My hand shook trying to get the key into the loft door. I managed it after a moment and we both stepped into the dark open space. I flipped on every light I had and it still didn’t make the space bright enough to make me comfortable. Becker made himself at home, pulled up a stool, and started taking things out of his little black pouch. I pushed against the S&W in the back band of my jeans. It gave me some comfort knowing it was there.
“Been a long time, Alexandria,” Becker said, without looking up at me. He was too concerned with the meth pipe in his hand.
I headed into the kitchen to get a glass and pour myself a drink. “Yeah, I thought you moved a little further away.”
“Back to Iowa for like eight months after me and your aunt split. Ended up in Lancaster when I got back,” Becker explained.
I could hear the hiss of the small butane torch Becker was using. I would, under any other circumstances, object to someone smoking meth in my loft, but from experience I knew it was best to let him. It made him more malleable, and I needed that. The smell—a mix of burned, sour, and cat piss—hit me when I walked back to the bar.
“You want a hit?” Becker asked, holding out the glass tube.
“Naw, I’m good.” I took a drink from my glass.
“Thought you wanted to hang out and get high?”
“I’m fine drinking. I popped a few earlier, so I’m feeling good already.” It was a lie. I felt so far from good. Good was another planet in a different galaxy. And I hadn’t had anything but the double shot at the bar. My Valium supply was running dangerously low, and I’d be damned if I was asking for a re-up from Robert now.
“Whatever.” Becker shrugged and took a hit.
“Hey, so can we talk about some things?” I asked. Becker eyed me, looking down the length of his pipe at me, but didn’t respond. “Tell me why, Becker.”
“Why what?” he barked out. “You’re all the same. Dumb cunts that tease us and then want to know why we took what you were putting out there.”
My body was shaking, wanting so much to release the anger that built as I watched him take another hit. I was a young girl, a teenager who was certainly never putting anything out there for him. “I never did that, Becker. I never teased you. I tried to stay away from you.”
“Bullshit. You think I don’t remember those little shorts you used to wear when you would come over. You act like I hurt you, but I didn’t. I was always gentle with you, Alexandria. I was always gentle.”
My throat felt raw and dry. I tried to swallow back the rising bile, but it only hurt more. It took everything in me to stay where I was and not completely lose myself in that moment.
“What difference does it make, Alexandria?” Becker continued, putting away his pipe. “You ended up as a damn hooker anyway. Bet your perfect little family loves that, right? Get rid of Becker because he’s a druggy, just to have their perfect princess end up a whore. I’m sure I touched you nicer than half the boys Rob sells you to.” Becker looked across the bar at me, looking me in the eye for the first time that night. “I bet you’re a lot better now than you were then.”
“You wanna find out?” I asked.
A spark registered in his iced-over stare. “I knew you always liked it.” Becker’s lips parted into a sick grin. “You said you didn’t, but I could tell you were wet for me.”
I rounded the bar and took Becker’s hand, leading him to the bed. He sat on the edge and I brought up the length of chain from the floor.
“Robert said you were into kinky shit. What’s the chain for?” he asked.
I held up the cuffs. “For you.” He looked at me and then the cuffs. I could see that he was too high to really put it all together. “This is how I play now. So if you want to play, let me cuff you.”
He held out his wrist to me, laughing and licking at his dry, cracked lips. I felt a new kind of satisfaction when the cuffs click closed. From the cabinet I took a long length of cane.
“Are you going to get naked for me? I wanna see those tits now that they are all grown up,” Becker said.
“I’m sure you do,” I commented coolly. “Was I the only one, Becker?”
Becker rubbed his cuffed hands down the front of his jeans and squeezed at his crotch. “Girls always want to hear that they were the only one, huh? Your aunt used to ask me that. Would it make you happy if I told you that you were my favorite?”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” I flashed the length of cane in front of his face. “Quit with the BS and give me answers, Becker. Life is about to get painful for you if you don’t.”
I saw some recognition of the implications of what I was saying register in his fried brain. His eyes widened and he pulled back from the cane.
“I knew you wanted to fuck up my high,” Becker spat. “Can’t we play nice, little Alexandria? I meant it when I said you were my favorite.” Becker closed his eyes for a moment, looking lost in his high. “I found one that reminds me of you. When she hides her face, sometimes I pretend it’s you.”
My brain felt slow, listening to what he was saying, but the pieces were snapping together. “Who is she? Are you still messing with her?” I felt frantic.
“You jealous? Don’t worry. She is nice to touch, but she isn’t you,” he said, looking me over. His eyes dragged down my body and his lip curled up, exposing his yellow rotting teeth. “No, that little one isn’t you.”
I brought the cane down across the right side of his body. Becker bent in half, letting out a hiss, and grabbed with his cuffed hands for the cane, but it and I were out of his reach. “Fuck was that? Stupid bitch.”
