THE GIG

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

THE GIG

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

In the fall of 1999, my mom hooked me up with this babysitting gig. I was sixteen years old and I needed the money for college. My parents were willing to help with tuition and expenses, but they told me not to expect a free ride. They expected me to work and contribute any money I saved. It seemed fair to me, especially since this was my college education we were talking about. I was desperate for money and working the register at the local supermarket every day after school. And when my mom told me the neighbors needed a babysitter on the weekends, I jumped at the offer.

It was for this young married couple that lived at the end of the block, last house on the left. They had a girl and a boy, ages five and seven. Lisa and Billy. They were absolutely adorable. The girl was so young, but she was the spitting image of her mother.

The job paid six bucks an hour, which was pretty generous for 1999. And of course, there was the usual babysitting perks, like free rein of the television. The parents said I could watch anything I wanted to, even while the kids were awake. And they said I could help myself to any food in the fridge or use the phone if the calls were local.

The kids were a pleasure. So well mannered and well behaved for their age. I made sure they brushed their teeth and were in their pajamas by eight o’clock. They needed a good brushing after the ice pops they had after dinner. And I might’ve helped myself to one, too. You remember those ice pops that used to come in those clear plastic tubes? You used to have to cut the top off with a scissor just to get it open? I loved the blue and the purple flavors. But I digress…

I let them watch a little TV and had them tucked in by nine o’clock. Parents orders. Then I went downstairs and parked my butt on the couch and grabbed the remote. Around nine-thirty, I used the landline to call my friend, Jennifer.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Piece of cake,” I said. “They’re little angels. I’ve already got them tucked away in bed, no fuss at all. But, I don’t know, something just feels…off. This house is so dark, so quiet. I feel like this is the set up for a horror movie.”

Jennifer laughed. “You’re so dramatic, Kat.” Everyone knows how much I hate Katherine. People have been calling me Kat since I learned how to walk and talk.

“I’m serious. It’s too quiet. Like eerily quiet.”

“Too quiet?” Jennifer said. “Sounds like Heaven to me.”

There was a slight break in our conversation where neither of us said anything for a few moments, and in those few moments, I heard a ruckus from upstairs, which I assumed was just the kids.

“Jennifer, I’ve got to call you back.”

I hung up the phone and walked to the bottom of the stairs. It was pitch black at the top.

“Kids?” I called out. No answer.

“Are you awake?” I asked. No response.

No more noise, either. No ruckus. No footsteps. No sounds at all. Quiet again.

“It’s okay if you can’t sleep. I can’t sleep either, sometimes.”

Still no response. So I started walking up the stairs. I made it to the landing, and looked to the left and right of the top of the stairs. The hallway was clear, but a dim light emanated from the upstairs bathroom. The door was slightly ajar so I tapped on it.

“Hello? Billy? Lisa? Are you in there?”

I nudged the door open. The bathroom was empty. But there was a message…

Scrawled on the mirror in black lipstick were three bloodcurdling words.

You Die Tonight

Billy and Lisa were sound asleep. And the house appeared to be empty. But I was petrified. I called my dad up and made him come sit with me until their parents got home. The mom claimed she didn’t even own a tube of black lipstick. And obviously, the kids never admitted guilt. But they searched the whole house. Nobody was in there. There were no signs of a break in.

They even called the cops, just to be on the safe side. They searched the whole house and didn’t find a thing. And the mother was adamant about not owning any black lipstick. ‘She didn’t like it, it wasn’t her style, she only owned a few different shades of lipstick…’ I still refused to babysit for them ever again.

Katherine Martell, or Kat, sipped her drink and shuddered at the thought of that night.

“That was just north of twenty years ago,” Kat said, almost wishing she hadn’t remembered that night. But in reality, she had never really forgotten it.

Paige LaGreca filled Kat’s wine glass and topped herself off, too.

“That reminds me of this one babysitting gig I had upstate…” Paige started.

I was in college and I was living off cheap beer and Ramen noodles. I needed money for real food and textbooks, so I responded to an ad in the local paper.

The couple claimed to have a newborn baby that needed to be looked after twice a week.

They seemed nice, but every time I babysat, they told me the baby was sleeping and not to disturb him. They just told me to listen in on the baby monitor and to check only if I heard him making a fuss. Otherwise, I wasn’t to wake him for any reason.

