Page 35 of Moth to a Flame

Tonight, unlike yesterday, I came prepared.

Before I left the car, I put on a notorious politician’s mask. I’ll burn it with the long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing in a street barrel in a nearby alley once I’m done. Along with Clayton’s body.

Other than the wool hat and tarp, I packed a change of clothes, proper latex gloves, a sharp knife, lighter fluid, a match.

And a black velvet box.

Regan won’t be getting her gift in a shitty trash bag today.

Everything’s as it should be.

Almost.

Lester Burkes is alive. Whatever torture this motherfucker might’ve endured in prison, it’s not enough. Nothing they’d have done to him is enough.

Nothing will ever be enough.

For raping her.

For the scars on her stomach.

For whatever else he did to her.

There was more, I know there was.

The thought blinds me with rage over and over again. Especially since she won’t tell me everything. I can’t help—can’t take the heavy weight off her shoulders—if she doesn’t let me in.

I could’ve researched her case. I haven’t.

The news painted a distorted picture of my family fourteen years ago. They hunted me down for months. Fucking leeches.

I won’t hear about the tragedy that Regan went through fromthem.

She’ll tell me everything.

Just a matter of time.

“Hmnmnmnm.” More murmuring.

Blood erupts like a mini volcano out of Clayton’s chest where I buried my knife. The first strike shocked him. From there, it was child’s play, shutting him up with my gloved hand while I arranged the set for our playdate.

With one hand, yes. I’m nothing if not an overachiever.

“What was that, Casper?” Calling him by the iconic ghost’s name is hilarious, given what he’d done to Regan.

Hilarious to me. Less so for Clayton.

His one remaining eye, the green one, stares back at me. He blinks, and I can tell moving his lips is a challenge. He’s afraid, the miserable fuck.

I put my knife away where he can’t see it. Maybe if he thinks he’s spared, he won’t be so choked up.

Avenging Regan shouldn’t feel this good.

What feels even better is Regan’s arousal on my tongue. I sucked on my fingers on the way home. Hours later, I can still taste her.

She’s my everything.

Have I already crossed the line to insanity? Traipsed over the edge?

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