Page 1 of Sinister Legacy
The rain sounds on the window while I dig out the shoebox hidden in my wardrobe. It’s there, right at the back, beneath my jacket that lies neatly folded on top. I shift everything aside and pull the box out. The small black X on the left-hand corner of the lid marks it, but I know which box it is since all the others are white or brown. This one is red.
I sit back on my haunches and carefully peel the lid back. Inside is a letter, a single photograph, and a CD. The latter is scratched now. I doubt it even plays. Leaving the letter, I pick up the photograph. It has yellowed with time, and it’s creased from too much usage. I would stare at it nightly at one point, trying to understand why my father killed all those women. Why did he live a double life, and how did he get away with it for so long? What drove him to become a monster?
I was seven when my world was blown apart. The police broke into our house on a Friday evening to arrest my dad for the murder of sixteen women. That night ruined my life and destroyed my mom, leaving her a shadow of her former self.
I never spoke to my dad again. He wrote a letter shortly after receiving his death sentence, and now it’s hidden in my wardrobe. But I never replied. Life moves on, I guess. I have a best friend and a boyfriend, and I do relatively well at school. I’m popular by default. It’s what happens when you’re the daughter of a serial killer. People don’t like to be associated with death, but they like to be associated with notoriety. Even the darkest kind. Besides, it’s all a facade to hide how fucking broken I am inside. I don’t trust anyone, I struggle to connect with people, and self-destruction is my nickname.
When I hear my mom’s footsteps on the stairs, I hurry to place the photograph back inside the box. The execution date for my father is coming up in a few months. As a cosmic joke, it falls on the anniversary of his first murder. I guess I’m on edge. There’s no other reasonable explanation for why I’m digging out his photograph.
My dad ruined this family, so he can rot in hell for all I care. But even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. There’s a void in my life now. A void I can’t fill, no matter how hard I try. I miss my dad, as much as I hate to admit it. I miss him even more now that his execution date is racing toward me like a sprinting wild horse.
Mom knocks on my door before peeking her head inside. “Are you ready? Cassie is downstairs.”
I place the folded leather jacket back on top of the box and peer at her over my shoulder. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
One last look at my windows confirms that it’s still raining outside. It hasn’t stopped for the last two days. Halloween is around the corner. The temperatures have dropped in the last week, and the dark settles earlier in the evenings. I like this time of the year. The leaves are beginning to yellow, and the hot summer evenings are a thing of the past.
Throwing on my denim jacket, I quickly tie my hair up in a messy bun before bending at the waist to pick up my bag by the door. As I straighten up, my eyes snag on the gun on my dresser. It’s for protection, my mom once said. But then they installed the metal detectors at school, so now I leave it at home.
On my way past the kitchen, I throw a wave over my shoulder at my mom and stepdad. “See you later.”
“Have a good day.”
Cassie waits for me in her hatchback. It stinks of dog from the previous owner, and the car freshener dangling from the rearview mirror does little to mask it. Now her car stinks of dog and pine. It could be worse.
“I like your hair,” she says when I pull the door shut.
Flicking down the mirror, I tighten the ponytail. “I channeled Pamela Anderson’s messy bun from the nineties.”
The rain is coming down hard now, the wipers moving quickly over the windshield. We pull away from the curb and rejoin the traffic.
“You’re dressed in all denim today,” Cassie points out, motioning to my denim jacket and ripped jeans.
My white T-shirt has a rip near the collar. “Autumn won’t get the best of me yet. Give it a few more weeks, and I’ll drag out my winter coat.”
Cassie sobers, worrying her bottom lip. I know what’s coming even before she asks, “Are you sure you’re okay? There’s only what? Two months until the exe…” she drifts off, looking at me briefly before focusing back on the traffic.
I scan her profile. Dressed in a black leather skirt and a red top, Cassie is classically beautiful with her straight red hair, defined lips, and a beauty spot near her mouth. If I didn’t know it was real, I’d think she was channeling Marilyn Monroe.
“I’m fine,” I reply, tasting the lie on my tongue. Those two words never come out any easier.
Cassie flicks her emerald gaze to me again, looking unconvinced, but decides to drop it. Her freckled nose scrunches up. “Liam messaged me last night asking why you weren’t answering your phone.”
Liam, the star quarterback, is my boyfriend. Much to my amusement, Cassie dislikes him with a passion.
I didn’t pick up because I was ignoring him, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “My phone was on silent.”
“When are you gonna dump him?”
I laugh, staring out the window at the rain bouncing off the pavement. It’s loud on the roof, too. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“Of course I don’t. He’s good for nothing.”
“He’s good forsomething.”My lips twitch.
Cassie rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide her own amusement. “You’re only with him because he’s safe.”
“Let Shrink Cassie back in the closet.”
