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‘Highland’ was a big guy, fit, and not dressed like she’d expected.  Loose fitting jeans, belt, and a t-shirt, smoke mask.  No gun that she could see.  He came to the back door, not the front, one hand held out to his left, like she’d asked him to do in her exchange with him.

He came in the back door, saw the delivery guy with the curtain from the back window draped over him, and looked around.

“Blood?” Highland asked.

The delivery guy jumped visibly at the sound of a new voice.

“Not much.”

“And the guy?”

“I’m afraid to check.”

“Show me.”

She led him through the house to the attached garage.

He bent down, touching finger to neck.  Then he shifted his grip, pressing the bottom half of his hand down into the side of the neck.  There was a faint grinding sound, and another pop like cracked knuckle.

He pulled his hand away.  “What’d you hit him with?”

“Trap.”

Highland paused, then looked around the garage, eyes going to the door, the tracks the door slid along… “Seen one of those.”

“There’s a few.  I remembered one.  By the front door.  Baited him outside.”

“Good thinking,” the man said.  “Listen.  He’s alive.  He’s not doing great.  Maybe he’ll die in the future, maybe he’d survive with care, but I’m not going to take him to the hospital.  It doesn’t make sense.”

She turned her eyes to the guy.  She wasn’t sure if his chest was rising and falling from shallow breaths or if her eyes played tricks on her, with how much her heart was hammering, nervousness changing her focus- literally skewing what her eyes gave her.

“There’s blood on his pants leg, shoe, and some on the floor,” she said.

“Okay.  That’s not what I’m talking about right this second, though.  You hear me?  I can take care of the blood.  I’m also going to finish him off, now.”

Valentina frowned.

“You should go.”

“I’m responsible-”

“No.  Go look after the other prisoner.  See if he wants water, before we get him in the car.  No need for you to see this.”

“I knew he might die or get hurt if I used the trap,” Valentina said.  “I want to see this through.  I’m staying.”

Highland sighed.

He propped the guy up to a partial sitting position, then, securing one arm around shoulders, manipulated the head to face one side- and hauled it to the other, snapping it.

Valentina winced.

Watching, she studied the man in the wake of that.  Looking for a final exhalation, or some physical reaction.

“Blood on the pants leg, you said?” Highland asked.

“Yeah.”

She felt numb, which did less to free up her thoughts to handle what was going on than she thought it would.  She couldn’t bring herself to believe that the man had died with the neck snapping.  It had been before.  She’d done the killing.  Highland had engaged in a brief charade to try to spare her feelings.

As horrible as the mental image and the knowledge was, she was glad she’d stayed, because it told her things about who Highland was.  That numbness sat weirdly in her chest, shoulders, and upper arms.  Like a cloud encompassing heart, lungs, breathing, blood, and everything related.

She kept grabbing for metaphors or ways to frame the situation.  It reminded her of playing a game with one of her nephews, in one of those situations there had been a family gathering and she’d been stuck with the kids.  In the game, he’d been building a bridge, and the goal had been to make a bridge that held up while spending as little money as possible.

Valentina, trying to find metaphors and ways of understanding people, was trying to build bridges here.  But she didn’t have enough ‘money’ and she was trying to stretch too far.  So much of this was outside her experience.

The wire had cut into the dead man’s leg, and that had led to some of the bleeding she’d pointed out.  Highland went to the kitchen, ransacking cabinets, and had to enlist Valentina’s help to open a child safe lock, which she thought was pretty funny.  With baking soda and bleach, he cleaned up the blood- or got enough of it that it wasn’t easily recognizable as blood.  He went outside to get more.

Valentina did as he’d suggested, and got water, providing it for the delivery guy.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“Still figuring that out,” Valentina said, quiet.  “Sorry, this isn’t about you.”

“I figured that out.”

No messages from Josie, nothing else from anyone else.  No messages on the phone.

She browsed it while she waited for Highland.  ‘Dragons’?

Steven Long was a high level manager of a chemical company, sent to prison for embezzlement and a fraud scheme aimed at ousting then-CEO Jeff Utter and getting Steven’s cousin into the role of interim manager.  Between them, the two would re-appropriate company funds and sell corporate information.  The connection between the two was discovered by chance and the scheme unraveled before it was fully underway.

While in prison, Steven became a target, possibly a ruse of its own, because he was quickly provided protection by the Aryans.  Once he was out, they pressured him to return the favor, involving themselves heavily in his life, and had him work for them.  After a year of odd work for which he had little courage and capability, he settled into a role guarding and taking care of three of the students from Yellow Bus 11-12.

Yellow Bus 11-12 had been in the news a few years back.  It was part of why schools like Josie’s had drills for armed, organized assaults against the school, which were very different from lone shooter and small group shooter drills.  A whole school bus had been waylaid, its occupants taken by a group that was, if she remembered right, tied to the Civil Warriors.  The entire thing was a mess, made messier by how people had been convinced, even after some of the first culprits had been caught, that it was Middle Easterners who’d done it, a lack of police response, and the fact that the kids had been split up, taken to different places.

One of those things that had happened when she was younger, where she’d heard a lot of little details but hadn’t connected the dots for it until way later.  Mostly, she’d heard the name ‘Yellow Bus 11-12’ a lot, news had been turned off when she was in the room, and her field trips with school had started to have a guy with a gun at the front of the bus.  Someone had said they were lucky, and other schools didn’t have field trips at all, anymore.

And here, in front of her face, in black and white text, a passing mention of three of those kids.

She found herself skimming the rest, looking for more details about the kids, more than anything.  Barely anything.  Steven had waited until he was alone, took the kids back and dropped them off at their old school after dark, then been referred to Mia by someone else from prison.

New identity, disappeared, now he was far away.

Dragons number two and three were linked.