And let me tell you, that baby never cried. Not once. Not a cry, or a moan, or a gurgle. Nothing. It never woke up, never made a sound.

Finally, I got so creeped out I just stopped returning their phone calls and answering their messages.

But an old college roomie of mine wound up babysitting for them a few months later. She was far braver than I and decided to go upstairs one night and check on the baby.

“And?” Kat said, waiting in suspense.

“The room was empty,” Paige told them. “Just a dusty old crib and a baby monitor in its cradle, turned on. Turns out the couple lost their first child and never quite recovered. They turned out to be harmless, just a little batty.”

Angelina Ortiz drained her glass and refilled it. The bottle was feeling light and she offered Kat and Paige one last chance before she polished the rest off.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but my story takes the cake,” Angelina said. “This was the early 2000’s, and I was babysitting these two adorable angels one night in Eden Harbor.

I kept getting these weird phone calls all night and nothing was coming up on the caller ID. Half of them were weird or obscene, just heavy breathing and moaning into the phone. But eventually, he started talking.

‘I am The Python,’ he said, his voice all deep and rusty. I hung up. But he kept calling back.

‘I am The Python. I am going to wrap myself around your throat and squeeze the life out of you.’

It reminded me of those books from the 90’s, the collection of scary stories to tell in the dark. One of those stories is about a woman who keeps getting harassing phones calls from The Viper.”

“Didn’t it turn out to just be a window washer in that story?” Kat asked.

“Yes,” Angelina chuckled. “I am the viper, I come to vipe your vindows.” They all laughed before Angelina resumed her story.

“I thought it was my boyfriend playing a prank on me at the time. But then I remembered he was in the Hamptons with his parents, having dinner with some rich friends of theirs. And like I said, this was early 2000’s, before everyone always had a cell phone in their pocket. And his parents wouldn’t have excused him to make all those calls on their friend’s phone.

I called my parents and they instructed me to lock all doors and windows and call the police. The police wound up tracing the calls to a nearby payphone. It turned out to be an escaped mental patient who grew up in the house I was babysitting in. He got the number right out of the phone book. You know, they never did catch the creep. I always wondered what happened to the dreaded Python. Did he die? Did he flee to another state, another country? Is he still out there?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Paige shrugged.

“I think we’re better off not knowing,” Kat said. Ang concurred.

Angelina’s cell phone rang. Unknown caller. They all froze and exchanged terrified glances.

“Don’t answer it,” Paige said. But Angelina couldn’t stop herself from reaching for the phone.

“Hello?” Angelina said, a tremor in her voice.

“I am The Python,” a frighteningly familiar voice said, gravelly and deep. “I’m coming to squeeze the life out of you.”

IMPOSTER

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

IMPOSTER

By Randy Romero

 

 

I don’t know her.

She looks like my mother.

She has her voice. She has her ocean blue eyes and shoulder-length chestnut hair. She has all her mannerisms and expressions down pat.

But she’s not my mother.

She’s a fraud, a phony, an imposter. I can’t prove it, yet. But in time, I will expose her. I will get my dad and my sister to see the truth…

Miranda Langermann hummed a little tune in the master bedroom as she folded clothes fresh from the dryer and laid out her husband’s things for the next day. Russell Langermann, or Russ as he preferred, had a meeting with his publishers first thing in the morning. He had to look professional, or at the very least, presentable. Jade was in the next room, her ear pressed against the wall.

Her mom was never this upbeat or cheerful. Jade couldn’t remember the last time she heard her hum or sing a song. Miranda didn’t even like to listen to the radio in the car. Something had been off about her for a while now. She wasn’t her old self.

She was calm and collected. Not quick to anger. She didn’t lash out at Jade as much as she used to. And her sister, Julie, was an angel who could do no wrong. She was benevolent and talkative and the exact opposite of the woman who had raised her.

She would hum and sing and dance around the house. She would clean and fold laundry with a smile instead of a frown. And every day, she took a ride into town, alone. Sometimes to the supermarket. Sometimes to the salon. Other times, she would come home empty handed, with no explanation for her absence. But every day, at twelve noon, Miranda was out the door and in her car without saying a word. Jade couldn’t help but wonder where she went, what she did.