“I asked you who she is.”
When I raised the cane again he held up his hands. “Okay, I met this bitch Brandy. She buys crack from me. She brought her daughter with her to a buy one day. Cute little thing, likes to wear shorts that let her ass hang out like you did. I told Brandy that her and the kid could move in for a while—”
I couldn’t hear the rest of it. I didn’t need to. He was doing it again. He was touching some other little girl. Fucking up the years of her life that should hold the best memories for her. I couldn’t. My world went black with rage as I brought the cane down on him again and again. There was no sound. All I saw was my target. Life was a bubble where only my anger and the object of it existed.
I felt the wet drops of Becker’s blood hit me when I drew the cane back over my head. I don’t know how many times I swung. I just kept swinging. Becker brought his hands over his head and waved them wildly, trying to take the cane between his cuffed hands. I watched the cane connect with his forearms several times.
My world, my bubble, was tipped sideways when Becker was finally able to grab the end of the cane and yank it forward, pulling me with it. Before I could get further than the chain would let Becker go, he grabbed onto my shirt. He fell forward, off the bed, and crushed me to the floor under him. My S&W was pinned underneath me.
I struggled, punching and thrashing, trying to get out from under him. Blood from his battered head showered down on me in droplets of crimson. His weight was too much for me to throw off, and I couldn’t lift up enough to get my gun.
I didn’t truly panic until his hand clamped down around my throat. He pushed forward, crushing my neck as I scratched and gouged at him. I felt my lungs burning. I couldn’t inhale. I couldn’t exhale. I knew I was fucked when the lights started to flicker. My hands clawed at him, everywhere they could gain purchase.
Down by his waist I felt hard metal hit my hand. I felt a metal hilt and hoped the knife attached was something more than a dinky pocket knife. I scrambled for it, palming it, and without much thought or aim, I sunk it into his side. Becker released my throat instantly and rolled off me, reaching for the knife I’d left protruding from him.
I sucked in as much air as I could in one gasp. My hands slipped on the bloody hardwood floor as I scrambled backward. By the time my back hit the wall, Becker had pulled what turned out to be a four-inch hunting knife from between his ribs. He lunged for me and was brought back down to the floor with a loud thump when the length of chain ran out.
He threw the knife at me, but his hands were still cuffed and the throw wasn’t effective. The knife hit the ground and slid toward me, stopping at my feet. He pushed himself up against the bed, blood running from his head and arms, soaking through his shirt. A constant stream of profanity poured from his mouth. He was still yelling when I pulled my S&W and pointed it at him.
I remembered sitting there like that not so long ago. Back against the wall, knees bent, gun in hand. I hadn’t wanted to shoot then. I did now. I wanted to wipe the world of that vile man. I wanted to save that other little girl, because no one saved me.
“Tell me you’re sorry,” I screamed at him. “Tell me. I want to hear it first.” My hands shook, and slick with Becker’s blood, it was hard to keep a grip on my gun.
“Fuck you, stupid cunt,” Becker spit back.
My ears were ringing, my heart pumping, chest heaving. Too much adrenaline. I pulled back the slide and took the safety off.
I heard the door to my right open and Becker’s attention was pulled away from me. I didn’t want to see who was there. I wanted Becker to tell me he was sorry, and then I wanted it all to end.
“Just say it,” I begged. “I deserve to hear it before you die.” The words were broken in sobs.
“Alex.” A stern baritone voice broke into my bubble. I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want him there. He wasn’t supposed to be there. “Alex, look at me,” he said again.
I shook my head and kept my eyes on Becker. “Go away, Cade.”
“I can’t do that, brave girl.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not brave. June is and I’m trying to kill her too.”
I felt Cade crouching down beside me, but didn’t take my eyes off Becker in order to look at him. “This isn’t going to make you better,” Cade said softly. “This isn’t who you are. You don’t really want to kill anyone.”
I shifted my grip on the gun. I could feel Becker’s blood getting sticky as it dried on me. “He is still doing it, Cade. Still hurting little girls. Now, Becker has something to say to me.” I wiped the tears from my eyes on the sleeves of my shirt. Not because I was ashamed of crying, but so I could clearly see my target.
Becker’s hands were pressed to his side and he was breathing heavy, starting to slump over. His eyes were wide and he was looking to my right, at Cade, I assumed.
“I’m going to bleed out, Alexandria. That what you want?” Becker said to me.
“No, I’d prefer to shoot you, but I want you to say it first. Tell me you didn’t mean it, that you’re sorry. I’ll let you pray first. Tell God you’re sorry, too. Maybe you can still go to heaven.” I wasn’t yelling anymore. I couldn’t. I didn’t feel enough to have those emotions. I was numb. Resolved and numb.
“I’m not fucking sorry. You were fucking wet. You wanted it,” he shouted.
I squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out.