Page 2 of Morally Grey

Seconds later, sirens blare from the main street, and I slink away before anyone notices me. At least, Ihopeno one noticed me. I didn’t exactly think this far ahead. I wasn’t even sure I could complete the task.

But now that I have, that leaves me with one very important question. Where the fuck do I hide?

Chapter Two

Briar

The trudge to my car after work has never seemed longer. I swear the pavement stretches by a few inches each day. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I take a deep breath and try to relax the tension crammed inside my shoulders.

My job isn’t easy. I spend the entire day telling patients they can’t afford their life-saving surgery. We really are living the American dream, aren’t we? The few minutes with the radio blaring at the end of the day is my way of trying to decompress. It’s my attempt at forgetting all the tears that were shed today, all the pleading words uttered from terrified lips.

When I feel a little less shitty, I start the car and head home, but as I pull into my driveway, I dread my trip to the mailbox. I know what will be waiting for me in that innocuous white box. A statement that will let me know I’m overdue on several bills. I’ll end up tossing the letter on the mountain of debt I won’t be able to pay. The cost of living continues to increase, but my employers aren’t paying me more.

Debt is genetic for me. My parents were in massive debt for most of my childhood. We almost lost our home on numerous occasions. No matter how much they worked, they couldn’t get ahead of it. Inability must be hereditary. Or maybe it’s stupidity. Either way, this shit is generational.

A shiver rides up my spine at the thought of my father. We didn’t lose the house, but that was only because he paid one bank with the money he stole from another. Yes, he robbed a bank. It was wrong and inherently terrible, but ending up in the streets seemed worse. Desperation drives people to do terrible, unthinkable things. Like walking into a bank with a gun and a dream.

Forcing the thoughts from my head, I ignore the mailbox for now and head straight for the fridge. I didn’t have time for lunch today, so I’m starving. I grab a box of leftover pasta and head to the couch.

They’ll probably cut my cable due to non-payment soon, so I lift the remote and flick through some channels while I still can. I pick up a cold glob of noodles and shove it into my mouth. While scanning channels, I stop at the local news station as they show a scene of genuine chaos. A reporter talks into a camera as a few cops mill around behind her, looking down at what appears to be a pool of blood.

A red banner runs along the bottom of the screen. I swallow a bite of food and read it aloud. “Bank CEO assassinated,” I whisper. They even show a clip of the masked man outside the bank, standing and waiting for the woman to emerge. She tosses her purse at his feet, but he doesn’t grab it.

Odd.

Intrigued, I lower the remote and keep watching, and the news anchor confirms my suspicions. He never took her purse. Didn’t even touch it. So if his motive wasn’t robbery...

A picture of a smiling, professional woman appears on the screen. Blonde hair curtains her head, and her teeth probably cost more than everything I own combined. I grab my phone and immediately Google her name. She looks nice enough. A single woman raising adopted children on her own doesn’t seem like the typical target for a hit, especially if robbery wasn’t a factor. So.. .why’d he do it?

There has to be a reason. If it wasn’t financial gain, was it a lover’s quarrel? Did she hurt him in some way? Are the adopted children his relatives and he would like to regain custody?

That’s when the suspect’s image flashes across the screen again. Bright blue eyes peer at the camera through the gap in a black balaclava. A few strands of dark hair poke from beneath the hood and touch his eyebrows.

Seconds later, another image replaces this one. It shows the “person of interest” inside a gas station an hour before the crime. He doesn’t look like someone who would kill a woman for no reason. Sure, he looks a bit rough, like he’s been sleeping on the street for a while, but as I scroll to the Facebook page of our local news station, I have to agree with the hundreds of women who have already left comments beneath his picture.

He’s fucking hot.

As I continue scrolling, I make up stories in my mind about why the masked vigilante did what he did. I imagine his family shivering in a box on the fucking street because he lost all they owned. I can almost feel his hatred toward the CEO who signed off on the predatory practices. A blazing fire lights inside me, and that animosity worms through my body.

Because it could have been my father. He was nearly pushed to take a human life. All because of corporate greed.

But I’ll probably never know why this particular man did what he did. He’s a ghost in the wind, and I hope no one reportshim. Whoever this man is, he might be a hero. Even if he’s a murderer.

I turn off the television and try to get on with the rest of my evening. After finishing off the pasta, I toss the takeout box into the trash and head for my bathroom. But even the shower can’t clear my mind. I can’t get his face out of my head. The masked killer consumes my every waking thought.

What is he doing now? Is he hiding out somewhere? Did he run away and possibly hurt himself? I’ve created several scenarios in my mind, and I’m living in a fantasy world at this point. I imagine what I’d do if I saw him. The reward money is tempting—and bound to rise with each day that passes. I do have a lot of bills to pay...

Listen, I know it’s my fault. I was the one who ran up the cards and spent far more than I could afford. But that’s the game, isn’t it? They’re banking on the people who can’t pay those interest fees. They’re betting on the people who will buy into the dream they can’t afford.

For their entire fucking lifetimes.

It’s a shitty setup, but it’s also been around for ages and isn’t likely to change anytime soon. Maybe the hot guy had some major debt too. I could see how those constantly rising bills could bring someone to the brink of insanity. We’re all inching closer to the edge, aren’t we?

But he didn’t take the money. . .

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off and try to push the image of his face from my mind. I shouldn’t be this attracted to a killer. He took another person’s life in cold blood. I can joke around and pretend that I understand, but I don’t. Not really.

My father understood it, though. That’s why he put his life on the line and robbed a bank. When his back was against the wall and the bill collectors came knocking, he didn’t cower in fear. He stood up and opened the door. I knew my father’s actions werewrong, but in my eyes, he was a hero. After all, isn’t that what heroes do? They save people who are drowning, and we were definitely drowning.

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