Lor and Michelle Ledbetter are sisters, ex-members of the Thornton Pack, a gang absorbed into the Kitchen, previously led by Charlie Pullen.

Valentina knew of Charlie Pullen.  Mia had asked her last night if she could pick out some faces as familiar.  Charlie Pullen would’ve been one she could pull out.  But she was pretty sure he was already in Mia’s pile of gathered information.

Other members of the gang (including the men of the Ledbetter family) would raid neighborhoods of rival gangs, Kitchen included, indiscriminately targeting people living there, maiming, wounding, and terrorizing them, looting the place and offering to leave people alone if there was anything easy to resell or cash on hand.  Intent was to stir locals of the area against the gangs that were meant to have control and be offering protection.  Certain people were given to Lor and Michelle Ledbetter.  Lor kept them prisoner and put them to work cutting drugs, while Michelle organized ransoms.

When the Thornton Pack folded into the Kitchen, there was too much animosity against the Ledbetters.  Lor, Michelle, and their youngest brother (see Shawnie Ledbetter) were held long enough to detox, then given new identities, as a favor to our contact.  Lor and Shawnie were released first, and after Lor covertly notified Michelle she had reached her destination safely, Michelle provided information he wanted and was allowed to follow.

‘Dragons’ were apparently Mia and Carson’s term for people who kept other people prisoner.

Making Mia and Carson ‘dragons’ by their terminology.

Valentina and Highland too, Valentina supposed.  They’d watched over Addi, Nicole, and Sara.

Highland had said he wasn’t able to watch them for that long.  The Ledbetters were marked down as dangerous, low loyalty, unpredictable, and cheap.

Not worth it.  Even if Addi deserved it.

Highland came back inside.

“I’m not good at this,” Highland said.

“Better at it than I am.”

“Watching prisoners, cleaning up evidence.”

“What do you normally do?” Valentina asked.

“She didn’t tell you?”

She’d looked him up, she’d seen how they thought he was loyal.  That they trusted him.  She’d read a bit of the story.  But… “I got some information.  They respect you.  But I don’t know what it means when they say someone’s a soldier and a problem solver.”

“I carried a gun, sometimes I was there to look tough, sometimes it was to aim and shoot… or snap a neck, like you just saw.  I handle problems… but I prefer to handle them in a way that means I don’t have to worry about them later.  This entire thing, none of it’s like that.”

“Taking people prisoner, cleaning up a scene, finding a way to get back to equilibrium.”

“Can we?”

“I guess we’re going to find out.  I was thinking about it.  We need to sell a narrative.  They’re going to know their guy is gone.  And our man over there has the other half of the story.”

“M- they told Davie Cavalcanti that a bunch of the contact’s people are out there, trying to get revenge for the contact’s death.  Dead man’s switch.”

“Then that’s the story we try to sell.  Okay.  Then I came here to target your mom and dad.  Found a soldier and delivery guy here.  Let’s make sure we’re not here when they follow up, and no trails outright stop here.”

As he said that, Highland looked over at the delivery guy.

He crossed half of the house, before barking out, “Hey, Boxgo guy.”

Valentina followed behind, arms folded.

“I don’t even remember where this is, I don’t know what happened.  Let me go, I’ll… give my boss an excuse, finish my shift, go home, forget this happened.  I won’t even remember where this is.  All the streets look the same.”

“Thank you, good of you.  That makes things simpler.  But for right now, I want to know, are those restraints too tight?  Is the circulation in your hands okay?”

“I’m okay.  I’d prefer to not be here, but I’m okay.”

Highland walked over.  “Make a fist?”

The guy did.

“Spread your fingers out?”

The guy did.

Highland seized his hand, then reached over to where the Cavalcanti soldier had put the guy’s phone, halfway down the table.  He pressed the guy’s thumb to the base of the phone.

It dinged, and opened up.

“Didn’t have to twist my fingers back,” the guy said, a bit whiny.  “I would’ve cooperated.”

“If you hadn’t, this would have taken five times as long.”

“We’ll figure this out,” Valentina said.

“Don’t judge me for the shit on my phone, okay?”

“The other guy had porn as a lock screen wallpaper.  That’s hard to top,” Valentina said.

“Oh.  Ha,” the guy said.  He took a partial breath, then awkwardly sputtered, “-Had?”

“Boxgo uses an app to track date and time of deliveries,” Highland said, voice low.  Just for Valentina.  “Last one was this house.  Kid fibbed.  He’s saying he’d drop this and forget, but there’s a clear record.  How do you forget what’s there in hard black and white?”

“So what do we do?”

“We don’t let the trail end here.  That makes things too complicated,” Highland told her.  “Can you drive?  And do you have a dark green polo shirt?”

“A dark green-?”

Highland bent down, grabbing the visor off the guy’s head, one hand holding the curtain in place, and then put it down on top of Valentina’s head.  “He’s parked across the street.  Wear a mask, watch for doorbell cameras.  Do a few deliveries.  I’ll sort out things on this end and pick you up.”

⯁

I’m getting an education.

She’d gone to private school.  Six out of ten meals had been cooked by staff at the house.  Her dad had cooked another three out of ten.  The last was a toss up between takeout, which her dad always resented, or her stepmother cooking.  With Mia and Carson, she’d had her first explanations on what went into meal prep.

Maybe if she’d asked her dad, before, he would have taught her.  But that was a big maybe.  It was always maybe with her dad.  She was pretty sure he reveled in it- in people not knowing whether to expect a hug or strictness, then being grateful when it was a hug.  Like it made it somehow more meaningful.

She’d never learned laundry.  She’d never worked.  The closest had been school functions in middle school.

Carson had taught her about laundry.  Easier in some ways than she expected – soap in, turn the dial to the right setting, press the button.  Harder in others.  An endless list of things not to do.  Things that could go wrong.

