Page 167 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

Maybe I’m not reformed at all.

Maybe, even though I’ve tried so hard to deny it, I’m still the same little girl who killed her mother with a flashlight then killed the man in the cabin down the road without a hint of remorse. In that case, the asylum didn’t fix me, and I’m still the fucked up killer my mother was so sure I was, rather than being the daughter she wanted and remembered from when I was young.

The plate of French toast shoved in front of me startles me from my thoughts and makes me glance up. I smile at Esme as she sits down beside me with her own plate, the bottle of maple syrup between us. Without looking up, she shoves it in my direction, and scoots her plate out of Yoichi’s path as he continues happily, winding around the mixing bowl like it’s a new toy Esme got just for him. On another circuit, his tail flicks out to touch her arm, and Esme absently reaches up to run her finger lightly down his scales.

“I’m going back to the island tomorrow,” I say suddenly, surprising both myself and, probably, Esme, judging by the way she glances up at me in alarm.

“Like, the island, island?” she asks, her eyes wide and owlish. I nod my head, barely giving her a look from the corner of my eyes.

“Yeah. The island-island. I need…” I trail off and cut my French toast into little pieces instead of eating it, unsure of what to say. “I need something,” I sigh at last.

“Do you need company? Want company?” Esme asks, working through her thoughts as she speaks uncertainly. I honestly can’t tell if she actually wants to go, but that won’t change my answer anyway.

“No.” My voice is soft, but firm. I don’t hesitate as I speak, and I barely glance up from my grid of French toast bites. I only look her way enough to make sure that her expression is still mostly neutral. I don’t want to explain. Hell, I’m not sure if I can explain. But if she needs me to, I’ll try for her benefit.

Thankfully, she’s just nodding. Esme fiddles with her spoon before shoving a half slice of French toast into her mouth. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” she offers at last. “Are you taking the ferry?”

“Yeah.” The answer is out before I can think of it, and a twist of something like trepidation constricts my lungs. “I’ve maybe avoided ferries for too long, don’t you think?” Even without looking at her, I can feel Esme’s worried look of concern pointed in my direction. I ignore it, however, and reach out to hook a few fingers under Yoichi and bring him back to my shoulders. Quickly, I stab all the remaining pieces of my breakfast before mopping up the maple syrup on my plate and pop the whole mess in my mouth. It’s definitely too much, and I feel like a chipmunk with puffed up cheeks full of food I’m storing for the winter. Esme snickers from my beside me, but I only shoot her a mock glare before swallowing the food and chasing it with the last bit of milk in the glass Esme had poured for me.

“What are you doing this week?” Getting up, I swipe her plate and the mixing bowls, balancing everything in one hand before dumping the lot in the sink. Our glasses are next, and before she can get up, I grab the butter and syrup to put back as well. If she cooks, the least I can do is clean.

“I’m picking up a few extra hours at work. There’s a storm coming, apparently. Supposed to be a pretty big deal? And because it’s so late in the season, there’s some special coverage about it. They want to run a segment with this weather guy from the national center or⁠—”

I don’t mean to let her words become white noise, but it’s hard not to today. My mind is already a little foggy, and I nod along with her while cleaning the dishes enough to go in the dish washer. Occasionally I put in a word or two in answer, able to do so on autopilot, but overall, it’s nice to just spend this time with her and be able to zone out. We haven’t had this in too long. But finally, hopefully, everything is going back to normal in our little bubble. I just need to take Larkin out of the equation before he can fuck up my algorithm even more.

That’ll make the dreams stop, right?

The internal question makes me pause, and my hands come to a complete freeze under the warm water. Soap drips from the sponge as I stare down at the shiny plate, and I can’t help as the remains of my dream from last night play like a movie in my head.

“I don’t think you have it to find, Sierra.”

I can still picture Alan’s bloody face, and I can see the blood and bone he pulls out of my chest as he looks for something deeper within. The digging doesn’t hurt; in my dream, I can’t even feel it. But it’s surreal to see my insides spilling out on the ground between us like unneeded viscera.

“I don’t think there’s anything here at all.”

15

It hits me that I’m very glad Esme isn’t here.

I hate when anyone sees me in ways I don’t want them to. I hate vulnerability, weakness, or anything that could be described by their synonyms.

I have to get on the boat, though.

The last of the cars are being driven onto it, and I know my time has, unfortunately, come. My legs don’t want to move, though. All of my muscles seem locked in place with an emotion I don’t want to admit to, and even as I suck in a few breaths to try to chill the fuck out, nothing happens.

But I really, absolutely, have to get on the goddamn ferry.

“You’re being a coward,” I whisper to myself. “You’re being a pathetic pansy who can’t even step onto a goddamn boat. It’s a boat.” Somehow, the insults help me little, just enough that I stumble onto the ferry while ignoring the concerned look of the employee standing near the bridge from the dock to the boat.

I shoot her a look that’s supposed to be a smile, but is probably closer to a pained grimace, judging by the look on her face. But then I force myself to keep going, finding it a little easier to move now that I’m actually on the ferry.

It isn’t that I’m afraid of boats, I remind myself, staggering up the stairs, to the rail, and grabbing onto it with stiff hands.

No, it’s not that at all. I’m afraid of what waits on the other side of the water, which right now, feels like the other side of the world.

Something draws my eyes back to the dock, which is now mostly empty as the ramp below folds up after the last cars are parked in the belly of the ferry. I look down to see the passenger ramp being pulled up now that my sorry ass is on board and the time to leave is approaching. My heart races in my chest with the expectation of just where I’m going on this blue and white boat to hell.

My eyes find his before I know what I’m looking at, causing my fingers to tighten until I’m gripping the rail with white-knuckled hands. Larkin stands back on the sidewalk, leaning against the green railing overlooking the water of the bay. He tilts his head as he stares up at me, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t need to ask out loud.