She wanted to tell someone, anyone. But Julie wouldn’t understand. Not at her age. Not without proof. And her father would have her locked away in the nearest looney bin if she ever suggested the idea that her mom had been replaced by a carbon copy. She couldn’t tell her friends, couldn’t tell anyone at school. Her teachers would tattle on her, tell them to hire a shrink or have Jade talk to the school guidance counselor. No, Jade couldn’t tell a soul. Not her friend, Annabelle. Or her history teacher, Mrs. Benson. She had to bite her tongue and bide her time.

 

 

***

 

 

At dinner, we go around the table and talk about our day. That’s what normal families do at dinnertime, so my “mom” says.

Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. The sauce splattered around my plate reminds me of the old man’s body splattered across the pavement. I have to look away before I let go of the food that’s already in my stomach.

Russ Langermann helped himself to a piece of garlic bread, a guilty pleasure he couldn’t pass up. Miranda went first, though her story was less than captivating. She talked about her day, which consisted of shopping and getting her nails done. “Can you believe the price hike!” she exclaimed. “I paid eighteen dollars for a single ribeye. But on the other hand, I was able to get a nice family pack of pork chops for just fourteen bucks. And don’t even get me started about the chicken. Twenty dollars for a frozen pack of drumsticks. Ridiculous. And guess what? Clarissa doesn’t work there anymore. Between you and me, I heard she was drinking on the job.”

“Drinking what, mommy?” Julie asked, young and curious.

“Oh, nothing, sweetie,” her mother said and smiled at Russ. “She was drinking juice.”

“She got fired for drinking juice?”

“Yes, because she didn’t pay for it,” her father said, thinking on his feet. Julie didn’t follow up with another question.

“Then I got a French manicure and heard all the gossip at the salon. Sally, the woman who does my nails, told me all about her neighbors’ son. The kid’s eighteen years old and he’s already in rehab. Pills. The mother’s devastated, and I don’t blame her. But at least he’s getting the help he needs. Sally also knew all about Clarissa. I can’t say I’m surprised. She hears everything down at that salon. And oh, I heard Mrs. Benson is set to retire next year. I wonder who the school is going to get to replace her.”

Replace, Jade thought. Like you replaced my mother.

It wasn’t just her mom’s change in behavior. It was a gut feeling that Jade had. An undeniable but indescribable feeling. She didn’t just think it. She didn’t just feel it. Somehow, she knew it without truly knowing it. Her mother was not her mother.

Jade was quieter than usual that evening. She stabbed blindly at her plate, eating without looking. She didn’t want that image of the old man in her head anymore.

“Would you like some garlic bread?” her father offered. Jade declined politely, her response brief and muted.

“How about you, Julie?” he offered her younger sister, who was happy to accept a slice to dunk in her sauce. Jade’s stomach churned just at the otherwise innocuous sight.

Russ helped himself to another piece and tried to make more conversation. Jade’s father always said it was important to have an open dialogue. Of course, an author would say that. But Jade didn’t want any of her quotes or teen angst to end up in one of his books.

Russell Langermann, horror author of such classic titles as “Chop Shop” and “Destroy All Vampires”, was always looking for new material, new ideas, new characters. And Jade was not looking to contribute to his work or be fodder for one of his books.

“Jade,” Miranda called out to her daughter. No reply. “Jade. Earth to Jade.”

Jade snapped out of her trance. “Yes, mom?”

“Can you pass the grated cheese. Please.”

Jade passed the grated cheese and resumed eating, keeping her head down, but her eyes up.

She hardly noticed her father or sister at the table with them.

Jade watched Miranda carefully out of the corner of her eye. She’d been watching for weeks, studying her, waiting for her to slip up and expose herself. Even going as far as to get herself grounded so it wouldn’t look suspicious if she was home every single day after school or on the weekends.

Who are you, and what have you done with my mom?

