Page 193 of Tarek

We board quickly. Soon we’re in the air. Our parents sit side by side, pretending not to notice each other, like two teenagers to scared to admit they still care? What the hell is going on?

I let it go and swivel my seat toward Penny. She is gazing out the window, chin propped up in her hand. God she is beautiful.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a brooch, a gold pomegranate, adorned with tiny rubies.

“Hey,” I draw her attention to me.

Her eyes instantly land on the brooch, her smile widens. “You got me a gold pomegranate.”

I swallow hoping that what I am about to say doesn’t bite me in the ass. “I melted all the necklaces and added rubies to it.”

She squints at me. “Pen, you own every part of me. There is no future without you. You called me Hades. I had to give you a physical reminder that you are mine forever.”

Her eyes brims with tears. I turn the brooch over to her to see the etched words.

“Nunc, Semper, Aeternum. Latin?” she says as her fingers glides over the words.

“It means Now. Forever. Always,” I reply.

Penny squeezes the brooch and pulls face to face toward her. Her lips graze mine. “Nunc, Semper, Aeternum.”

I close my eyes and repeat softly, “Nunc, Semper, Aeternum,” I reply.

I pull her from her seat and kiss her, letting the depth of her love pour into me. Secrets may have been kept from us, almost destroyed us, but our love, our bonds, are eternal.

Epilogue Two

Dax

“Alexa play Paula Abdul–Opposites Attract,” I shout. The hip beat of 80s music always lifts my soul.

Funny, isn’t it? People assume serial kills listen to black metal in dark basements, dressed like a rejected extra from The Crow. They picture big glasses, slick hair, and a style that is reminiscent of Napoleon Dynamite. If they only knew the truth. That a psycho isn’t born. No, he is brewed. One part high volume abuse. Two parts emotional neglect. A dash of narcissism. Mix well and voila…me.

I take pleasure in the God like feeling of having people beg for mercy. Or when people run away from me. It awakens something primal in me. Sometimes, I yell after them, “Why are you running?” Just to see what they will do.

Some may say, “But Dax you are the stable one. The good one.” Who told you that?

It’s all an illusion. A role I played to perfection. It could be my round glasses or my angelic looking blonde curls. Can I feel empathy? No. But I fake it. Do I love? I couldn’t tell you what that means. I appreciate the presence of my friends. That’s close enough right?

Remorse? Never met the bitch. And in my line of work, I don’t need to. They say serial killers have personality disorders. But I feel perfectly orderly. I don’t even think of myself as a murderer. I think of myself as…. human control.

In fact, I feel quiet in control. I really do love making my friends’ enemies squirm.

My boys. They understand I have needs. When Tarek asked me to care of two men for him, a pastor and a creep who tried to touch Penny as a child, I instantly came to his aid. Tarek is the nicest one in our group, dependable, loyal. I couldn’t have him do this dirty job. That’s where I come in.

Now two men lay flat strapped to a steel table. The steel blocks at the side of their faces, keeps their heads steady, and the eye speculum keeps their eyes wide open.

They both hurt women continuously. Now they are fussing trying to get out.

“Please let me go I will do anything,” the pastor pleads.

I lean over him “Then pray.”

He does. Loud and desperate. I ignore him.

The molester groans. His pudgy belly shudder with every breath “Why are you doing this?”

I calmy add sulfuric acid into the top glass beaker, then hydrogen peroxide. It bubbles instantly.

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