Page 2 of Falling for a Killer

“If you had one, we could’ve arrested him today.”

“And then what? He gets a slap on the wrist for breaking and entering, maybe a little probation for the attempted murder? Your system is fucked. You refuse to do anything to help people until it’s too late, and then you get all the clout in the world for solving a crime you were warned about months before it happened.” Standing, I walk around the table to the door. “Your parents must be so proud.”

Short Stack grabs my arm with a snarl. “Watch it, girl. You may think you’re owed the world because mommy and daddy are rich, but you’re in our house now, and accidents happen.”

Straightening my spine, I wrench my arm away. “You’re right, Officer. They do. Let’s pray nothing happens to you.”

I slam the door behind me on my way out, knowing this is far from over. Ryan won’t stop, the police won’t help me, and my parents aren’t even in the country.

It’s time I take matters into my own hands.

Two:

Always Choose The Bear

My sister stays silent until we’re miles away from the police station and walking into a dive bar. It suits me just fine — I might be rich, but I’ve never understood the lifestyle. Give me old leather boots and a rundown, dusty bar any day of the week over heels and a fancy nightclub.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, after the second shot of Jameson calms my nerves. “Was it Ryan again?”

Nodding, I spin in the seat to face her. The story doesn’t take long to tell, but Violet’s eyes get larger with every sentence. “I fucking hate cops.”

“This is why everyone hates cops. If that gun would’ve gone off, they’d have been up there on the news talking about what a ‘senseless tragedy’ it was and using your story as a way to get extra funding. Instead they treat victims like dirt and call themselves heroes.”

The only hero around here is her. She’s always been my rock. Our parents were decent, but vacant, and the au pairs we were left with never quite matched the warmth of my older sister. “I’m sorry to drag you out like this. I know getting a call to pick me up at the police station wasn’t part of your Wednesday night plans,” I joke weakly. “But thank you. Seriously.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’d rather be there for you whenever you need me than to wake up one day and hear that news story. I mean look at this shit,” she whispers, nodding up at the small, staticky tv hanging over the wall of liquor. “It’s never anything good.”

“Police in Blackridge, Idaho are still on the hunt for the gunman who assassinated Senator Jack Lawson early last week. Motive remains unclear, though due to the gunman’sM.O., it doesn’t appear to be a random killing. Lawson was shot three times, once in each leg and once in the head. Police warn that the suspect is armed and extremely dangerous, and urge the public to be on high alert. A reward for information leading to the identification and capture of this gunman is set at $50,000. Anyone with information is asked to call the number listed at the bottom of the screen...”

They flash a blurry, grainy picture of a tall, broad man whose features are almost entirely obscured by a mask. The only thing visible are brilliantly blue eyes. “Damn, it wasn’t Ryan,” I mutter. “His eyes are fucking green. You think it could be contacts?”

“Ryan doesn’t strike me as the type to kill senators two states away, but the police don’t know that. Might be fun to make him sweat a little.”

It might.

We watch the news a few moments longer, listening to them ramble on about the upcoming recession, rising unemployment, and a quick blurb about a serial killer on the loose near us. “Isn’t it fucking hilarious that there’s a serial killer out there targeting normal people and he barely gets mentioned, yet they’re pulling out all the stops to find some random guy that killed someone who probably deserved it?” Violet asks, waving to the bartender for another round. “This country is going to hell.”

“We’re already there.”

It’s times like these I appreciate my parents a little more. They’re in the kind of business that could’ve made them billionaires by now, yet they donate almost everything to endowments. The principal donation gets invested and only the interest is spent every year, meaning countless charities and organizations will be able to fund themselves forever thanks to my parents. Everything from school districts and museums to shelters and civil rights groups get their money, and a lot of it.They believe wealth shouldn’t be hoarded, and while it’s okay to take care of yourself and your loved ones, you should make sure that you’re taking care of others, too. They’re not perfect. No one is. But at least they’re trying little by little to leave the world a better place than they found it.

They’ve also denied donation requests from multiple police departments until they change their culture.

I should buy them better Christmas presents.

The Jameson goes down a little too easily as Violet rants about the state of the world and how unfair it is, but she grabs my attention again when she asks the one question I’ve been dreading. “What are you going to do now?”

Cry. Murder him. Blow up a building or two, I don’t know.

“Leave,” I answer quietly. “He’ll never stop, and now I know what his goal is. It’s not about the money anymore. He thinks I disrespected him by saying no, and we all know how men can be when they get their fragile little feelings hurt.”

“But go where? Your whole life is here.”

I handle the endowments for my parents. More often than not, it’s virtual. We have Zoom meetings here, a few emails there, and then I hand off the details to the folks who actually set them up. I can do it from anywhere. “My friends will understand and my job is pretty mobile. I’m not even saying I’m leaving forever, just until things die down or Ryan himself dies. Whichever comes first.”

“Will you tell me where you’re going?”

Spinning my glass, I make up my mind right there. I hadn’t been sure before. “Windwinter, I think.” It’s a chilly little town up in the mountains of northern Washington, hiding the cabin my family has kept a secret for generations. “No one knows it exists but you, me, mom and dad. It’s built to withstand an apocalypse and I helped dad get everything turned on the last time we visited. Lord knows they won’t be back in the country forthe next year at least, and hopefully by then I’ll have something else figured out. I don’t really want to leave San Francisco, but I don’t see what choice I have.”

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