Allan Leverone - Mr. Midnight

“So, my brother—the one I’ve never met and wasn’t even aware existed until this morning—and I are similarly polarized psychic magnets. We can’t coexist in the same space.”

“That was the theory your father and I were working with, a theory backed up by centuries of real-world history. That was why we knew we had to surrender the two of you for adoption. We had literally no choice.”

“But why do it illegally?”

“Because it was the only way to ensure the two of you would end up in different areas of the country, thousands of miles apart. We never knew where either of you went after leaving our house that horrible night—that was part of the agreement—but we were promised you would be separated by a minimum of one thousand miles, so the odds of you ever settling down close enough to each other to put you at risk were infinitesimal.”

The conversation dragged to a halt, three people lost in their own thoughts. Cait felt overwhelmed, like she had been exposed to Einstein’s theory of relativity in one grueling session and now had to figure out how to absorb and understand it. She glanced at Virginia Ayers, the mother she had spent a lifetime wondering about, and the woman appeared lost in a sea of regret. She also seemed to have aged appreciably during the conversation, which clearly had taken a heavy toll on her.

Cait didn’t remember having sat back down and wondered how long ago that had happened. She lifted the ceramic cup to her lips automatically, more to occupy her time than because she was thirsty, and was surprised to discover the tea had grown stone-cold.

Virginia stood and bustled around the kitchen in a false display of energy. She lifted the teacups off the table and carried them to the sink, where she made a show of rinsing them out in one basin and dropping them in the other with a clatter. Cait realized the woman’s hospitality had reached its end as Virginia said, “Well then, I don’t believe I can be of any more help to you. I’ve answered all of your questions and undoubtedly raised many more in your mind. Unfortunately, the questions you are left with are ones you will have to puzzle out for yourself.”

Cait and Kevin stood and began walking down the short hallway toward the front door. She grabbed his arm and held on tightly as he punched the cab company’s number into his cell phone. They reached the door and turned around to discover Virginia Ayers had followed and was now standing right behind them. “I have just one more question,” Cait said.

Virginia said nothing so she continued. “How did you know when we showed up here today that I was the twin that had been blessed with the good polarity and not the evil?”

Virginia laughed out loud, despite appearing ready to break out in tears. Her eyes watered and she blinked hard. “It’s as plain as day, sweetheart. Your goodness is written all over your face. I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you. You are no more capable of evil than I am of running the Boston Marathon.”

Cait had no idea how to respond, so she took half a step forward and wrapped her arms around her mother’s frail body, holding on tightly and squeezing until she was afraid one of the older woman’s ribs might snap. After a second’s hesitation, the hug was returned fiercely and in that moment Cait knew everything she had learned today was true. This was a woman who had torn her family apart and lived with an overwhelming sense of sadness and regret every day for the past thirty years, but she had done it to preserve the lives of her two children the only way she could think of. She had sacrificed everything for two people she barely knew.

As she pulled away after an instant and a lifetime, Cait realized she was crying soundlessly, tears running down her face. She looked up at Kevin and he was crying as well. So was Virginia. “Well,” she said with an awkward laugh. “Aren’t we a cheerful bunch.”

They opened the door and walked onto the tiny front landing. The door closed behind them and through the screen Virginia sniffled and said, “I have one request before you go.”

“Anything,” Cait said.

“You see this number?” she asked, pointing at a tarnished, brass-plated “7” screwed into the faded vinyl siding next to the front door.

“Of course, it’s the address of your home—Seven Granite Circle.”

“That’s right,” Virginia answered. “Now please forget you ever saw it. Forget you were here and don’t ever come back. I don’t think I could survive if I had to go through this again.”

Cait opened her mouth to reply, with no idea what words might come out. Her face flushed and tears filled her eyes again and before she could say anything, the storm door closed and she was left listening to the sound of her mother’s footsteps moving slowly down the hallway. They faded and then disappeared. She looked at Kevin in utter brokenhearted bewilderment as their taxi pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway.

The amount of blood that could spill out of a relatively small injury was impressive, Milo thought. He had seen it before, but it never ceased to amaze him. He stood next to his homemade torture chair watching Rae Ann squirm and cry and beg for mercy into her duct-tape gag. Her words were indistinguishable, of course, but their intent was clear, as was the desperation behind them.

Just for fun, Milo had taken his pliers and smacked their heavy metal jaws against the backs of the fingertips on her right hand, where the nails would be if she still had any. The freshly crusted scabs had broken open immediately, and the blood once again began to flow, dripping in thick globs off her hand.

Each time he introduced himself to a new girl, he celebrated the occasion by using a fresh tarp, unstained by the blood and bodily fluids of another. It was an expense he couldn’t really afford, but certain rituals demanded observance and this was one of them.

He watched the small, dark maroon rivulets spread slowly across the clear plastic and contemplated his next move. Breaking fingers and tearing off nails was enjoyable—he could do it all day long and on more than one memorable occasion had done exactly that—but he felt in this case it was time to move on. There were incisions to be made, flesh to be torn, impromptu surgeries to be performed on his cute little friend, and it would be nice to accomplish some of those things before she was so far gone from the pain she was unable to participate satisfactorily in the process.

Removing one of her pert little breasts might be nice. It would be a relatively simple procedure, not terribly time-consuming either, and would allow him to get his feet wet, so to speak, before moving on to more complex surgeries either tonight or tomorrow.

Rae Ann whimpered quietly, still recovering from the most recent explosion of pain in her mangled fingers, and she watched him with fearful eyes as he wandered into the kitchen to retrieve his surgical supplies. It was almost as if she could read his thoughts. Or maybe she had already reached the conclusion that all of his guests eventually tumbled to: Milo Cain was one crazy motherfucker, not to be trusted, and it behooved you to keep a close eye on him at all times.

Whatever the reason, her eyes were still trained on the kitchen door when he returned, clutching his supplies. He had assumed she would fail to immediately grasp the significance of the tools he was holding, but he was wrong. The moment he reentered the living room she began the now-familiar process of thrashing in her chair, straining against her duct-tape bindings and screaming—if it could be called that—into her gag.

Milo was impressed. This girl was sharp, especially for someone who made a living selling her body to strangers. He almost wished he could get to know her better before killing her and dumping her body, but realistically, knew that would not happen. Impulse control had never been one of his strong points, especially where his unique hobbies were concerned. His enjoyment of Rae Ann the Schoolgirl Hooker would proceed at its own pace, more or less regardless of his intentions.