Chapter 15: When it Rains

The sky above was threateningly gray.

Eve sat slumped upon the cold ground out back the school, knees covered in dirt, tears leaking from the corners of her crimson eyes. Above her stood Whitney, who, when the younger girl looked up, spat in the child's face. "It's your fault I'm in trouble!" she shouted at her, and Eve flinched as the other girl rose her voice, scrubbing away the scum on her skin helplessly. "Because of your stupid rabbit, they're threatening to expel me!"

Slowly, the younger girl looked up, a half-defiant, half-fearful look on her face. "You," she whimpered, "you killed her."

"And?!" Lunging forward, she grabbed the other girl by the hair, who cried out quietly in pain. "Unless you tell them you're the one who did it," she rose her free hand in the air, balling a fist as if to lower it atop Eve's skull, "you're gonna be nex—!"

Before she could unleash her ruthless assault, Whitney was stopped mid-motion, struck in the side of the head by a small but sharp force. Gasping, she released Eve, looking off to see what had hit her: a little rock. She pivoted in the direction it'd flown from, met with a frigid, intense gaze of blue, starkly contrasting hers green.

That girl—the one she'd met earlier today, Whatsherface.

In her hand, the assailant held a slingshot, no emotion showing on her face, much less that of remorse. Whitney's brow knit together in fury as she watched her turn the corner, running off. Eve finally looked up too, seeing only a few blonde tendrils flowing out of sight, a face to match them to indiscernible. Wait…

Was that…?

Forgetting all about the girl on the ground, Writer let go of Evangeline, giving chase as she followed her new target into the backdoor of the building, just barely able to keep up as she called after her, "Get back here, whore!" she shouted, but doing quite the opposite, the other girl ran into a nearby classroom, the sign outside reading "ART B3". Whitney shoved the large metal door open, it hit the wall swinging before slamming shut behind her. The cloudy, evening twilight poured in from the large, wall-length windows, showcasing the otherwise empty and abandoned classroom. The girl she'd been after was nowhere to be seen, but, "I know you're in here!" Whitney called out as she took a few steps forward, making her way through the maze of chairs, easels, and tables. "I'll kill your ass, bitch!"

"You really shouldn't have said that."

A haunting voice creeped up in her ear, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, like a ghost. Gasping, she turned to look over her shoulder, but as she did, she was struck hard in the head as Ray hit her with a folded, wooden easel—so hard that it broke in half. Instantly, a trail of blood appeared from the girl's equally reddish-orange hair, and she cried out in pain. Ray didn't react at all, only throwing the broken pieces to the floor. Realizing what had happened, Whitney's eyes widened, gasping reflexively in surprise and terror.

"Do you know who I am?" Rachel asked pointedly, intently, walking towards her at a slow pace.

Whitney winced at her with confusion clear. "W-What?" the girl muttered, eyes fearful as she backed away now. "What do you mean, I just met you today!" she blurted. "I don't know anything about you!" she claimed, and Ray's lids narrowed half-way, horrifically serious to discern the truth.

"Then why did you kill that rabbit and sew it back together?" she asked intently.

The look in her unsuspecting gaze reflected with guilt. "Wha… what the hell is your problem!" she shouted. Rachel's grip tight as her fists balled, her heart beat faster now. "I-I didn't—!"

"You," Ray hissed, the words falling breathlessly from her pallid lips, the hand at her side raising almost robotically as she reached over to the nearby table, on which a sharp palette knife sat, delicately taking the blade between her fingertips, "you… defied God."

Terror reflected in the other girl's pretty emerald gaze.

Fully realizing now the situation she found herself in, the older backed away faster, her back bumping into the wall as she had nowhere left to run. She grit her teeth, muttering a panicked "stop" beneath her breath, but, of course, Rachel had no such intentions. "You," Ray's breath grew heavier, and she peered off aimlessly, unblinking, "you indulge, you hurt, you seduce," the younger girl said, her voice growing louder and fierce. The look in her eye was so distant and inhuman, and reasonably overwhelmed by terror, Whitney turned on her heel as if to run away.

Even faster, Rachel jolted after her.

"You killed!"

Her hand swiped against the side of the older girl's bicep, tearing through the fabric of her uniform, then her skin. She cried out, a thick reddish liquid pooling out of her newly carved wound. She toppled to lean over one of the tables, and with Ray looming over her, fueled by adrenaline, Writer reached out for the broken wooden easel leg on the ground.