Russ took a turn, sharing the mundane details of his day. “Well, I certainly had a productive day. I finished the first draft of my latest manuscript. I talked to my agent this afternoon and he says my publisher is ready for me to submit it. Two weeks before the deadline, too. I’m pretty impressed with myself. I have a meeting with them tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful, honey,” Miranda said. “I knew you would finish it before the deadline. And I’m sure your publisher is going to love it. Absolutely love it. And I already laid out your clothes for tomorrow.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. But it’s just the first draft. They have to proofread it and then they’re going to want me to hear their feedback. It’ll be a few more months before I submit another draft.”

“Well, I know I can’t wait to read it.”

“You’ll have the very first copy,” Russ said with a warm smile. “So Jade, how’s school?”

“Fine,” Jade said.

“How was that test you took on Friday?” her mom followed up.

“Got a 98,” she said, short and sweet.

“Not the loquacious type, huh?” her father quipped. “Do you know what loquacious means?”

“Yes,” Jade replied. Jade was fourteen and exceptionally well read. Whenever she came across a word she never heard before, she’d scribble it down in a notebook and look up the definition. No Google searches, either. She did it the old fashioned way, with a dictionary.

“How about you, Julie?” Russ asked. “How was school today?”

“Great!” Julie exclaimed. “We’re learning the multiplication tables. And this Thursday is show and tell. I have to find something to bring into class.” Julie was so young, so innocent. So the opposite of what Jade had become in such a few short years.  

“Why don’t you bring in my old Walkman. Kids nowadays have never seen anything like that. It’ll blow their minds.”

“Yeah, right,” Julie chuckled. “I’ll be the laughing stock of the whole classroom.”

“Hey, it might seem funny now, but Walkman’s were all we had growing up. Until the Discman came out.”

“The Discman,” Julie repeated and burst out laughing.

“You want to see my CDs after dinner?” Russell asked.

“No thanks,” Julie said, shaking her head. She took a sip of her Coca Cola, gargling before she swallowed. She took another sip and let out a tremendous belch and giggled. She didn’t know any better at her age. Her father thought it was adorable and giggled along with her; her mother was cross.

“What do we say?” her mother asked.

“Excuse me,” Julie said, still giggling.

“What about you, Jade? Do you want to see my CD collection after dinner? I’ve got all the hits. Led Zeppelin. Pink Floyd. The Rolling Stones. Your old man knows how to rock.”

“No,” Jade said, poking at her food. She was suspicious of everything, even her own mother’s cooking.

“You know, you’ve been so good lately,” Miranda pointed out. “And I feel terrible about grounding you. Maybe tomorrow, after your appointment, you can take a ride with me and we’ll get our hair done.”

Who are you, and what have you done with my mom?

Jade had a whole host of wild theories to answer those questions. Was she a body snatcher? An alien who had assumed the form of her mother? A shapeshifter? A doppelganger? Something not of this earth? A hideous, grotesque monster hiding behind a façade of human flesh?

“That would be great,” Jade said through gritted teeth. “May I be excused?”

“Sure,” Miranda said. “Don’t forget to finish your homework.”

“Already done,” Jade said, getting up from the table and never looking back at her family.

“Is it just me or is she acting strange?” Russell asked.

“She’s always strange,” Julie said and giggled.

“It’s not just you,” Miranda said. “Something’s going on with her. I can sense it. Maybe I should talk to her.”

“No, let her be for now. We’ll deal with it when the times right.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Miranda agreed. “I’ll try to talk to her doctor tomorrow when I take her to her appointment. Privately, of course. I’ll see what he thinks about her recent change in behavior.”

 

 

***

 

 

Jade didn’t sleep that night. She got up at midnight and crept into the hallway. She passed Julie’s bedroom, the door ajar, a nightlight shining in the corner of her pink painted bedroom. She passed her parents room on the left, the door closed. She slipped down the stairs and went to get a bottle of water from the fridge. She only drank from bottles that were sealed.

Her mother was still awake, enjoying a glass of wine at the kitchen table.

“Oh, Jade, what are you still doing up? You scared me.”

Her father was asleep. Julie was asleep. This was the perfect opportunity to confront the thing that had taken over her mother.

“I scared you? That’s hilarious. I’m onto you. Don’t think for one second that you’re fooling me. I know what you are, I just can’t prove it. Not yet. But mark my words, I will expose you.”

“Jade, what on earth are you talking about?”

“You’re not my mother!”

