Chapter Four – Luna
Days go by.
I feel dead.
Everything is wrong.
In my borrowed room, I barely sleep — a sinking hole that, by its very nature, paralyzes me every time I go in.
My thoughts are trapped, like a disturbed beehive ready to attack — my nervous system in constant overdrive.
Two months have passed. I’m now paying them rent to extend my stay.
I don’t know if I’m ever getting out of here.
Another week arrives.
Nicole excuses herself just as I start losing track of how drunk I am. They brought a larger bottle this time. I have no idea what my limit is, so I keep drinking.
Drunken numbness brings me levity, and distance from pain that felt like a prison sentence. It isn’t threatening, the way sobriety is.
After a while, I feel the need to lie down.
Clumsily, I murmur that I’m going to sleep and stumble down the hall.
The surroundings fade in and out.
I make it to the door, then the bed.
For the first time in a long time, I immediately pass out, facing the wall.
I stay like that for a while.
The next thing I know, I’m woken by footsteps.
Then feel a hand under my shirt.
Screaming wasn’t in my nature. I was a quiet kid, so it doesn’t occur to me as an option. Moving feels impossible. I’m in and out of consciousness.
I turn my head to see it’s Dick.
He moves me onto my back.
Light flashes, blinding me.
Is he taking photos of me?
He pulls my shirt up to my chin for a moment, then brings it back down. His hands are now on my face, his thumb pushing into my mouth.
The flashing continues.
I have to stop him.
Before I can do anything, he leaves the room.
Semi-unconscious, I try to stay awake. He doesn’t return. I pass out.
Luna, don’t cry. I see you. I’m coming.
Waking with a massive headache, I walk to the bathroom — then remember.
Thinking back, he and Nicole once talked about how they took photos of her and uploaded them to a sex site. She loved the attention — the thousands of soliciting messages they received.
They were into that type of thing, but I assumed it stayed their relationship kink — not that they’d try to drag me into what — a sex ring?
I throw up.
In the morning, Nicole goes to work first.
Dick corners me in the hall when I come out.
“Last night — do you remember it?” he asks hurriedly.
“No,” I lie.
“You were drunk and I took you to your room. That was all,” he says.
Confidence restored to his expression, he leaves for his shift.
It’s my day off.
I can’t stop worrying.
First, I have to figure out how to get to those photos and delete them. Then, get the fuck out of here.
I consider going to the police. What if they’re part of a large-scale operation? What if Nicole brings him girls?
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, which I ignore.
The knocking continues every two or three minutes until I get up to check. There’s a man on the other side wearing a delivery worker’s uniform.
He’s holding a device in one hand and a slim package under his arm — must need a signature for it.
I hesitate, but slowly open the door.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“I need a signature,” he states in a low voice.
Feeling paranoid, I open the door a couple more inches and reach my hand out.
He grabs me by the wrist, slams into the door, and bursts in.
I fall backward, my head hitting the wall hard enough to dent the sheetrock.
Swiftly, he’s on me, the door shut behind him — one hand over my mouth, my lower body locked between his legs.
My hands move on their own, trying to free me, but his grip is strong. I knock his cap off and see bright blue eyes flaring with excitement.
“You know, it’s dangerous for me to come here instead of having you delivered to me. But it seemed more fun to catch you in the moment,” he says with lustful fury.
His movements feel rehearsed.
He’s done this many times. You need to find a way out.
Something takes over me.
Possessed with clarity and power, I remember the pocket knife in my jeans — one I bought after being stalked by an ex-boyfriend.
Shifting all my strength into a single movement, I thrust my hips forward to give my hand access to my back pocket.
He pins me down again and turns me around, chest to the ground, and starts pulling my pants down.
“Hey, Luna. I’ve got a collar in that box with your name engraved on it. Flew into town just for you after Dick sent me your photos. I’ll take immense satisfaction in making you my bitch,” he growls rabidly amid the struggle.
Pulling me up to my knees, he reaches for his zipper and yanks out his erection.
