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“You could stop killing,” my mother said. “Because you know you’ll never get rid of me. You want me here, and you use me as an excuse for your sickness.”
I will. I just have to kill you at your every stage of life.
Nikki was eighteen. Sofia was nineteen. Rose was twenty.
My mother died at twenty-six.
Only six more. Six more. And then this would stop; I would stop.
Then I would live like everyone else, without my mother’s voice in my head, without her mockery and taunting.
I couldn’t wait.
Just six more.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked just before I turned. “You don’t have to say yes,” she said with a sheepish smile when I turned. “Now, I sound like that stalker.”
“You don’t,” I said. “I’m Jonah,” I lied as she ordered two beers. “Jonah Pfifer.”
Beer. Simple and practical.
“Nice to meet you, Jonah. I’m Irene.”
Welcome to your audition, Irene!
29
THE FALL
TRISH
Two days. I had been staying with Enzo for two days. The parts of his home had become familiar. The routines. Irene in her pajamas, reading a book. Enzo with coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for me with a smile.
Routine.
I had never had a family. But this felt so much closer to that—a dysfunctional one, though, when your family member has plans to kill you at a later date.
“I met a guy,” Irene said, looking up from her book.
Enzo frowned.
“A guy?”
“At Onyx. Two days ago, when we went there because you had an emergency.”
“I only left you alone for ten minutes. I shouldn’t have taken you there,” Enzo grunted, looking very displeased.
“Oh, come on, I’m not a child.”
“Okay.” He crossed his arms. “You should be careful, though.”
“I am. But I am also bored…” She looked at her phone. “He asked for my number, told me he’d call.”
“Men are worthless,” Enzo said with a grunt. “You shouldn’t trust their words.”
“You are a man.” Irene rolled her eyes.
“I’m different."