“You’ve lost your mind. Go to your room. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Jade turned her back and heard a hiss. “Sleep tight, Jade,” it whispered.

Jade’s entire body spun around in an instant. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Miranda said innocently, her voice normal again.

“I knew it. I’m not going to let you hurt us. I’m going to put an end to this, right here, right now.” Jade moved faster than Miranda could’ve imagined, reaching into her nightgown and drawing a pair of scissors.

Russell was half asleep when he saw all the blood. Julie stood on the landing of the staircase, quivering. “Go back to your room!” her father cried.

Jade stood indifferently over her mother’s body, clutching the bloody pair of scissors in one red hand.

“Jade, what did you do? Why, why would you do this?” He rushed to call an ambulance. But it was already too late. Miranda Langermann was gone.

 

 

***

 

 

“The patient, one Jade Langermann, is suffering from what’s known as Capgras syndrome. It’s a form of brain damage that severs the connection between the visual cortex and the emotional center of the brain. However, the link to your higher cognitive areas remains intact. For example, you can see your own mother, know for a fact that she looks identical to your mother, but something will feel off. You’ll be convinced that she’s a fake, an imposter.

An individual suffering from Capgras syndrome will form an elaborate theory or fantasy to further perpetuate these delusions. And once they do, it’s almost impossible to convince them otherwise. In most cases, the sufferer becomes increasingly paranoid and isolated, and usually lashes out in violent ways. What we’re looking at here is nothing more than a tragic accident that could’ve been averted with a proper diagnosis.

Several months ago, Jade was involved in a bad car accident with her father. An elderly gentleman blew a stoplight and collided with them at an intersection. The man was ejected from the vehicle. Russ Langermann was treated for cuts and minor bruises. Jade suffered a concussion, but no other apparent injuries. It would appear that the blow to the head was more significant than they first thought. It’s likely this blow to the head is what triggered this particular syndrome.”

“Will the patient recover, Doctor Moss?” one of several medical students asked. They had all formed a tight semi-circle around Moss outside of Jade Langermann’s room.

“There’s no timetable for Capgras syndrome,” Moss replied. “No way to determine if the patient will ever truly recover, or if she’ll remain like this indefinitely. Right now, it’s not looking good. See for yourself.”

They observed Jade through an unbreakable glass window. The door was secure, but Jade could see them through the glass.

“They’re all imposters!” she cried out. “Mom, dad, Julie, Mrs. Benson who teaches history at school! They’re all phonies! Don’t let their appearance deceive you. They’re all monsters. Monsters! You’re not safe around any of them! They’ll kill you all! Kill every single last one of you! Save yourselves! RUN!”

RESTITUTION

Genre: Horror

 

 

RESTITUTION

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

It was cold, dark, and damp when Lucy Simmons woke. It took her a moment to realize she was in an abandoned basement. It took her another moment to realize she was unable to sit up or move around.

She was bound hand and foot to a stone cold metal slab. A small source of light emanated from a window her captors must’ve tried to black out. She was exhausted and weak. Too weak to struggle against the ropes holding her down. She had a vague recollection of that evening’s events. She saw Josie and Tanya around eight or nine o’clock. They had pizza, or sushi. Or both. She couldn’t remember. Then they went their separate ways. She remembered walking home by herself.

More details started to rise in the back of her mind. A car pulling up next to her, hands grabbing her and stuffing her inside the trunk. A long, terrifying car ride that ended with her tied to that slab.

Pipes rattled and dripped overhead, raining down on her makeup smeared face. Lucy, a natural redhead, bleached her hair blonde and used a tremendous amount of concealer to hide her freckles. The pain of high school and pretending to be someone you’re not…Lucy knew it all too well. Constantly judging and questioning herself, changing herself to suit the needs of others. But none of that mattered a bit now.

Out of the shadows, a figure approached. Then another appeared, and another, and another. Eight in total, adorned in red robes and wearing full white face masks. Cold, emotionless faces.

They formed a tight circle around her, all brandishing long, sharp knives. Lucy sobbed, pleaded, begged for mercy, said she wouldn’t go to the police or breathe a word of this to anyone.

