Page 1 of Look My Way
Prologue
Zavier
My mom tugs me toward her bedroom closet when she hears my dad’s screams getting closer. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. I just need you to hide in here for a little while.” She guides me behind some dresses in the back. “Be as quiet as you can. Don’t come out until I say, okay?”
I nod and fold into myself on the floor as boxes are being pushed in front of me. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to hide. Won’t be the last either. At least I’ve gotten better, but I’m also running out of places he won’t look. He checks under the bed and then the bathtub, but that’s only when hurting my mom isn’t enough to sate his anger. My dad’s slurred words are more muffled with the closet door closed.
Loud banging comes, followed by an alarming crash. “Please,” my mom shouts. “I’m sorry I didn’t have dinner ready on time. I can still make it. It won’t take me long. I’ll make that pie you like too.”
“Fuck your pie,” he screams, and a loud smack shakes the walls. He’s not as muffled anymore. Not with only one door separating us. Squeezing my eyes shut, I press my hands to my ears and sing a song in my head that my mom always sings to me when I struggle to sleep at night. I’m trying to make the monster go away the way I do when I’m in my room alone and the moon makes scary shapes against my wall. It doesn’t work. He only gets louder, and my mom’s cries turn to screams.
“Don’t. He didn’t do anything wrong. It was me.”
“If it wasn’t for him coming first all the time, my food would be ready when it was supposed to be, my clothes would always be washed when I needed them, and I wouldn’t have to wait until you sang him to sleep every damn night to get from you the one thing you’re actually good at. I’m tired of him always being in the way. We were better before he came along. Happier. We can be again.”
“No,” she yells louder. “He’s your son.”
“Yes, and after tonight I won’t have one anymore.”
My whole body shakes, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest when the closet door breaks off the hinges. Nails scrape along cardboard as my dad shoves the boxes out of the way. Light shines between the dresses as he pulls them apart. “Ah. There you are.”
Bang.
My dad’s eyes widen, and he freezes before he sways back and forth. Blood drips from his head and the dresses are ripping off the hanger as his body crashes to the ground. He twitches a little, his mouth opening and closing before he goes completely still.
My mom is standing behind him, face red and swollen. Her hair is spilling from her bun and her eyes water, hands shaking around the gun in her hand. She slowly lowers it, tears streaming faster down her face.
“Dad?” I call out. “What did you do?” I glance back at my mother, shaking in disbelief. My aimed fear shifts from him to her.
“What I had to,” she says. “Some monsters won’t go away when you wake up. Sometimes you have to get rid of them yourself.”
“Is he . . . dead?” my voice trembles.
She nods, and when she tries to reach for me, I pull back. “It’s okay.” She looks down at his body, kicking at his arm. He doesn’t move or blink. “We’re safe now. He can’t hurt us anymore.”
She tosses the gun to the ground and pulls me in her arms.
“It’s okay.” She holds me tighter. “It’s all going to be okay.” I believe her. I really think it’s going to be. I see a future of me and her living alone together in peace, no longer having to hide at random times of the day. No longer hiding bruises from other people and no longer having to lie to the doctors about how we got our injuries.
Little do I know, my dad isn’t the only monster I’ll have to worry about, though, and my mom won’t always be there to protect me from them all. I’ll also finally realize what she meant when she saidsometimes you have to take care of them yourself.
One
Zavier
15 years later
After stepping out of the shower, I examine my face in the mirror while drying off with a towel. No scratches or blood anywhere in sight. No evidence left behind. I made less of a mess this time. I’m getting better. Less sloppy. They’re looking more like accidents too. Smiling, I remove a yellow rose petal from the pocket of my jacket that’s draped over the chair in the corner of my room, and I rub it between my fingers before placing it in the locked box buried in my closet. The things I take to remember each kill wouldn’t be recognizable to anyone else who saw them. Only me.
Wilting and looking as delicate as the man I watched die today, the petal stands out against everything else, adding a little color to its darker counterparts—the ounce of dirt, bark of a tree, and a black silk ribbon. Memories flash through my mind like a movie as I touch each item, and I could watch them on repeat all day, but I don’t have time to. Not when I have so much to do,including going to work and meeting with my foster sister, Felice for dinner. The man who put up too much of a fight earlier when I shoved his head under water has me running behind. Another reason for me to hate the fucker.
He shouldn’t have walked his dog so close to the pond after it rained. It’s very slippery out today and everyone he’s close to is aware he can’t swim. I was worried his dog would bark and call attention to us, but that thought died the moment the little runt ran off chasing a squirrel. Even his own dog hated him. Did he abuse animals like he did humans?
Hoping to grab on to something to save himself, he clawed at the ground, his fingers clinging to the roots of a few yellow flowers. I yanked him harder into the water and once he went still with no life left in him, I swam up to the surface, taking yellow petals with me on my way back to my car. I wonder how long it’ll take before someone finds him. His dog will be spotted wandering around with a leash attached eventually. All I can do is be patient.
Seeing their names on the news and reporters mentioning that authorities suspect no foul play always has me giddy inside. It’s sick, isn’t it? Not any more than what these people did to the ones they were supposed to love.
Gritting my teeth at the thought, I lock the box back up and shove it back into my closet, then I close the door once I take out the clothes I’m wearing for the day. In only fifteen minutes I’m dressed and out the door, rushing to my car. Ignoring my ringing phone, I drive a little over the speed limit to Hank’s, hands shaking on the wheel from the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
