Page 50 of The Black Lotus
There are two files, one that says ‘Still Hunting’ and one that makes a sob bubble up into a laugh. ‘Hunters Slain By The Vixen.’When did he even do this?I swipe my nose clicking to see the rather extensive list of potentials.
We don’t know who Cynthia has sent or if every single one of these names will soon make our list, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Scrolling through, my brow furrows as I squint at the screen. No one on this list stands out. No one who would cross Cynthia to get to me. Surely, if Cynthia knew one of her killerstook her son, she would find a way to get him back and have that person taken out.
Biting my thumbnail, I search her name and findher. My finger hovers over the button, the face of the woman who wants me dead staring back at me. The photo was from the day she was arrested; she looks exactly like Zephira.I wonder what she looks like now?Has age been kind to her? Does Zephira still resemble her? Or does she look like a completely different woman? Clicking the tab to enlarge her photo, a bunch of extra information pops up with it.
Name: Cynthia Balcom aka Patchwork Killer
Age: 55
DOB: November 5, 1970
Number of Victims: 45
Date of Incarceration: November 13, 2002
Spouse: Adam Balcom
Dependents: 0
I zoom in to make sure I’m reading the information right, my heart racing. Her file says she has no children, but Aster and Zephira are living proof she has two.Who covered up the truth and why can’t anyone know?Curiosity getting the better of me, I click on newspaper articles from the day she was arrested, scanning all of the pictures taken, but all traces of Aster have been erased. Unease settles low in my gut, the little voice in the back of my mind screaming at me; there is more to this.
“Serena!” a singsong voice calls out, one I recognize instantly. My head shoots up, eyes widening as hope reignites within me, making me forget all about Cynthia. I click out of everything, close the laptop and answer Zephira.
“In the attic,” I call out through the stairs I left open, trying not to sound too excited that she heard my plea as I wrap myhand around my knife in case she tries anything. She may be a flirt, but I can’t trust her to not kill me.
The floors squeak as she slowly walks up the stairs, her bright blonde hair coming into my view before the rest of her does. She’s wearing a long sleeve, skin tight black shirt and black jeans with black boots.Is black the only color she wears?
“You sure my brother was taken and this isn’t some type of training test for you?” she asks, walking towards me.
Hiding the knife behind my back, I stand to be eye level with her, getting myself in the right position to take her down. “Didn’t you hear me call out to you?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I heard when you said he was taken and you begged for my help, I turned off the feed and headed here.”I knew she was watching. “I’m not going to hurt you Serena, so you can put that little knife you have there away.”
Eying her suspiciously, I slip the knife into my boot and sit back down at my laptop, irritation thickening my voice. “He was taken. This isn’t a test. He wouldn’t leave me.” I whisper the last part, biting the inside of my cheek.
She plops down next to me, taking my laptop and typing as she glances at me hungrily. “No, you’re right. My brother has literally killed for you. No way he’d change his mind.Ever.” Her nails click against the keyboard harder, her frustration with her brother having stolen my heart obvious. “Mom knows that, too. It’s why she wants you dead.”
I stare open mouthed as she continues digging. She knows more than she has let on;maybe I can see why she’s being her mother’s puppet.I need to gain her trust first. I need to see if there is any crack in the mother-daughter relationship she has with Cynthia and break it apart without being too obvious. I glance at her face, her tongue is sticking out slightly in concentration with her brows dipped. She’s younger than me, but she is smart, smarter than me so I don’t know howimpressionable she is. This could take some time, time I don’t have. I’ll try to create a bond later, right now I don’t want to interrupt her, but I also can’t sit still.
While Zephira tracks down who took Aster, I start going through the drawers of the dresser that holds the tattoo supplies to feel like I’m doing something, even if it isn’t important. Coming across a black book, I flip through it, finding page after page of sketches. Some are the tattoos he has, while others are random things. Images of animals, scenery, some gothic drawings as well as some abstract images that make you stop and think about what they mean. What secret is hidden inside the art?
A tear slips free when I get to a page with a lamb holding a blue rose in its mouth. The next page is a ticket from Graves with the knife he used to fuck me in the background. I flip through a couple more until I get to the last page.Serena’s first tattoo? This isn’t the one he tattooed on me;it’s something more beautiful than I could have ever come up with.
“He thought of tattooing me before I brought it up...” I whisper, gently touching the anatomical heart, a knife stabbed through it and blue roses and black lotuses bursting from the veins, scared if I rub too hard it will disappear.Even when he had this prepared, he still tattooed my art on me.When we find him, and we will, I promise I’m going to have him tattoo this on my arm as a reminder of my hope that everything will work out.
I close the book, putting it back where I found it and leave the attic to let Zephira do her work. Hoping she is too absorbed in her work to notice my disappearance. Who am I kidding, she’s probably watching me walk to the stairs.
“I’m going to lock you up here until I get back.”
She looks up from the laptop, shakes her head and returns to it. “I won’t leave or do anything while you’re gone.” Hertone changes to one of sarcasm, “but if I have to pee, don’t be surprised when I treat this room like my bathroom.”
I gape at her, my head dipping slightly. “Zephira-”
She holds her hand up to silence me. “Chill, Serena, I’m joking. Go do your detective work and tell me what you find. I’ll be good.”
Cautiously, I walk down the stairs and lock her in, hoping she doesn’t violate our space with her urine.
With a new determination firing up inside me, I leave the house to go back to the scene of the crime to look for any clues I may have missed.
