Page 94 of I Will Break You
“What makes you think that?”
“First of all, he was still in prison when you received that photo of you as a child.”
“But he’s sent me lots of things via mail,” I reply.
“Why would he turn on you and mail something so upsetting hours before his conjugal visit? No man in history ever deliberately sabotaged his chance of having sex.”
“Alright,” I mutter. “Maybe that part wasn’t him, but there’s a cloaked figure?—”
“Have you seen his face?” she asks.
“No, but he sounds just like Xero.”
“A deep, sexy voice like Dick Johnson’s?” she asks.
“I don’t remember that guy sounding even remotely attractive,” I mutter and then wince because I just spoke ill of the dead. Maybe that courtesy shouldn’t extend to a rapist.
“Narrators don’t sound like themselves all the time. They have ranges and can do anything from boys to old men.”
“Dick Johnson isn’t my stalker,” I mutter. “He was too weedy.”
“But the Well Hung Man wasn’t,” she says.
I shake my head. “When did he hang himself?”
“You’re not answering my question. Was the Well Hung Man the same size as the ghost costume?”
“Yes, but he’s not the ghost. It’s Xero.” I won’t back down from this. I can’t. Not after everything I’ve seen.
Myra doubles over and sobs. “Sorry… I just can’t right now.”
I place a hand on her shoulder, my chest tightening with guilt. People with normal brains can’t fathom the thought of executed killers rising from the dead to become dark avengers. I’m struggling with the concept myself, but I can’t deny that Xero is out there, both protecting me from evil and making me sweat.
“It’s okay. Is there anything I can do?”
“Just… I’m overwhelmed…. Can I just have some space?”
I drive home, my heart as heavy as stone, wondering if Myra blames me for all the deaths. She once asked me if my memorylapses were due to having multiple personalities, but I laughed off that suggestion.
But what if she’s right? What if a vigilante killer resides in the back of my head, ready to defend me from all predators? Even if that were possible, I could never intimidate a pair of men into attacking each other. I shake my head, not knowing enough about the condition to even speculate.
One thing is for sure: Myra may not want to acknowledge Xero’s ghost, but she sure as hell can’t deny his antics.
A shudder runs down my spine at that callous thought. Murdering and maiming people shouldn’t be described so frivolously. Didn’t I learn anything from last night?
By now, the police vehicles have left Parisii Drive, but the car parked outside number 11 still remains. I’m tempted to tear down the missing person photos, but I don’t want to attract the wrong attention.
As I’m unlocking the door, a large figure steps out of number 15. I hurry inside in case it’s Reverend Tom. There’s no point dragging the priest into my train wreck of a life.
I walk to the kitchen to find the mess gone, and the refrigerator stocked with groceries. On the table, there are two new words underlined on the sex contract: obedience and voyeurism.
Written in that blood-colored ink is the word, Erotophonophilia.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I snap.
Xero doesn’t answer, but I swear I hear him chuckle. I turn around in a circle, wondering if my mind has added him to the roster of people I hallucinate.
When I return to the green room, he’s already repaired the floorboard, and there’s no sign of the metal stake. I pick up my laptop and take it upstairs, only to find that it’s fully charged and connected to the internet.