Page 31 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

The curse of fortune and power is not one that’s tied exclusively to the Calloways. They are surrounded by monsters just as evil as they are. They say you are defined by the company you keep. So where does that leave a crowd of people parading around the place with targets on their heads?

A server approaches with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Such a ridiculous name when it’d be so much easier to refer to them as snacks. The rich do things differently though. In lieu of a simple snack such as cheese and crackers, there’s a selection of caviar covered crackers. My stomach turns at the thought of eating anything, let alone raw fish eggs, so I quietly decline the offering. Something tells me I’ll be queasy shortly enough when the inevitable speech happens.

Sooner than expected.

“Good evening, everyone.” Carole Calloway’s voice echoes through the sound system, the speakers sprinkled around generously enough to ensure everyone is capable of hearing her speech as she carves out a path through the crowd. She’s changed dresses since the last time I’ve seen her, opting for something a little more daring. Her neckline plunges down the center of her breasts where a diamond-shaped diamond hangs between her cleavage. The shadows of the night converge in all the right spots to help avoid a wardrobe malfunction from stealing the show.

“Tonight, we honor the memory of our youngest child,” she continues, conveniently forgetting that Emily is actually the youngest child. It’s either an intentional snub or it’s an accidental failure of memory overwritten with grief. I’m not sure which is worse. “Carter Calloway was a rambunctious child. Full of both laughter and life, he was a friend to every child and an inspiration to everyone else. Everyone in this room, myself included, has a darker side. There are parts that we wish to hide from those around us, either out of shame or self-preservation.” She cocks a grin that spans the length between her two ears. “I’m not convinced Carter had a dark side.”

I press a hand against my stomach to quell the sickness. That’s not the boy I knew. People have a nasty habit of rewriting the truth about people they love when they are no longer with us. That’s partly because they feel the need to protect those who can no longer defend themselves. But some people don’t deserve to have their side of the story told. Sometimes, they’re just fucking liars.

Carter wasn’t a friend to anybody.

I catch Nick glaring at me, in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“Can you at least pretend that the sight of my dead brother doesn’t make you sick?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a professional actor,” I say. “Case in point. Every minute that I’m with you. You can’t ever figure me out.”

“Shut up, Addison. And listen.”

I roll my eyes and placate him, pretending to listen intently as the witch glides up the stairs of the gazebo. She circles the podium before stepping up to it. She places the microphone into the stand as the television monitor turns on behind her. There’s a brief pause before the blue screen flashes white and then a montage of photos begins to light up the screen. Pictures of Carter when he was younger.

That’s the thing about dead people. Nobody gets the opportunity to take photos of them when they’re older. They are relinquished to memory where they never change in appearance, only change in the way we remember them. For all intents and purposes, he looks just like any other kid as the photos cycle through a seemingly endless playlist. He’s happy and youthful, smiling in every picture. In one photo, he’s on the beach with Nick and Emily, a perfect family portrait that’s at least a decade old. In another, he’s standing behind a young Emily, wrapping his hands around her in a bearish hug and grinning wildly.

That’s not the boy I knew. I can’t see anything other than a selfish kid who was an asshole to everyone that didn’t come from money. I see right past the ghost projected on the screen, see right past the smile and remember him for the monster that he was.

Carole finds herself lost in the moment, her head twisted at an uncomfortable angle as she watches the ghost of her son come to life for seconds at a time. Even from far back in the crowd, I swear I can see the tears welling up in her eyes. It almost saddens me, but I know better.

I swallow nervously, my eyes dancing along the sea of unfamiliar faces. Surprisingly, none of them are fixated on me. Instead, they focus intently on the slideshow of memories. In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I’m not as important to these people as I sometimes believe I am. The only people in this room that should give a shit who I am are the people that were directly impacted by my actions. Each Dick and Jane here doesn’t give a shit about Carole or her dead son.

Carole wipes the tears away from her eyes as she shifts her attention back to the crowd. She feigns the fakest fucking smile and grips each side of the podium. She truly cannot bear the thought of anyone ever seeing her in a vulnerable state. “Earlier today we announced a foundation for a woman in need. When we are blessed, it’s important to give back to those in the community.”

It must be killing her to have to talk about my mother once more. The thought of the turmoil inside her head is the only bit of enjoyment I’m going to get out of this farce of a charity show.

“Every year, David and I like to use this ball to do some good in the world. We know that everyone here has graciously opened up their hearts and their wallets for the good cause. But tonight is about something more than that. It’s about honoring our son. Though he may not be with us physically, he is with us in spirit always. Whenever I’m having a bad day, I take a pause to remember the loving man he was. It’s important to always remember that the darkest days always become before the most beautiful nights. Nights like these.” She points out into the crowd, transitioning from a eulogy into an inspiration speech.

Gag me.

“Tonight, we are officially announcing the Carter Calloway Foundation,” she continues. “And together, we will make sure that nobody has to go through what we experienced. The Carter Calloway Foundation will work hand-in-hand with the youths in our beloved community and we will steer them into the right direction ethically, morally, and more importantly…”

The slideshow of photos cuts off, replaced with white noise on the screen. The microphone squeals wickedly, the sounds piercing my ears. To my left, I watch as David Calloway begins pushing through the crowd, heading towards the gazebo.

And then he stops and the entire backyard goes silent, lost in a collective gasp. A chill carries the hair on the back of my neck upwards. A light breeze punches me in the side and I swear I can hear my own fucking heartbeat. And then I hear something familiar, unmistakable.

It’s my own voice. Guttural and raw, moaning and groaning.

A video on the screen in the gazebo.

The entire crowd watches from behind as Nick thrusts into me. He holds me by the hips while the camera records from behind the bed in the Calloway bedroom. And then it dawns on me that this must have been Nick’s plan along. He brought me here to humiliate me.

It starts with one set of eyes on me and then another, and then soon enough it’s like dominoes. The attention of the crowd shifts to me like a tidal wave on the verge of crushing me before it pulls me back into the sea. On the stage, Mr. Calloway attempts to shut off the television while Carole Calloway storms away. Somehow, they’ll make me pay for this.

I want to run. I know good and damn well that’s exactly what I should be doing. In the interest of self-preservation, I should be halfway to Mexico by now. I’m too terrified to make a move though, as if the judgmental weight of the crowd could collapse on me if I move a muscle.

Nick stares at me too, his cheeks popping inwards as his throat tightens. If ever there was a look of guilt, there’d be a photo of his face in the dictionary right next to the definition. I want to fucking slap him for all the world to see. I want to lay hands on him in the same backyard I stabbed his little brother in, but these people want a show and I’m not going to give it to him.

I just fucking run, pushing through the crowd all the while I keep my head hung low. I know better than to step foot back inside the mansion, so once I’m free from the constriction of the crowd, I make my way past the pool. There’s an open wooden fence at the back with a deck that leads out to the beach where the waves crash upon the shore.

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