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“I appreciate the thought, but no.”
A serial killer offering to kill anyone who’s ever hurt you was like the biggest gift a serial killer could give. She should be flattered, really. I wouldn’t make that offer for just anybody. Hell, I’d never make it for anyone else, period.
It was just Charlie for me. The girl had a claim on my heart.
Chapter Nine – Charlie
My parents surprised me by not bringing Zak up all the time after his funeral. In fact, it sounded like they were trying to move on from the whole thing—I think a part of my parents always hoped Zak and I would get back together.
How were they moving on? Oh, by throwing a little party for Ian, AKA Brett. My parents told me to invite him the next Sunday, and we’d have dinner together. Claire and Tyler were invited, of course, so I doubted the whole dinner would actually be about me and my new boyfriend.
Boyfriend. Listen to me, talking like Brett really was my actual boyfriend. Whatever he tried to say, however you spun it, he wasn’t really my boyfriend. We might have sex, and he might tell me that I was his, but that didn’t mean…
Oh, my God. My boyfriend was a serial killer. I was dating a serial killer. And the worst part was, I washappyabout it. Like, full-blown happy. A type of happy I hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever.
Brett Banks was my boyfriend.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Things went back to normal as much as they could. I got another box of dye to touch up Brett’s hair—the last thing we both needed was for anyone to recognize him. His hair was getting a little long, but I figured it might be better to let it grow, separate him from the picture they’d flashed online and on the news when what he did was fresh and newsworthy.
My sister was looking forward to meeting Brett again. Or Ian. Ugh, this shit was complicated, and I hoped neither of us slipped up. Anyway, she wanted to get to know him more. She still didn’t trust him, saying he was too old for me, and all that stuff.
Hey, it wasn’t like I went out and purposefully got myself a guy who was over a decade older than me. This whole thing was basically one big accident. One big, deadly accident.
But there was nothing that could be done about it now. Nothing at all.
As the week went on, my stalker returned to his silence. I couldn’t help but wonder if Brett was right, if my stalker liked to let me stew and fret over him, or if he had a life that took priority during the week. A job that took up most of his time, or something along those lines. Before this whole mess with Zak, he had called me once in the middle of the day and act like he was watching me, but there was no way to know for certain whether or not he’d actually been there or if he was just saying that to throw me off his trail.
Friday night I overheard my parents whispering in their bedroom, but I didn’t dare creep too close in case they heard me. I wasn’t the best sneaker. I wasn’t used to sneaking around in the darkness and eavesdropping—but from what I could overhear, it sounded like they were talking about Brett.
“Honey, I’m just not sure about this.” That was my mom’s voice, hushed behind their closed door.
“Come on. It’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s trying hard—” My dad, defending Brett? No, that couldn’t be right. But if they weren’t discussing Brett, then who the hell were they talking about?
“I understand that. It’s just… we’re in a good place right now. All of us. I hate to put that in jeopardy.”
“In jeopardy? Please, Emily, tell me how it puts anything in jeopardy.”
“You never know, James.”
Their voices grew hushed after that, and I tiptoed back to my room. It was ten o-clock on a Friday night, and they were having a discussion that, at first, I thought might be about Brett, but the more they’d talked, the less likely that seemed.
If they weren’t discussing Brett and the upcoming party, then what the hell were they talking about? Whatever it was, my mom didn’t seem pleased, while my dad was attempting to placate and soothe her.
I was clueless.
Saturday passed without incident, and as Sunday rolled around, I picked up on a weird energy in the house. I assumed it was something to do with the conversation I’d overheard Friday night, but I couldn’t be sure. I asked my mom if she was alright, and all she did was smile at me and say, “I’m fine, honey. Just excited to have Ian over again.”
Which was a lie. I knew it was a lie, and yet I couldn’t push. A part of me was afraid that if I did, something would snap. My parents would suddenly recognize Ian as Brett Banks and the whole jig would be over.
I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t know if I ever would be.
At my mom’s insistence, I changed into something nice. Late spring, the weather was warm but not too warm, and the breeze made it just a hint too cold. I went for leggings and a white shirt. I didn’t put any makeup on, but I did make sure my hair was washed.
The weather unfortunately had other plans; around two, clouds covered the blue sky, and the forecast called for rain—which meant my dad had to cook inside, and we had to sit side by side in the living room.
A small room, big enough for a sectional and a rocking chair, the latter for my dad. My mom brought in the chairs from the kitchen and situated them around so there’d be more options and we wouldn’t be packed on the sectional like sardines.