That’s when I add my own force to his movement: I prop myself up on one leg, bring my hands together — the knife now in my grip — and ram it into his ballsack from below.
I strike him with the precision of a scorpion’s telson.
His scream is inhuman.
The bloody knife pulls free. Stumbling to my feet, I face him — then the blade lands directly on his heart.
He twitches in place, as if resisting the damage.
Moving like a trained assassin, expressionless and blood-splattered, I focus on the task at hand: kill evil.
I’m so tired of being used.
Done with all of this filth.
There is no god. No savior.
Just this steel and me.
The blade, my avenger, does to him what he tried to do to me: penetrate with death.
Luna, that’s enough.
His lifeless body slumps onto the floor with a thump.
Still in a murderous trance and guided by that inner voice, I think fast.
They have a gas stove. Leaks happen.
Bloody hands light a couple of candles on the dining table, then a quick shower.
Clean black t-shirt, gray hoodie, black jeans, shoes. Phone, wallet, keys, and the washed knife sit tight in my pockets.
Using my sleeve, I turn one stove knob to medium. No fingerprints.
It’s important to leave my bag of clothes behind. Only the laptop and charger leave with me.
Time. Distance. Natural setup. Accidental fire.
In a different situation, I’d feel guilty for burning the building to the ground.
Fuck it.
Right now, I hate this life and everyone in it.
Outside, a delivery truck sits in the driveway. The fucker was living in a depraved fantasy world, staying completely in character.
The young ones he selected reminded him of his childhood, when he felt in control of the lives of his toys — unlike reality, where his parents treated him the way he was about to treat you.
“That’s enough! Get out of my head. I don’t care about his motives or past. He chose to keep the cycle going,” I scream out loud to no one.
Driving away from the scene, I sit in a coffee shop, drinking a latte.
The voice, silent since my outburst.
Nicole gets the call.
“Hey, thank you for letting me stay at your place. I’m going out of town. I’ve been feeling stuck, so I’m doing what I can to get better. Left some stuff behind that I’ll grab when I’m back. Aiming to have my own apartment by then. Really appreciate you and Dick’s help,” I say — a complete deception, hiding my crime and what I know of theirs.
“Luna. You’re in no condition to leave. Stay with us. Dick has taken a liking to you and I… I really care about you. Maybe the three of us should talk about something more permanent,” she says.
“I have to go. I’ll talk to you later,” I interrupt.
Fuck you. You targeted me since we met. How many girls have you done this to? Your time will come. I’ll end your scheme. This is all I can do for now.
Later that day, the police call, and my statement goes out over the phone. My story checks out.
An email to my employer had gone out earlier that morning, saying I was taking time off — which I didn’t remember sending until later.
The gas was slow to reach the dining table. By the time it found the candles, my alibi was set with an unsuspecting barista. The fire took that old building fast — the gas line, corroded and uncared for, gave out and fed it.
What the fire left of him couldn’t say how he’d died. The blade had passed between the ribs, not through — the way it had been guided. Soft tissue and organs burned away, nothing marked on the bone. No weapon at the scene. No motive anyone could prove.
The knob read the way I’d left it — like a hip caught it passing by. Not even the insurance company cared. Old buildings meant a low payout, and the owner, deep in debt, took the cash and ran.
A week passed. I quit my bookstore job and texted Nicole to say I’d found a place a few hours away.
Keeping up with appearances.
Unafraid of them finding me, but not being an idiot about it.
If my life’s purpose was to serve as an avenging spirit, so be it.
I’m done being useless to myself.
She replies, but I ignore it.
Even if she and Dick pieced everything together — or whatever network they supplied girls to did — and even if the man back at the apartment triggered an investigation, I did not care.
Ways to kill weren’t that hard to find when possessed by righteous rage. Despite not knowing how to control the voice, I’d figure it out.
If necessary, they’d be next.
All of them.
For now, that part of myself gets buried.
Time to start anew.
