Page 10 of Iris' Lying Eyes

At least Alice might still have the box I asked her to grab, a relief to her sure but it doesn’t fill the void left by the other.

With a shake of my head, I crawl through the window and lean against the wall, staring at my bed, covered in dust but left exactly as it was the day I didn’t return.

Did my mom miss me when I left? Or was she too caught up in her shit? In either case, it didn’t stop her from her ridiculous plans with McCafferty, which put her in an early grave at that.

When I heard the news, I was numb, drugged up, and escaping my reality. Now, as I scan the room I once adored, filled with all the girly things I demanded, I can’t hold back the burn that takes up residence in my chest.

“Whatever,” I mutter. Although I think the woman loved me, she loved her freedom more. Another fucking disappointment in a long line of them.

Despite the dust lingering in every corner of the room, I pull back the covers of my bed and roll beneath them.

And I proceed to stare at the ceiling until the sun rises.

∞∞∞

Although John ruled the roost, or thought he did, I made it a point to know everything I could about his disgusting enterprise.

Unless he’s ransacked the whole house since I left, there’s plenty here to use as a warning. I just have to dig it all out and decide what I want to do with it.

And this is how I spend my day. I work through every nook and cranny until I’ve amassed a pile of pictures, notebooks, and cash.

It’s sad, really, looking at the loss of life in the form of a pile of shit. These men, Castinetti, Hunter, and John, stole the most precious commodity a person has and didn’t even bat an eye.

My resolve to take out John hardens, but after, can I really walk away? Going up against the big fish never interested me, but if I let them go, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.

Here I am, sitting on a dusty-ass couch contemplating murder, and after all this time, the notion still doesn’t bother me. Although, why should it? I’ve been surrounded by it for years.

Rubbing my hands down my face, I exhale and grab the first pile, setting it in my lap. So much of it contains cryptic notes in John’s handwriting. Just great. I’ll never get through this—not without a translator.

Setting them aside with a huff, I grab the second set, grasping at a stray picture that falls from the pile. It’s one of a man in a suit. He has shark gray eyes and a wide sensual mouth, but his stare is what sends a chill down my spine. He’s soulless. Like John. Castinetti. Like all the fuckers in this sordid play.

Wait? Is that my mom’s handwriting?

With my heart in my throat, I pick up the paper and touch the swirling letters.

You were my light from the moment I saw you. So tiny, so fierce. Even knowing what I do now, I’ve loved you more than I can ever describe.

But now, my love has come back to haunt me as I knew it would. Forgive me for the lie. You may never understand, but I did it to save you.

Pam

Shuffling through the pages, I rub my brow, confused by the trajectory of the message. Is this about me?

The remainder of the stack contains more cryptic notes that, at first glance, are incomprehensible, but the more I stare, the more I find I recognize the code words these assholes use. I crave the contact with my mom that reading the letter gave me though, and I search the stack again for something else in her writing.

But there’s nothing else here. Glancing around, I drop the papers in my hand before standing and stepping up the stairs. In my mom’s room, I go through the closet, emptying boxes into the aisle and shuffling through the contents. It’s all the same as before, but maybe I’m missing something.

After the last box, I upend the drawers, revealing clothes and insurance documents. No surprise, but really fucking gross, I find a stack of sex toys in the nightstand.

It’s bad enough to contemplate your parents having sex on a regular day, but now, it’s enough to inspire serious puking.

“There must be something,” I mutter, crossing over to the office and ransacking the whole fucking room, but I find nothing more than old tax documents, birth records, and years of statements.

Did my mom leave anything else behind? Or am I being stupid?

After descending the stairs to the ground floor, I stare around me.

“Where else would you hide shit?” I say, tapping my chin before stalking down the hall into a room we hardly ever used.