Being a ‘dragon’, in Mia’s terminology, which mostly meant keeping an eye on prisoners while eating bunker food and watching movies.

Then a quantum leap forward, into taking care of two kids.  Babysitting on steroids.  Being a mom, kind of.

Now a job as a delivery driver.

Leading into taking over for Mia.

She used the app to find the address, then drove up, parking with a hard jerk.  She knew how to drive, but she’d never driven anything with this kind of weight.  She hopped out, blinking hard against the smoke, and took an approach to the house that kept her out of view of any doorbell cameras, before tossing the package onto the front steps.

She was halfway back when the door opened.  A heavyset guy with messy hair shouted, “You’re late!”

She ignored him.

“I’m going to report this!”

Damn.  A bit of a trail, still.

She wasn’t sure what to do, though.  She could understand Highland’s frustrations, that so much of this was stuff that wasn’t tying off neatly.  Things that required more work.

She considered, then turned around.  “Please don’t.”

“How are you going to make it up to me?”

Her skin crawled at the question.  She knew what he was really asking.  How many movies had he watched where people used lines like that and it led straight into a fifteen minute video?  Enough that he thought it was worth trying?

Or maybe the world was actually like that… which made her skin want to crawl in other directions.

“Money,” she said.  “What will it take?”

“Three hundred.”

She could do three hundred, but felt like that could cause more problems.  “Forty?  It really wasn’t my fault, I don’t want to lose this job.”

“Seventy-five.”

“That’s more than a day of work,” she said.  She had no idea if it was.  “Fifty?”

“Yeah.  Okay.  Fifty,” he said, in a tone that made her feel like he’d send the report anyway.

“Give me your email.”

He did.  It was a boomer email, from some site nobody used anymore.  She used her phone to send the money, selecting one of the functions beneath the balance display in the thing Mia had set up.

It quickly moved between several pages, before asking for the amount, then zipped through a few more, before bringing her to the app.

“Check your email?” she asked him.

It took him a full minute.  She felt anxious.  Exposed.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” she told him.

“Fucked up my workday,” he groused, but he turned his back to her, moving with a kind of enthusiasm.

The encounter sat oddly with her as she drove around the corner, parked, and messaged Highland to get a meeting place.  It made her think of Addi.  She’d spent so much of her life ducking her head down, making nice, not making waves in her friend group, doing as she was told… so fucking much of which was useless and pointless, now that she was out here, trying to survive.  What did the piano lessons get her?  What did it get her, that she’d made nice with certain people, enough to be acquaintances and be able to approach them.  A politician’s daughter.

Fuck.  She should have mentioned that to Mia.

Now Mia might be dead or dismembered.

Her thoughts kept going to dark places like that.  Worries, fears about how each mistake could end her, or end Ripley, Tyr, Carson, and Mia.  But also thoughts about this guy.

That all it would take was a relatively small amount of money, and she could send someone to hurt him.  It might even be the sensible thing to do.  Technically.

Instead, she’d chosen the path where the asshole won.

How much is this fucking me up?

Highland was parked under a bridge.  She pulled up, parked, and pulled off the slightly oversized polo shirt.  Carson’s.  She shook the visor out, then tossed it back into the vehicle.

“Problems?”

“One guy came out and saw me.  Last stop.”

“We need time and distance from this.  We got some of that.  Come on.  I could use your help in looking after these people.”

They left the delivery truck parked beneath the bridge, and she climbed into the passenger seat, glad to have someone else in the driver’s seat for now.

“I’m going to lose my job,” the delivery guy said.  He was blindfolded, now, hands secured behind his back, held in place by a seatbelt that was zip-tied secure, so a simple button press wouldn’t get him free.

“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Valentina said.  “I don’t want this to ruin your life.  I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’m- I’m open to deals.”

“Put up with this.  We secure you for a… day, maybe a few days.  Food, water, basic needs met.  A bit scary, a bit weird, I know, but… put up with this.  Then we let you go.  If this doesn’t come back on us, if we go looking to double check and it’s clear you didn’t release our details, if everything’s okay, then I’ll give you money.  Money every month.  Enough this is worthwhile.”

He was silent.

Highland took the on-ramp onto a bridge.

“Is it weird?” the delivery guy asked.  “That if it was a choice between that and being let go now, I’d want to be let go?  I don’t even want to betray you or say anything, I swear.  I just want… to be safe.”

“Me too,” she said.  She was so tired it was painful.  Her head rested sideways on the armrest, her body facing Highland, eyes studying him, as she talked to the delivery guy.  “We’re not bad or evil people.  All we want is to be safe.  And you’re a threat to that, right now.  So there’s no situation where you get to go anytime soon.  I wish I could… could beam how true and sincere that is, from my heart to yours, so you get it and stop asking.”

“Make your peace with it, guy,” Highland said.  “Surrender that fight.  Accept it as fact.  Put your energy elsewhere.  Think about what you’re going to do when you’re home.  How you’ll explain the van being parked in the middle of nowhere.  Taking any medication that could make you act funny?”

The delivery guy sighed.  “No.”

“Too bad,” Highland said.

Valentina shifted her seat to more of a reclining position, which made the delivery guy jump at the sound.  “Sorry.”

“So it’s a choice between what?  Taking that deal…”

“And making things harder,” Valentina said.  “Talking after the fact.  Get a chance of getting us, but getting no money.”

“I’ll take the deal.”

“Sensible,” Highland said.

“I don’t want to sabotage myself, or say something and have it taken the wrong way…”

“Then don’t?” Highland suggested.

“Go ahead,” Valentina said.

“This is purely food for thought.  I heard about prisons in… might’ve been Norway, or somewhere out there, and if someone tries to escape, they don’t punish them or extend their sentences.  Because the desire for freedom is fundamentally human.”