They all began to laugh and pulled off their masks. The first face Lucy recognized was Josie’s. Then Aubrey. Tanya was there too. And Phil Myers, the captain of the high school football team. And with Phil, his buddies were never too far behind. Kent, Leo, and Tyler were all there with him. Even Lisa Newman, the quietest girl in school, was there laughing it up with the rest of them.

Lisa helped Aubrey and Josie untie Lucy, still laughing up a storm.

“Very funny,” Lucy groaned. “Some prank. I’m dying.”

“You almost did,” Aubrey joked.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face,” Tyler said, his own face red from laughter.

“Look familiar?” Josie asked Lucy.

“South Oaks,” Lucy said, taking a look around. “The abandoned mental hospital. Nice touch. Very creepy.”

“We figured that since we come here to drink all the time anyway, why not kill two birds with one stone?” Josie said.

Lucy rubbed the rope burns on her wrists and ankles.

“You guys didn’t have to tie me up so tight,” she said. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“What plan?” Phil asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Lucy said.

“Well that was fun,” Phil said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Can we party now? The beers are getting cold.”

“Sure, we could drink,” Tanya said. “But I feel like we’re missing somebody.”

“Yeah, feels like we’re missing somebody,” Josie repeated.

“Has anybody seen Jenny around?” Lisa asked.

The guys were quiet. Phil’s body seemed to tense up. Kent, Leo, and Tyler didn’t utter a word.

“She transferred to another school,” Phil finally spoke up.

“Oh, that’s right,” Lisa said. The shy girl suddenly not so shy anymore. “She did transfer to another school. Moved to another town. Right after you violated her. What about LeeAnn?”

“What about her?” Phil asked, defensive.

“You know what about her,” Tanya said. “You see, tonight wasn’t about pranking Lucy. This whole setup was all about you, Phil.”

“What do you mean me? I didn’t do anything wrong. And I don’t know anything about LeeAnn.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Tyler said. “Confess bro. You’ll feel better. It’ll be like a weight lifted off of your shoulders.”

“Confess to what? I didn’t do anything,” Phil said, starting to sweat.

“But you did,” Lisa said. “And you’ve been getting away with it for far too long with that rich daddy of yours pulling the strings for you, chasing girls out of town, threatening them so they refuse to testify. It all stops tonight, Phil.”

“You really thought you were invincible, huh?” Leo said. “That this shit wasn’t going to catch up to you someday?”

“Everyone on the team secretly hates your guts,” Kent said. We only played along because we had to. Well, we’re done being your lackeys.”

“Last but not least, Amy,” Tanya said.

“I didn’t do anything to Amy,” Phil said vehemently.

“Tell that to Amy,” Lucy finally took a turn to speak. “She spent weeks in the hospital after she slit her wrists. Sliced through her radial arteries. Doctors said it was a miracle she didn’t bleed out. But of course, none of that mattered. She was dead a few weeks after she left the hospital. She couldn’t live with what you did to her, you twisted monster. She was my best friend.”

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. It was always consensual.”

“Not for them, it wasn’t,” Lisa said.

Josie approached him with daggers in her eyes.

“This is for Amy,” Josie said, plunging the knife deep into his gut and twisting the blade before she retracted it. Phil was still on his feet, too shocked to move, too stunned to speak.

“For Amy, Aubrey said, and Phil felt that cold, stainless steel enter his body again.

“For Amy,” Tanya said, stabbing him once, right above the waistline.

“For Amy,” Kent said, taking a turn.

Lucy, Amy’s sister, went last. “For Amy,” she said, delivering the fatal stab wound to his heart.

MISFORTUNE

Genre: Horror

 

 

MISFORTUNE

By Randy Romero

 

Frank Caster was worried he’d stick out like an atheist in church at the Rockland County Fair. A thirty-four-year-old man, no kids, no date. Black leather jacket, faded and frayed blue jeans, his dark hair all greasy and slicked back. But nobody seemed to take notice.

He wandered the fairgrounds, treating himself to cotton candy and fried zeppoles. His eyes wandered as much as the rest of his body, perusing the fairgrounds, as if he was searching for someone in particular.

Everywhere he turned, vendors and carnies barked for his attention, and his money. But Frank wasn’t going to be suckered into spending his hard earned cash on rigged games or poorly constructed rides. He walked right past them, ignoring their calls and cries. He walked past the bumper cars, past the Ferris wheel, past dozens and dozens of screaming kids and their exhausted looking parents, stopping only when one attraction caught his eye.

