Filed to story: The Mindf*ck Series Read Online Free
“Part of the reason you’re so fierce today is because of that girl. Pretending as though you were never her is one step closer to detachment from reality. It’s a dangerous slope.”
She rolls her eyes, but a small smile forms on her lips, surprising me. I’ll never get tired of how she never reacts the way I predict. Half of the reason I fell so hard was the constant mystery cloaking her.
Even as pieces of the puzzle continue to fall together, I’m still just as intrigued and mystified by her.
“You sound like Jake,” she finally says, running her fingers through my hair as her legs tangle with mine.
“I hope Jake never held this position while having this conversation.”
She laughs, rolling her eyes again, and finally she sighs.
“Jake is just a friend,” she says quickly.
“So you’ve said.”
She flashes that smile that is real and not weighted like all her other ones have been tonight. For some reason, she likes it when I get jealous.
“My mother and father were peculiar people with varied interests. My brother always said they had ‘eclectic’ personalities.”
It’s so out of the blue that I don’t know how to respond. Fortunately, she doesn’t need me to speak to continue her story.
“They loved classical music, and hated that none of us had an ounce of musical talent. But they also loved their hard rock and jazz too. You’re supposed to be able to judge someone based on their taste in music-hence the reason my brother deigned them with the eclectic personality label.”
Her smile grows.
“They were this amazing team. Dad worked a thankless job as a janitor-the true reason I pieced together the Boogeyman’s cleaning background-and Mom was a coroner. She was such a perky person for someone who dealt with death every day, and I was a little too comfortable around dead people, since she often had to take me to work with her. They took turns cooking, and they cleaned together. No one was ever more important than the other.”
Her eyes grow distant, as though she’s recalling a memory, and I watch her, unable to tear my own eyes away from her face. I’ve never seen such a serene look on her.
“They’d dance,” she says, her eyes sparking back to life as she meets my gaze again and smiles.
“Dance?”
“Every night after we went to bed, they’d stand in the living room, put on a slow song, and dance.” She clears her throat as her eyes water. “Mom would always have her head on Dad’s chest, and he’d be holding her to him with his eyes shut as they swayed off-rhythm to the music. Mom could sing so well, and she’d often sing as they danced.”
I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb, and she leans into the touch.
“I would sneak out just to watch them dance. Sometimes Dad would catch me, but instead of scolding me, they’d have me dance with them. Same for Marcus. Even Jake was invited into the dancing ring on the nights he stayed over. It was a time so perfect that it eventually had to end in tragedy. Good things have a lesser reign than the bad.”
She exhales heavily, and she offers me a tight, less genuine smile.
“They were really in love. That must have been nice to grow up in,” I say, trying to encourage her to continue.
Her spark fades again as a coldness surfaces, confusing me.
“You see something for so long, and you take it for granted. In our minds, Marcus and I believed a love like that was common, easy to find, and effortless. In our minds, falling in love with someone had to be the simplest thing in the world.”
She presses her hand to my chest, holding it against my heart, and her eyes stay fixed there.
“We didn’t know how messy love could be or how jealous people would lash out.”
“Jealous people?”
Her eyes come up, and she releases her hand from my heart. “Everyone was envious of what my parents had. My father was a lowly janitor, but he was handsome. My mother was beautiful, and her smile could save the lives of the almost-dead. She radiated purity and warmth. Everything the opposite of me.”
“I’m sure there’s a little girl living with Lindy Wheeler who would object to that,” I remind her.
Her eyes harden again, and I decide not speaking would be a good idea. I have no idea what to say that won’t drive her farther into her own head.
“Lindy suffered. She knows how to offer comfort to another. The little girl is in good hands. I made sure of that. One good deed doesn’t make me the angel she accuses me of being. And I’m not even bothered by it. I don’t want to be an angel. I was like my mother, only a little more hotheaded and ready to defend myself. I was just like her other than that. I saw the good in everyone, and I smiled even when someone was trying to break me down. I thought I was so strong and so smart. The problem is, I saw good where no good even existed.”