“I like that,” Valentina said.

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t change our plan or our deal.  This isn’t Norway or somewhere out there,” Highland said.  “This is America.  For the next little while, at least.”

“You think they’re going to win?” the delivery guy asked.

“I don’t think they’re losing or going away.  As long as that holds true, it’s a matter of time.  After that, I don’t think it’s going to be about the kind of right to freedom you’re talking about.”

“Yeah.  I think I know what you mean.”

Valentina shut her eyes, uneasy even in rest.

⯁

“Do you think Kelson’s gay?” Nance asked.

“Huh?” Gio asked.  “Are we really doing this again?”

“Have we had this discussion?”

“We’ve seriously talked about Lupita, Kelson, Austin, Kev, Shelby and Callahan all being gay.  Everyone in that friend group.”

“Because vibes,” Tania said.

“Because two years are going to pass and then a few of them are going to come out and everyone’s going to be so shocked,” Nance said.

“A bunch of them are from conservative families, right?” Tania asked.

“Yeah,” Gio said.

“Newsworthy,” Tania said.

Esme mused aloud, “It’s schroedinger’s sexuality.  All of them are gay and not gay until confirmed otherwise.  I get what Gucci girl’s saying. It’s a bit boring.  And last-decade.”

“I’m not saying it’s boring, but it’s weird that a bunch of people we’re kinda-sorta friends with are, you know, this default discussion we keep having.  Some people talk about the weather, we talk about who’s into who, and most of that’s those six people,” Gio said.

“They’re popular, connected people,” Tania said, with a note of defensiveness.

“What if we quit it for… a week?” Esme suggested.

“I’m going to set my phone,” Tania said.

“Really?” Nance asked.

“There.  I’ll let us know when we’re clear.”

Nance rolled her eyes.  Gio rolled her own, miming Nance.

They walked down a whole half-length of hallway, past other students in their blue blazers, blue dress shirts, with blue-and-gold plaid skirts for girls, slacks for the boys.  The lockers were dark blue to match the uniforms.

Gio wrinkled her nose at the smell of paint.  Someone was drawing up a mural, with roughed-out images of students standing in front of a coat of arms.  The coat of arms was getting filled out first.

“They took down the memorials?” Esme asked.

“They’re fixing it because a lot of the flowers and things left against the wall left stains, apparently,” Tania said.

“Is it bad to say good?” Nance asked, quietly.  “I’m glad it’s gone?  Those guys died way before we even got here.”

As their group walked out to the grass outside, where various students sat in the shade of trees, there was a growing, silent communication between them.

They sat on the grass.  Gio felt overly conscious of how disproportionately large her thighs were, and how insufficient the dress seemed.  She sat with her back to a tree and fixed her bag under her knees and by her butt, so it pinned the back of her skirt to her legs, and protected her against anyone seeing.  Once settled, she took in the shifting expressions, the look of agony on Tania’s face, the growing awkwardness on Nance’s.  Nothing to do with her, even if that little nugget of self-doubt in her immediately started insisting it was, but instead about the conversation.  Or lack thereof.

“See?” Gio asked.

“We don’t talk about them that much, do we?  Why is this so awkward?”

“It’s like when you say ‘don’t think about a blue elephant’.  It becomes all you can think about.”

“It’s seriously not,” Gio replied.

“I legitimately ship Callahan, though,” Tania said.  “So that makes it okay.”

“The one week rule is still in effect,” Gio warned her.  “There should be some punishment.”

“Like a swear jar.”

“Like a dare.”

Nance snickered.  “Tania, you’re such a… what’s it called?  A fushi- fuu…”

“That’s so racist,” Tania protested.  “I’m Japanese and you’re sticking me with that term?”

“Fujoshi.  Boy-love fanatic,” Nance said, looking up form her phone.  “Is it racist?  What if I say BL fanatic or something.?”

“That sounds sketch,” Gio said.

Tania took up an air of self importance, back straight, eyes shut, facing the sky.  “I believe in them and I root for them and it’s pure and wholesome…”

“That sounds sketchier,” Esme threw in.

Nance pushed Tania lightly.  With the slope, Tania tipped over and sprawled.

“…and I’m not allowed to date until I graduate so I gotta have something to cling to,” Tania said, lying there.

“I think I might be on the same wavelength as Gio,” Esme said.  “Why don’t we focus on our own love lives, and-”

“Because it’s sad.  And boring.  And hopeless,” Nance cut in.

“-And stop obsessing over others that might not even be a thing?” Esme finished.

“Why?  Because they’re cuter,” Tania said.

“You gotta stop,” Gio said.  She offered Tania a hand in righting herself and getting back to a sitting position.

“Okay.  One week, then we figure it out,” Tania said.  “But I want it known, I was going to throw a get together, and now, because you called me names, Nance-”

“Me?”

“-and because you keep interrupting me, I don’t know if you know you do that, I’m thinking about not inviting you.”

“What kind of get together?” Gio asked.

“Couple nights at my place, minimal supervision.  Movies.”

“A sleepover?” Nance asked.

“We’re not seven.  A get-together.”

“Overnight.  A sleepover.”

“Do you want to keep arguing, or do you want to be invited?”

“That sounds cool,” Gio said.  She looked over at Adele.  The quiet one.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Conversation did go in other directions, thankfully.  Mercifully.  Gio switched to lying down in the grass, still with her bag in place.  She got a text and checked it.

Esme.  Thanking her for the backup.  She took a bit before glancing Esme’s direction, caught the little smile.

Thanks for not leaving me arguing by my lonesome, she texted back.

Esme was, in her own words, not sure what she was, but had confessed in private to Gio the constant speculation about those other people in a related social circle had been gnawing at her.  Gio had offered to try to handle it.  It had been harder than she’d thought, but… good.

