Page 50 of Psycho Killers

The realization washes over me in waves, their power seeping from their veins, dissipating the tight binds of an upbringing filled with oppression and trauma. My heart races with hope; we’ll not only sever ties but also break the cycle of despair they tried to wrap around me forever.

They glance back and forth as if trying to determine their next move, and in that moment, everything feels suspended in time. I breathe in respect—the kind of respect for myself earned through battles fought in the trenches of my spirit for the choices I’ve made.

Then, just as I feel we’re on the precipice of a change, the shimmering curtain of confrontation falls between us, the temperature drops, and a new voice ripples through the room—sharp and chilling.

“Calista. Killian,” a voice laced with authority calls out behind me.

I turn slowly, and my heart skips a beat as I see a familiar figure standing in the doorway—the unmistakable silhouette of one of the men who works security for my parents, his eyes radiating with a fierceness that matches my own.

“We’ve got a party of trespassers outside. It seems they didn’t take kindly to your little reunion.”

Just as he steps further into the threshold, the air thick with danger shifts, and in that instant, I feel my breath hitch. Here, liminal and steeped in uncertainty, I realize our struggle isn’t just against the ghosts of my past anymore. It's against a presentthat refuses to let go, and a looming darkness that has come searching for us.

But with Killian, Dominic, Five, and Ash by my side, I feel a stir of hope. If they want war, then we’ll fight. We’ll stand together—killers and combatants—to seize our lives back from the clutches of this twisted legacy, forging a path to our own destinies. The collective strength blooms as we prepare to face the chaos with courage.

“Let them come,” I say, voice steady and resolute, as I prepare myself for the fight of my life. “Tonight, everything changes.”

TWENTY-THREE

REALITY

GREY MATTER: FINCH

ASH

Ikeep glancing at my phone, the sky dimming with each passing minute, and still no news from Calista or Killian. At this hour, I’d usually be sprawled in the living room, deep in a haze, desperately seeking to get even higher. But I’ve turned that chapter, trying to focus on the future. Apparently, there's one waiting for me. Who would have thought?

Dominic paces nervously, stealing glances out at the balcony as if wishing them to appear. But the minutes stretch on in silence—no one is coming, no one is calling, and the absence of their presence is starting to fucking gnaw at us.

We were aware they planned to stake out her parents’ house one last time before we made our move, but an unsettling feeling churns in my gut. I catch a glimpse of Five, and the worry etched on his face unsettles me. He’s typically our rock, the optimist who reassures us that everything will be alright. But the lack of his usual encouragement tells me that something is fucking wrong, and he can't promise that everything will be okay.

“I can’t just fucking sit here anymore,” I exclaim, reaching for a bottle of water next to a tempting bottle of beer.

The latter calls to me, but I need clarity right now; I need to stay grounded. One drink leads down a slippery fucking slope, and I can’t afford to lose myself again. With resolute determination, I choose the water, feeling the cool liquid refresh me as I gulp it down, attempting to focus on positive thoughts.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Dominic asks, throwing me a skeptical look.

Before I can reply, Five speaks up. “We know they were heading to her parents’ house. Why don’t we check there?”

“Let’s fucking do it,” I reply, capping my water and rising to my feet, retrieving my gun from between the couch cushions. “Make sure you’re armed. We know these bastards play dirty and are just waiting for an excuse to take us out.” I swallow hard, the weight of my own words settling heavily on my chest.

As Dominic and Five prepare themselves, I find myself staring out the window. The city beyond the glass pulses with life, a vibrant tapestry of unsuspecting souls, each likely harboring their own secrets. Life is peculiar that way; everyone has their hidden truths, some darker than others. We’ve dealt with our own demons, slaying the monsters that plagued our existence, yet I can’t shake the thought that far worse fiends walk among us, hidden from view.

We’ve unmasked our fathers—the worst of the worst—but the world remains cloaked in its own darkness, still clinging to its fucking vile secrets. It’s a sad reality we can’t escape, especially since we’ve become somewhat lost after their demise. The shadows of our past haunt us, reminding us of years filled with trauma and abuse, and breaking free feels fucking impossible. Often, I wonder if I’ll ever truly move on, if I’ll have the chance to savor a normal life alongside those I care most about. Will the nightmares ever stop? Will the habits I’ve developed to cope fadeaway, or am I doomed to carry them forever? The uncertainty looms heavy, and I’d be fucking lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of what lies ahead.

“Ready?” Five’s deep voice reverberates through the room, jolting me from my thoughts.

I shake off the dread and turn to see him and Dominic clad in black, heavily armed as if preparing for a gang war—which, in many ways, we are. Dom hands me my pocket knife, and hands me my mask, a grim smile playing on his lips.

“We’re going all out tonight, Ash. One final ride before we leave this behind for good,” he says, as if we’re actually contemplating killing Calista’s parents instead of offering her closure.

I shake my head, knowing she’d never forgive us for robbing her of the chance to confront her own demons and escape her twisted past. But as I slip the knife into my pocket, an intoxicating wave of power washes over me, recalling the rush I felt after ending my father’s life. That high lingers, a drug in its own right, and right now, it’s all-consuming, and in a sense, I've never fucking felt higher.

“We don’t do anything unless she’s in danger,” I assert as I pull the mask over my face and we step through the front door. “I won’t strip her of her closure—not after she’s spent a fucking year meticulously plotting her revenge.”

“Deal,” Dominic agrees, and the three of us stride toward the parking garage where our bikes await.

The warm summer air wraps around us like a protective blanket against the world’s malevolence. As we walk, masked and formidable, I can’t help but smile at the fear we inspire in those we pass, who look at us like we're fucking crazy. I mean, we are, but that's beside the fucking point. After all, we are the Psycho Killers, and we make people's monsters go away.

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