She smacked her assailant in the side of the head as she was encroached upon, and Ray stumbled, an open wound ripping apart the side of her skull.

Despite the clear trail of blood trickling down her head to her neck, Ray didn't make a sound or show any sense of pain, seemingly unfazed, inhuman. The fact alone was enough to stun the other girl; she froze in place. In the blink of an eye, Ray reached out, gripping her victim by the wrist, twisting her arm before shoving her to the floor as if it were nothing at all. Rachel threw her weight down on her, watching the tears bubble in her eyes, and she cried out for help. Pinned down, Ray straddled her torso, calm intensity never dissipating from her visage. Despite the shooting agony in her arm, she swung her fist forward, striking Ray in the face, busting open her lip, and it hurt, but Ray didn't register the feeling as pain—it was just inconvenient, and to anyone who personally knew Rachel Gardner, they'd realize that fact was perhaps the worst case of all.

Ray's arm jolted downwards as she took the girl's neck in her grasp, strangling her as she rose the dullish blade once more to her pallid flesh, fully mesmerized by the terrified, helpless look in the other girl's eye as she choked the light out of her.

"I-I didn't... do it on purpose!" she gagged. "Someone—someone... made me kill it!" the other girl sobbed, and Ray's brow knit together at the claim, her grip loosening just enough to allow the other girl to explain herself. "They sent a letter saying they'd hurt me if I didn't, but I—!" she cried helplessly, broken, "I didn't sew it back together!"

"Then, who did?" Ray asked pointedly. "Who made you do it?"

"I-I don't know!" she shouted. "Please, just leave me alone, let me go!" she begged, but still, Ray refused, because—even if she was telling the truth, even if she'd only done it because someone else had forced her to…

"If I let you go," Ray replied coldly, "you'll just go after Eve again."

"W-Wha—?" she fumbled in confusion. "No, I—I'll never talk to her again!" she promised. "I swear to God!" she said, and Ray's breath hitched, the girl's otherwise empty word offered firsthand to the Lord in Heaven.

God.

"God detests liars."

Panting heavily, she looked up to the unmoving, unbreathing, unfeeling Rachel, who peered upon her innocuously—her word all but irrelevant. Gardner slowly held up the palette knife, its sharp edge shining so bright within the cloudy, fading orangish sunlight that it was difficult to look upon. Whitney sobbed, eyes wide with stun and terror.

"You have gravely sinned," she said, "and now," somehow, the emotion in her gaze faded darker and more distant than ever as she stared unblinking, "you will suffer forevermore!"

Ray thrust her hand down, the skewed point of the blade cutting though the pale flesh of her shoulder. Despite never once looking away, she was shocked as the edge made contact with her victim's skin, her victim, whom she could no longer see. The girl beneath her was a different person completely.

Ray looked upon the mirror image of herself.

Her fragile, deadly hands shook, and she let go of the blade, still lodged in the girl's chest. While her aim wasn't fatal, a great deal of horror and and agony reflected upon her visage as she let out a helpless cry. As if she'd lost all strength in her body, Ray maneuvered slowly, relenting her grip upon the girl's neck, slumping to the floor beside her, mind growing distracted with confusion. Without a second though, Whitney shuffled to her feet, griping her shoulder where she'd been stabbed ruthlessly, fearful to take her gaze off Ray.

For as much as she, for the first time in her life, wished she could forget him, the sound of her beloved killer's sentiments replayed loudly in her mind.

Rachel looked to the tall window nearby, a sparse few raindrops sprinkling on the pane now.

"If you ever bother Eve again," Ray whispered suddenly, breathless, voice low and menacing, "you'll be sorry," she warned, to which the Whitney nodded vigorously. Knowing she'd gotten her point across, Ray's arm rose slowly as she pointed to the door. "Go." The other girl limped to the door as fast as she was able, a trail of fresh blood following in her wake, and again, it slammed shut, the sound silencing all else in the room, yet Ray's thoughts raced louder than ever before.

"You kill people—because you like killing people."

Rachel stood below a cascade of raindrops, drenched to the bone, frozen to the core.

Her gaze was set upon the large, familiar red door of Amour Rosé, in her hands, she withheld a box wrapped up in cute, floral-print paper, tied together with a clean bow, bright colors amplified only by the dim lamp light. She reached out finally, knocking on the surface before her, soft but clear.