“We should coordinate, before lunch is over,” Nance said.  “When are we hanging out.”

Gio switched her phone over to calendar mode.

“I’ve got violin tomorrow,” Gio said.  “Piano the day after.”

“Nothing tomorrow, gymnastics the day after,” Tania said.

“Okay, so tomorrow’s probably out, I’m busy,” Nance said.  “Day after everyone’s busy.  Day after that… my dad’s helping with a big event.”

“I’m coming to that,” Gio said.

“Me too,” Esme said.

“Awesome, that’s great, I won’t be bored to tears.  Want to meet up before, figure out what we’re wearing?”

“My place?” Gio offered.

“Sure,” Nance said.  Esme nodded.

“Please tell me everyone’s free on Saturday,” Tania said.  “And over the weekend?”

“Mostly free.  I might have to duck out…”

⯁

The flurry of messages came in so fast she thought it was spam, while she was in the middle of getting ready for the day.

Then it was a frantic few minutes of getting online, trying to find the source.  The root of it.

She went to text her friends in the group chat, and the group chat was gone.

She texted them individually instead- Esme, because her name was most recent on the contact list.  Then Nance.  Nance’s GFY account was linked in the contact icon, so she clicked that.

Brief messages to each.  What’s going on?

Nance’s Go Foto Yourself profile… taken down?

Tania’s too?

Esme…

The only one still up.

Red alerts popped down at the top of her screen.  She touched them each in turn.

Message failed to send.

Message failed to send.

Her texts to Nance and Esme sat there on the message app, bold red and pink.  They’d blocked her.  On GFY too.

She checked Esme’s page, and went to the direct message option.

Only to get the ‘page not found’ screen.  Blocked.

Maybe Tania hadn’t blocked her in messages?

She sent a quick message.  What’s going on?

It sat there, the little ‘sending’ icon circling around and around.

It was crowded out as other messages came in.  Someone had given out her cell number.

how do you live with yourself?

Seriously fucked to consider this normal

Gucci GANG

Did you know?

gucci gang member

Several copies of the same image, a crime scene, with images taken from her own GFY account, cut out and placed over them, so it looked like she was smiling over bodies covered in sheets.

Like someone had posted it somewhere and a bunch of others had raced to send it to her to get a reaction.

Gucchi gang gucchi gang

the way to handle this is to get out in front of it and CONFESS
what part did you play??

Psycho dad psycho daughter

More of the images.  Others.  She went to her GFY account, fingers fumbling and hitting the wrong tiny word on her way to deleting her account.  Warning: 419 photos will be deleted.

Yes.

She hit it again.  Yes.

Yes.

It didn’t budge.

A tear had dripped from her eye to the screen, and the blot made it not register the touch.  She smudged it, then hit the button.

The messages kept rolling in.

Did you know?????

Yes.  She’d had an inkling it wasn’t all legitimate.  Now the world knew.

Her school was a good school.  Strict.  If anyone went after someone weaker, disabled, different, the rest of the students would go after them.  For the most part, the shittiest student behaviors were relegated to the margins, dark corners, out of sight.  Nothing like the old movies.

But there was a flip side.  Students today weren’t any less ruthless than the guys who’d openly punch people or smash them into lockers, or the girls who’d cut those they saw as lesser down with words.  It took a different focus.

In this, when her family’s money came from the places it did, when they thought there was good excuse and good reason… they descended.

She watched the messages roll in.  It kept going for over an hour.  She had the distinct impression that even though her GFY account was closed, her photos had been saved and shared out, because they kept making new images and new memes that used them.  From vacations.  From happy moments.

She wanted her mom.  She wanted her friends.

“Giovanna Cavalcanti!”

Her grandfather’s nurse, who was sometimes her caretaker too, stormed into her room.

“I’m not feeling well.”

“You’re fine, and you should already be ready and on your way to school.”

“I’m not-”

The nurse, an iron grip on Gio’s upper arm, steered her into the room where her father was.  It was kind of a conference room, but not really.

Dissolving into tears, she put her phone, gripped in the hand furthest from the nurse, on the table, and pushed it closer.

Her dad picked it up and browsed the messages.

“I can’t go to school.”

“Moments like this, you must,” he told her.  “Own it.  Be strong, be brave.  Give them nothing.  Most of all, you cannot cry.”

Her next breath came out as a singular cough-sob.

“Everything you are, everything you have, it comes from this.  It was earned.  Fought for.  With blood, with intelligence, with hard work over generations.  We’re powerful and we’re stronger every day.  That’s in you.”

The tears kept rolling down her cheeks.

“Everything we have, you have too.  Except you have more.  Opportunity, education.  Your grandfather and I, your uncles, your oldest cousins?  They didn’t have that.  Your brother will one day be a key piece of this family.  He’ll need you.  Crying like this, it’s not moving in the right direction.”

She sniffed, nose runny.

She didn’t want this… pep talk.  She wanted her mom and her friends.  She wanted yesterday back.

She reached out for him, and he took hold of her wrist.

“Stop, Gio.  Now.  You’re not a child.”

She couldn’t.  The phone kept buzzing as the new texts rolled in, light flashing in the upper corner.  There wouldn’t be one word of support in that.

“Giovanna.”

The word was different in tone.  It made her pause, interrupted whirling thoughts, emotion, cutting past it all.

She blinked until her eyes were clear.  She’d stopped crying, in the sense her eyes no longer welled up with tears, but the moisture that had already welled up was still there.  A tear found an avenue down and raced its way down her cheek.

He was smiling at her, his eyes locked to hers, unblinking.  The grip on her wrist tight.

She swallowed.

“Go get ready for school.  You’ll go for lunch.  Give them nothing, bury the tears, make no apologies, and do not flinch, do not retreat.”