“Like with Kyle?” I ask, an edge to my tone. Just knowing he touched her…
“Like with Kyle,” she repeats, her tone flat and emotionless. “I trusted him even after he’d proven himself to be a jackass. I never saw the pure evil in him until that night. And my brother was just as na?ve. The two of us walked directly into that trap, unprepared and outmatched, with no chance of walking away. And we never saw it coming, because we never thought people could be that cruel.”
She blows out a breath, as though she’s keeping herself in check. I don’t press the issue or say anything, allowing her to tell the story however she wants to.
But if I hear the details from her mouth, I may end up joining her on her killing spree. I just don’t think I’m strong enough to hear her break down and tell me what they did without killing everyone else involved in all of it.
“We learned differently, and I shed the coat of naivety once I managed to survive. I made a promise to my brother that I intend to keep. A promise he knew I would be able to make. Now I only see the good when it’s there to see. I’m smarter. They made me smarter. They also made me what I am today-lethal and merciless. I have to believe there was a reason for that, and each time I save someone else from the same possible fate I suffered, I feel a bit closer to Marcus.”
My mind is fucked. All she has to do is ask me to join her, and I’ll be at her side. So I’m grateful that she doesn’t, because I’m not even sure what to feel about this.
“When the lights go off and the music is playing, I often think back to my mother dancing with my father. I was so young. My younger self didn’t understand how important it was to treasure and soak in all those memories. But the ones I have stay with me. Those memories kept me alive and helped drown out some of the nightmares.”
My thumb traces over her lip as I study her.
“Come on,” I say, rolling off her and standing up.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind until I flip on my phone and the music starts streaming through. Her eyes glisten almost instantly, and she smiles as I tug her hand, urging her to join me.
Naked in the middle of the bedroom, I pull her to me. Her head falls to my chest, and my lips press against the top of her head as I hold her as close as possible.
And we dance.
We dance for several songs.
Until she’s suddenly climbing up me and kissing me hungrily, like she can’t hold back any longer, and the night is too close to ending.
And I take her over and over, until the sun is shining down on us and we’re both too spent to even attempt another round.
As she gets comfortable on top of me, her eyes lazily drifting shut, I ask, “Why Lana Myers? What made you choose that name?”
She grins as her eyes struggle to remain open.
“My mother said she and my father always argued about my name before I was born. They agreed immediately on Marcus, but my name? It was one of the few arguments they ever held. She wanted Victoria because of my late grandma. My father loved the name Lana, had heard it when he was traveling as a teen with his parents. He said he felt like I was going to be a Lana, and not some regal girl like the name Victoria suggested.”
She laughs under her breath, her gaze shifting as she drifts into her memories again.
“Mom said after I was born, she knew she was right. But Dad said he was right, because the definition of Lana suited me perfectly, even though my mother argued I was as hot-tempered as any Victoria there ever was.”
I tilt my head, wanting in on the inside joke. “What does Lana mean?”
“Depends on the country. Precious. Little Rock. Sun Ray. But Dad said it was the Hawaiian meaning above all else that suited me-
afloat; calm as still waters.
It took a storm to offer me a calm.”
She meets my gaze again, and I smile, thinking of how well it does suit her.
“I needed a name that meant something; I needed something to keep me from fading into a new persona. That was the only one I had,” she goes on.
I run my finger along her nose, tapping the end of it. “It fits you perfectly. But why Myers?”
A darker smile lights her lips. “My father was also a horror movie buff. Old school horror movies. He said he didn’t have the time or patience for pretty boy douchebags who had mommy issues.”
I laugh unexpectedly, and she grins.
“Mom always teased him that he just liked the scary, in-your-face psychopaths with mommy issues. Michael Myers was one of his faves.”
I laugh harder, shaking my head, and she lifts her hand, running her fingers through my hair. Our eyes meet and a calm silence washes over us.
“Can I ask a case related question?” I ask hesitantly.
“You know everything that’s happened,” Lana says warily. “I can’t tell you what’s left.”
“Do you know who the original killer was?”