks wanted to see our family pictures.”

Her disturbing smile would’ve sent shivers down my spine had I still been the five-year-old child she showed them in the photos. Ma’s hand rested on a picture of her and me by the lakeside, her hand on my shoulder. What the photo doesn’t tell you was that her hand wasn’t resting like a caring mother, but squeezing until her fingertips left bruises on my skin. That was the day she chained me in the closet for five days. No food, no restroom, and my only source of light came from the slots in the doors. I’d learned from that point on there was no reasoning or understanding of her ways. Most times, she punished me for something she thought I’d done. It was her addled mind that betrayed me.

I tore my gaze from the painful memory and raised it to the largest of the three agents. “Did they?” The big Latino man rose from his chair and held out his hand for a shake. I took his hand in mine, squeezed like the normal business executive that I am, and smiled.

“We’re here from the Bureau, and we had a few questions about Doug Randall. They found his remains, along with several bodies, in the forest. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

“Sure.” I nodded, then glanced at Ma as she flipped through the album as if this was a normal day.

I walked out of the house with the Agent on my heels, then shut the door behind us, and folded my arms across my chest. He handed me his contact information with the FBI seal in the corner and the name Agent Mons scrawled across.

“Is she behaving?”

He nodded. “Sheriff Kennedy warned us of her medical condition, and that she could be… difficult.”

I folded my arms back over my chest. “What do you need to know?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, how old were you when your father disappeared?”

“I don’t have a father.”

“Sorry. They labeled him on your birth certificate,” he said, flipping through his notes.

“Just because his name is there, it doesn’t mean he earned the title.”

He scribbled something on his notepad. “I see. Well, when was the last time you saw him?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. It’s been well over twenty-five years.”

Twenty-one, if I’m being truthful.

“Do you know of anyone that he might have had an altercation with or any enemies?”

I chuckled. “Again, I didn’t know the man. But you could ask his second family. I’m sure they can give you more accurate information.”

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