That vague animal fear that gripped her, as he locked his vision to hers, it was the only place to go that didn’t have her crying again.  It made it hard to think.

“Yes?” he asked.

She nodded.

The phone buzzed.  New messages continually popping up.

“Is it true?  How bad is it?” she asked.

The smile dropped away.  He gave her a look, like he was disappointed in her.

“Go to school.  That should be your focus right now.”

He said that, but the grip on her wrist was so tight she could feel the blood pounding in her hand, as blood flowed in but didn’t flow out.

She pulled away, and he let her go unscathed.

⯁

For months now, every group activity was painful.  Every place she was expected to be social was like walking over hot coals.  Here or at home, with public-facing family events.

She had her lunch in her bag, prepared and boxed by the chef.  She navigated the outdoor tables and benches where a solid share of the school sat.  Others sat on the grass, still, though the weather was cooling.  Some had even put out picnic blankets.

She smiled tightly at Nicole, her cousin, before sitting down at the same table.  Addi was a few seats down.

The volume of ongoing conversation dwindled.  She was aware it dwindled.  She avoided making eye contact.

Sitting here awkwardly was better than not having any place to go.

Nicole was texting someone.  She felt like it was about her.  All conversation had stopped.

Her own phone buzzed.

Nicole:
What the hell are you doing?

“You could just ask me in person, instead of this charade.”

Nicole got to her feet.  A grip on Gio’s arm pulled her to a standing position.

Her cousin was older, by a couple years.  She wasn’t really able to stop from being marched over to the nearest spot where nobody would really hear.

When Nicole leaned in close, there was fear in her eyes.

“They think your dad’s the psycho in the family, and there’s only debate and questions about whether it’s my dad.  Why the fuck would you help make up their minds?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“When you figure it out?  Don’t do it at my lunch table.”

Nicole let go of her arm and pushed it away in the same motion, with enough force that Gio had to step back to catch herself.

The weird thing was, she barely blamed Nicole.

She’d probably do the same thing if the situation were reversed.

Addi had twisted around, watching this entire thing, a light smile on her face.

Gio walked back to the table, only to get her lunch, and then walked out to the field, sitting in a patch of sunlight, her back to everyone else.  That smile stuck in her mind.

⯁

“Esme.”

Esme glanced back, pausing mid-stride, then resumed walking.

“Please?”

Esme kept walking.

“I thought we were better friends than that.”

“You didn’t tell me anything.”

“I didn’t know anything!  I mean, I only knew some, I- please.”

Esme turned around.  “You know they dropped me?”

“I know.”

“So you think you can come back, I’m so far up shit creek, I might as well row along with you?”

“We could be alone together.”

“It’s like you don’t even realize.  The money, the things you bought and showed off, the parties… it’s all tainted.  Your family butchered people.”

“There were some legitimate businesses too.”

“Gio,” Esme said, face screwed up a bit.

“I didn’t choose it.  I barely had any idea.”

“What do you think happens?” Esme asked.  “We hang out?  We tough it out together?  If we’re together, it’s a little bit easier?”

“It can’t be any harder than this.”

“It would be.  It doesn’t make it easier, it means two people are the focus, instead.  I shouldn’t even be talking to you now.”

“We could meet in secret?  Or something?  Code?  Like when we were kids?”

“I don’t want to,” Esme said.

Just like that.

Gio nodded, shrugging, wanting to say something, but the lump in her throat blocked it.  She shrugged again.  She’d already shrugged, hadn’t she?

“I love you.  As a friend.  You were my best friend,” Gio managed.  “I don’t know if I managed to convey that right, but I wanted to say that much.  I get it.  I forgive you.  I think you’re awesome.  I’m rooting for you, even now.  You’re smart, you’re funnier than you think.  There were so many good moments.  I- I- all the good things.”

“Okay.”

Esme stood there for a second, arms folded, then walked away.

Gio’s phone was in the pocket of her uniform sweater vest.  She held the button down.  It sprung to life, a bright and merry jingle that didn’t match how she felt at all.

It took a minute before the texts started rolling in.  It had never let up.  Never stopped.

She spent a while reading it.  Hoping for a message from Esme.  Or someone else.

The school had decided she was the bad guy.  Outright lies, interwoven into things, with kernels of truth, had fed that narrative.  Associating with her was borderline dangerous.

That was it.  That was the story, and how simple the calculus of high school sociology went.  It made fundamental sense.  But she kept reading, all the vitriol and the memes, because as bad as it felt, there was that hope she could make sense of it, find some answer, some key to turn or some thread to pull that would let her understand.

⯁

She walked between classes, head down.  A fresh memorial was sitting in front of the finished mural, and the pile of flowers and notes narrowed the stream of students.

Her arm and shoulder brushed past someone.

The contact was startling.  She made eye contact with the guy, and there was no recognition, no negativity in that glance.

She reached her next class, settled in at her desk, and reached over to her arm and shoulder.

She stopped short of actually touching that spot, hand hovering.  Her mind tried to recapture the sensation.  Had it been warm?

For the first half of class, her thoughts were a storm, caught up in a stupid, singular moment, in fantasy, in- what if tomorrow, there was another moment.  A longer interaction?

The other half of that storm was unease and realization that it was stupid fantasy, that there was no point, and that she was scared by how easy it was to get this caught up in something so trivial, and to want it this badly.

⯁

“Hey,” she said, a bit shy.

Her brother smiled.  He took more time than necessary to get his shoes off and come up the short length of stairs to where she was.

She approached him, for a bit of a hug.

“No,” he said.  “My ribs are fucked.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”

“And I’m a mess,” he said.  He turned, to hang his coat up.  She could see spots of blood on his ear.  “Let me shower first.  We’ll catch up.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve lost weight,” he said.

“Not enough.”

“Enough a dumbass like me noticed.  You okay?”

“Not really.”