After a moment, a small presence answered, peeking through the cracked door to meet her gaze.

"Rachel?"

Fully opening it ajar, Eve peered towards the older girl, curious as she observed her very odd state, alarmed as she recognized a trail of coagulated blood on the side of her head. Her lip was swollen and bruised, and she was covered in dirt and grime, as if she'd been digging for something in the ground. Unable to speak, now more than ever, Eve's brow knit together in concern. She put her hand on her shoulder, as if ushering her into the cafe. Rachel took a shaky step, welcoming the generous offer regardless. Eve shut the door behind her, petite hand placing itself upon her own chest as she gazed at the tattered Ray with bewilderment. "I'm sorry to stop by so late, I… won't stay long," Rachel said cordially, as if that was the odd part about all this. "Will… Mr. Lawrence be angry?" she asked.

Eve merely shook her head. "Out," she explained. Ray exhaled a sigh of relief, at least one thing was going her way today.

"I wanted to tell you," she held the drenched box up on display, "happy birthday."

Eve tilted her head slightly, seeming reluctant as she finally reached out to take the neatly wrapped gift in hand. She looked back and forth between the present and Rachel, who nodded as if to say, "go on, open it". A pause followed before she took the end of the pretty ribbon in hand, undoing it. She tore open the paper, lifting the cardboard box lid open. Inside was something Eve could've never prepared herself for.

A bunny.

Her bunny.

The bunny that'd been killed, and sewn back together.

It was a week old by now, covered in dirt and decaying slightly, yet clearly preserved. It had stitches up the side where it'd been slashed, its eyes glazed over and half-parted. Most noticeably, in its side, the embroidering of letters were faintly discernible. The young child, despite her moderate illiteracy, recognized the monogram carved into its body.

Eve.

Gaping, she finally gazed up to Rachel, the look in her senior's eye almost distant, inhuman. It was both somehow terrifying and mesmerizing, even to an unsuspecting little girl.

"She was… supposed to be yours," Ray said breathlessly. "The person who killed her, the one who stitched her up," Ray gasped, "they didn't love her like you, so I stitched your name in her side." She'd even gone off the handkerchief Eve had lent Zack before, to make sure it was just right. "This way, she can," Rachel breathed wearily, exhaustion clear, "she can be yours forever, right?" As if she knew what was doomed to happen next, Ray's grip grew intense as she balled her fists, fingernails digging into her skin. "Right?"

Then, something happened that Rachel could have never, in her life, anticipated.

The gentle arms of a true angel fluttered around her shaking form as Evangeline embraced her.

"Thank you," the child's voice shook as she huddled up to her senior. She huffed, clearly shaken but no less sincere as she cried weakly against Ray now. "Thank you…!"

For some reason, Ray was suddenly reminded of the only other girl her age she's felt even vague kinship towards, the same one she'd been unable to help as she'd been rendered comatose. With certain regret lingering in her heart, knowing she'd never be able to speak to that girl again, Rachel grounded herself with the feeling of Eve's tiny arms wrapped around her. I t was a long moment before the older girl's arms slowly rose around Eve's petite form, holding her too. Ray allowed her to do as she needed, welcoming it even, because never before in a situation like this was she the one offering comfort—yet now, it came to her naturally. For maybe the first time in her life, she felt like she'd finally, finally done something right. What's more?

She felt like things could still go right.

"Hey, Eve," she said breathlessly, "I was wondering something," Ray gave a pause, clearly reluctant, or maybe even shy, "I was wondering, if you," she held her closer, thoughts trailing off, as if she were scared to let go. With a watering gaze, even though she was unable to stop weeping, the little girl backed away, looking Ray in the even murkier eye.

Ever-soulless, Rachel forced the corners of her mouth upwards, fashioning a joyless smile.

"I was wondering… if you would like to be friends."

Ray's heart pounded as the question fell from her lips, and then, something else happened that Ray could've never prepared herself for.

With a broken smile to match, Evangeline nodded.

He followed her from A to B, B to C, then C to whatever order the letters went after that.

He watched as she took the palette knife in hand and thrust it into the girl's shoulder, he watched as she strangled the life out of her, he watched as the moment of realization hit that yes, she was a murderer guilty and rotten as every other in history. It took all he had not to jump in after she let the girl go, end the person who dare lay a hand on his most precious thing, his beloved victim, his darling, fucked-up Rachel...