A red tent at one end of the fairgrounds that housed a “real” fortune teller. Normally, Frank wouldn’t go for that sort of thing. And this certainly wasn’t what Frank had been looking for that evening, but something about it intrigued him. For starters, she didn’t have a cliché fortune teller name like Tatiana or Esmerelda or Madame Zorro. She didn’t use a crystal ball or tarot cards, either. Her name was Carissa and for just fifteen dollars, she offered to tell Frank his future.

“Take a seat,” she welcomed him. “I’m Carissa. Sign says fifteen dollars. Price is non-negotiable, despite what some of the drunks in this town think. You can call me Carissa if you’d like. Some guys prefer Madame Carissa…or Mistress Carissa. Those dudes are usually kind of creepy. I’d prefer if we could just stick with Carissa for this session.”

He sat across from her and put a ten and a five on the small, round table between them.

She was young, attractive. A brunette. Short but tough looking, athletic. A girl who probably knew how to fight, knew how to take care of herself. Frank pictured her taking kickboxing classes on the weekends and spin classes during the week. Maybe a Pilates class somewhere in between. Frank couldn’t imagine this was her real job. He couldn’t see her doing this sort of thing for a living. He guessed it was a hobby, something she did on the side for extra cash.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“You tell me,” he said with a smug smile.

She was silent for a moment. “Francis.”

“Well, Frank. But my mother used to call me Francis when I was a boy. So close enough. Not bad. You got to tell me, was that just a wild guess? Or are you the real McCoy?”

“Only one way to find out, Mr. Caster.”

A slight chill danced down his spine. It gave him a rush he found exhilarating. This was getting interesting.

“Take off your jacket,” Carissa said. It wasn’t a request. Frank obliged, liking where this was going.

“Give me your hand,” she said. Ugh, here it comes, he thought. A phony palm reading. I’ve been duped.

But instead, she merely maintained a steady grip on his hand while meeting his steely blue eyes. She never broke eye contact, never looked away.

“You’re not going to read my palm?” Frank asked, confused by her process.

“I don’t read palms. I read people.” She was silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. “You are a loner. But you are not lonely. You prefer it that way.”

“What gave it away?” Frank chortled.

“You’re calm on the outside, but inside you are filled with rage. I can feel it. It’s palpable. You…you’ve hurt people before. Emotionally…physically.”

She seemed to have touched a nerve with that line. She felt his hand twitch, but she held her grip.

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” Frank said. “But I’m not a bad person. I’ve never hit anybody. Never raised my hand to a woman. Never in my life.”

“Wait, I’m getting something else. A girl. Her name starts with a J. Jessica? No. Jennifer. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Frank gasped. “Don’t you dare say her name,” he snapped.

“You did something to Jennifer, didn’t you? Something terrible. Something you can’t forgive yourself for. I can’t see what it is, but don’t let guilt drag you down, Frank. I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt Jennifer. And she’s just one of many girls. It’s not worth beating yourself up over. It’s okay to forgive yourself.”

Frank didn’t say anything.

“Was she your wife, an ex girlfriend?” Carissa asked.

“You tell me,” Frank said again, though not quite as smug as before. “You know I thought you were supposed to be telling me my future, not my past.”

“Fortune telling isn’t an exact science. Readings can be vague and mysterious. Past, present, and future can all merge into one. But be patient. We’ll get there.”

Frank was silent again. Then he said quietly, “If you must know, Jennifer was the only woman I ever really loved.” She was my first.

“Wait…hold on, I’m picking up on something else.”

Carissa’s brown eyes widened. A plethora of names came flooding to her. All women that Frank had hurt over the years. Not just broken hearts, but broken bones and cartilage.

Frank jerked his hand away. “So what’s your summary?” Frank asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“I can see that you’re an evil man. You’ve hurt a lot of women in your life, Frank Caster. You should be rotting away behind bars. And if I have anything to say about it, you will be soon.”

Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. In more ways than one. She’s the real deal. But I’m afraid I can’t let her turn me in. My work isn’t done yet. It’s a shame I have to kill her now. I wonder if she can see it coming…