“Health or-?”

“Nah.  Other stuff.”

“Still the same?”

She nodded.

He licked his lips, winced.  “Yeah.  I’m not doing so hot either, I guess.  Let me shower, pop some pills, and patch myself up.  We’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

She went to one of the living rooms, putting on a show, and got out her homework.  Outside the big glass windows, ash was falling, mingling with snow.  The television interrupted her show with a report on organized groups burning the national parks.

It meant her show reached a climax, everything at peak chaos, and that was it.  News report, then next show.

Her brother took forty minutes.  Then he emerged, wearing a tee and pyjama shorts.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, curled up, each with a blanket.  In the background, staff were clearing the dining room table and cleaning the kitchen.  Some were close enough to hear.

So they didn’t talk.  Even if they’d been able to, she wasn’t sure what she’d say.

Her brother fell asleep, probably helped by whatever meds he’d taken.

In another situation, where staff wouldn’t come walking by and see, and potentially report to her father, she would’ve wanted to act like a little kid, go to him, and curl up beside him.

But she didn’t live in that situation, so she didn’t.

⯁

The soldier was outside the glass doors.  A cherry tree was shedding pink petals, lit by a spotlight on the ground.  The man was smoking, and the little dot of orange was the easiest thing to see.

She eased the door open, then stepped outside.

“Hi,” he said.  “Scaring you now so I don’t scare you later.”

“Not scared,” she said.  She walked around him, until she could stand with her back to the exterior wall of the house, instead of a window.  Past the cherry tree was a short wall, then a view of the city below.  It looked so normal.  She pointed at the cigarette.  “Can I have one?”

“No you can’t.”

“Damn,” she muttered.

“I’ve been around your family a while.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smoke.”

“I don’t, really.  But it’s a good way to, I don’t know.  Find common ground.  Chat.”

“You’re not lying,” he said.  “Good view.”

“It really is.”

“Don’t do this shit.  It stinks.”

“Lemme sniff?” she asked.  She reached for his hand.  He let her have it.  She gave it a whiff.  “Not too bad.”

“Bad enough, Gio.  Anyone else fall for that, give you one?”

“Some,” she said.

Still holding his wrist and hand, she moved his hand toward her chest.

He realized what she was doing, and pulled away like he’d touched a hot stove.

Backed away from her.  Like kids at school.

Emotions bubbled up, warred, spat.  If her heart was a building, it had been felled by the storm of conflicted emotions and a complete lack of… of anything to go by, to know which way was up or which way was down, so even the smallest bits of damage could start to be recovered, rebuilt from the ground up.  She wanted to hurt him.

“First off, you’re too young.”

“I’m old enough.”

“You’re too young, and, second of all, even if you weren’t, your dad would fucking decapitate me.  If I was lucky.”

She was breathing hard, emotions fighting their way to the surface.  A part of her wanted to lash out at the rejection, hurt him back.  Convey why she needed this, by taking something from him, somehow.

He turned to leave, opening the glass door.

Door open, glass between them, he paused, asking, “Did anyone else fall for that, say yes?”

“Some.”

“Fuck you, putting me in this position,” he said, before slamming the door behind him.

⯁

“Carlos told me what happened,” her brother said.  “Is he telling me the truth?”

She averted her eyes.

“We’re lucky he told me and not Dad.  Because Dad would’ve hurt you.  What the hell are you doing, Gio?”

She shrugged, staring at a point on the wall.

“You gotta get out of here.  And that’s not the way.”

“I need something to look forward to.”

“And that’s it?  Sleeping with Dad’s soldiers?”

“I fibbed about that,” she muttered, eyes still averted, cringing a bit.

“Abortions are banned and we’re Catholic enough literally nobody we associate with is going to help you find a way if you get pregnant.”

“I’m not,” she said, more emphatic, cringing more.  “I’d use protection if I did.”

“You, I kind of trust.  Them?  The ones who’d go for it?  Not at fucking all.  Gio.  What the hell?  Hey!”

He grabbed her arm, trying to steer her so his face was in front of her face, when she kept looking away.

“I’m not,” she said, more firmly.  “I’m too chicken to push for it.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck.  Okay.  I’m going to go into school.  They let past students walk in.  Arrange something there.  They can pull you out of class. I know someone, they didn’t want to work for our family, they needed a way to talk their way through things, they did something like that.  Talk to them.  Get it figured out.”

She shrugged.

“You gotta make it until you’re seventeen and can go to school.  Get far away enough.  But if you’re doing this bad?  You need help to make it that long.  Right?”

She swallowed and nodded.  She did need help.  She just wished it came from someone who loved her.

Maybe this was the best her brother could do.

“Yeah.”

⯁

Her brother had so much blood in his mouth that she couldn’t tell what teeth were still there and which were gone.  His face had puffed up like someone in a movie she’d seen, where they’d been stung by a swarm of bees, and were allergic, a bruised shade covering them.  Hair was missing, and from the shiny patches on him, he might’ve been burned.

She watched the video of him trying to sit on the patio chair, in that cabin she’d run away from.  Mia had caught it on a trail camera.  He took three tries to lower himself down, then finally let himself fall the distance he couldn’t bring his body to move.  He landed awkwardly, then coughed, his entire body convulsing in pain.

A chair away, her fath- Davie Cavalcanti lounged in a matching seat, phone to his ear.

Valentina put the phone away.

She closed her eyes, trying to center herself, like the guidance counselor had told her.

It was all so paltry.

⯁

The stairs were concrete, and set deep enough into the ground that they were cold even beneath her socks.

Some sections were wood paneled, but the house was large enough ten staff lived on the premises full time, on top of herself, her brother, her stepmom, little sister, and dad.  There was a lot of space below the house.

Music played.  She followed the sound.

The woman she’d just seen had been so scared.

Past a plastic sheet.

Roughly beneath her dad’s bedroom, there were people.  She saw them, filtered through another plastic sheet, and she was mostly invisible to them, standing in gloom, while they were illuminated.

Some moaned. Others rocked, as best as they could.  Some were missing one to three limbs, others four.  Most were blind.  Many were thin.  Tubes with I.V.s ran to necks, catheters ran out of lower orifices.  They were bundled together, and ran to a hole in the ground, from which a machine hummed.

It was horrifying.  Her skin crawled.  The sound of the machine and the movement of fluids made her want to retch.

She knelt in front of one.  He had an intact eye, a little bloodshot and watery, and looked straight at her.

She leaned into him, and hugged him.  He made a sighing sound.  His chin thunked into her shoulder, and rested there.

Horrifying because she could see a scenario, far away, but still there, where the idea of someone who wouldn’t run away or reject her was more appealing than the rest of it was horrific.

Far away, well beyond her reach, but the horror at the possibility outweighed the horror of this scene, and this scene was plenty horrible.

Voices made her pull back.

Three blurry shapes, on the far side of the plastic sheeting.  Doctors.  Keeping these people alive.

She fled before they could see her, bare feet on cold concrete, heart cold, her emotions a storm again, dashing the hard work of her guidance counselor to pieces.

More than ever, she understood what her brother meant.  She needed out.  She needed to go.

⯁

Addi, sitting with Nicole, was on her phone.

Off on her own, Gio watched Addi type.  She watched her hit ‘send’.

The message popped up a second later.  An anonymous text.

Why are you still here?

Addi glanced over her shoulder, at Gio, to see the reaction, then looked away, when she realized she’d been caught looking.

Laughed, at a joke someone else made.

When the warning bell sounded, Gio didn’t immediately move.  Just a couple weeks into this whole thing, she’d found it sapping her drive.  So she procrastinated.

Gio’s cousin Nicole ran ahead, to meet Sara.  Leaving Addi a bit behind.

Addi took a route that brought her closer.

“You going to report me?”

“Already did.”  Nothing had come of it.  Her dad said there had to be real proof before he upset his relationship with his partner.  That was more important than Gio was.

“Figured,” Addi said.  Then she flashed a smile.

If there was an iota of a chance that she could’ve gotten away with it, Gio might’ve sank her teeth into Addi, biting as hard as she could.  She hated her that much, in that moment.

Because that was the smile that sealed it.  That confirmed, without confirming it, that Addi had been the one that took her friends.  Her self respect.  Her hopes and fucking dreams- she hadn’t had big dreams, she’d wanted her friends, she’d wanted to maybe stay in contact with them, going forward, go to the same school.  The fact the bar was set so low made it all the more bitter that she’d lost it.  She’d lost everything she’d looked forward to.  Reasons to smile.  Her brother’s respect.  Her ability to casually brush past people.

She’d lost her dad, because Addi’s actions had turned him from someone who might be bad into someone who was absolutely bad.  The illusion had crumbled.

It was Addi.

⯁

The knife cut through fabric.  Past fabric.

It was just the box cutter she’d used to cut the delivery guy’s zip ties, shoved into a pocket.  It wasn’t cutting boxes or zip ties now.

Addi threw her head this way, that, her scream occupying a level and a volume that was… it was like it was outside the storm of emotions.  Conviction, anger, and countless other feelings warred with one another.

Forehead, eye- the knife skipped past eye socket.  Cheekbone, cheek, chin.  A bit of the center of the throat, near the Adam’s apple.

Then a hand grabbed Valentina, and disarmed her of the box cutter, which was slick from tip to base, now.

She’d barely even decided to do this.  Addi was here, and she couldn’t make peace with Addi going back unscathed.  Not after…

She was pulled away.  It felt like that happened a lot.  Away from the bloodcurdling screams.  She was pushed so she stumbled a few steps.  Highland, holding towels, slammed the toilet seat and toilet cover down, put the towels down, and moved Addi so her face pressed down into it.  “Hold your head there!”

Nervousness quavered in Valentina’s chest.  Had she just done that?

It barely felt like her.  Like she was outside of her body.

Highland turned on her, all fury and bewilderment.  Which weren’t feelings she didn’t relate to.

“I might be done,” she said.  She felt like whatever had possessed her was gone.  It was like her fruitless advances on the soldiers.  A need.  A welling shame after.  “But in case I’m not done… I probably shouldn’t look after her.”

“You fucking think?” he asked, voice raised.

“Bit of a history,” she said, her voice smaller.

“I believe you.  Go the fuck downstairs.  Do I need to worry about you cutting the other ones up?”

“Not nearly as much.”

“Not-  fuck!  Good!  I’m going to stitch this one back together, if I can.  You alright with that?”

He didn’t wait for a response before storming back toward Addi, to do some emergency care.

Valentina washed up.  Then she sat in the living room, where the delivery guy was tied up, hood over his head.

Addi’s scream was ragged, and constant.  It agitated the rest of the house, including Nicole and Sara.  The delivery guy was uneasy.  Highland’s boots stomped this way and that, and old pipes thumped as water ran.

Sitting on a sofa with a sheet thrown over it, she got the phone out.

She wanted her mom.  She needed Mia and Carson.

She’d run it by Highland and the others that were already on their way, before she took any action, but she had a sense of what they needed to do, now.

This couldn’t be a guerilla operation, Highland and this Bolden guy picking away at her family one by one, until they screwed up and got killed or caught.  Mia and Carson were too valuable to her dad.  To Davie Cavalcanti.  He liked keeping people.  The closest thing she might’ve ever had to a connection to him was that moment in the basement, hugging the one.

They needed more reason, something that could shake his tight hold on things.

They’d need to resurrect as many old enemies of the Cavalcantis as they could manage.

---

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