But he was still pretty pissed that she hit him.

For real, the fuck was up with that?

Instead, he followed Ray to the back of the school as she dug up the cardboard shoebox with the rabbit inside, therein sewing it before taking it to the cafe, where he stood outside now, watching from the window as the girls conversed. He should've known she'd do something like this, but what really surprised him is that the other girl didn't run away crying the second she was what was in the box. Leave it to Rachel Gardner to find a friend as deranged as her.

This kid—Eve?

He couldn't get a read on her.

He didn't know what to think of her, that little girl, remembering the visceral reaction he'd withheld when she spoke those words to him the other day, as if knowing it meant something to him personally. But how could she have? Was he just paranoid, imagining things? She, like Ray, was a wild card, and it was almost jarring, considering he could read her dad like an open book (which was saying a lot, because he was illiterate.) With a deep, dragging exhale, Zack slumped to the ground with his back pressed to the wall of the cafe.

"Smoke?" a familiar voice called out to him, speak of the devil, and Zack peeked up, seeing Lawrence with a weak smile on his face, a cigarette between his lips and a pack of Camels in his hand. This time, Zack could tell the offer was in jest.

Haphazardly, he gave a lopsided smirk. "There was a time when I would'a beat your ass for askin' me that," but, oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Larry gave a small chuckle, sitting on the ground next to the other man. "Ah, but, let me guess—you held back, because Ms. Rachel would be so very disappointed should you end up behind bars for assault charges," he eyed him playfully, to which Zack let out an amused "tch." Yeah, to say the least. "Rough day, hm?" Larry went on, and Zack exhaled a sigh as his only telling response. "Something to do with Ms. Rachel, I take it?" he prodded, and any sense of humor Foster withheld faded as his expression fell slightly, his seriousness returning as he was reminded of her.

"Always is," he groaned.

"Well, she is that age," Larry laughed lightly. "Can't say I'm eager for Eve to be like that in a few years, she can already be pretty fussy at times. They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Not fast enough.

Full offense, but, "This is different," Zack corrected him mildly (wanting to tell him that unless his daughter developed a taste for manslaughter, she'd probably be fine.) "Lately, thing's've been," he paused, his wording cautious, "thing's've been rough on her," he explained. "The life we live ain't an easy one."

"Come now," Lawrence replied, "is there such a thing as an easy life?" he asked, and Zack peered over to him curiously, almost annoyed that he'd say as much when he sat outside of a lavish business he owned and operated, making enough to send his daughter to a high-end school, give her everything and anything she wanted.

Zack couldn't so much as give Ray a reason to genuinely smile.

"Not one I know," he muttered.

"I can scarcely imagine," Larry said simply, "but there must be some reason she's chosen you over all else, yes?" he asked, and Zack's heart sank, because yes, there was, and as he rose to his feet, looking in the window again, he reminded of that very reason as Ray embraced the little girl with a broken smile on her face all the while.

Necessity.

He didn't know what he felt as he watched that morbid expression grace her emotionless face for someone else besides him. Was he happy? Was he sad? Was he jealous? He didn't know for certain. She had once told him she couldn't live without him, and he knew she was right, because there was nowhere she could return to, no parents, no house, nothing. There was no place left for her in this world, and that's why she wanted so much to pass onto the next. The reason she was with Zack wasn't because he gave her cause to smile.

It was because he didn't.

"Hey," Zack said suddenly, "Larry," he muttered, and hearing his denomination fall from Zack's lips for the first time ever, the aforementioned looked over toward the man at his side, as if surprised, standing as well. "That offer you made before…" he trailed off, hesitant to say anything more.

"Yes?" Larry replied, prompting him, and even more to his surprise, Zack looked up—for the first time, gazing him directly in the eye on his own free will.

"Is it still open?"

"You were right."

She was crying, but in the downpour, he allowed himself to merely pretend it was the rain.

Ray stood before Zack late that night, maybe around 12 A.M. now. Like always, they'd met in the dark crook of an alley, him appearing before her like he'd been waiting for the right moment. Despite the simple sentiment, those three words were ones he'd never thought he'd hear from her mouth.

"I," she whimpered, her hands raising, gripping the side of her head, fingers entangling in her hair as she bore into oblivion, Zack stared at her with a stunned, mismatched gaze. "I didn't kill that girl," Ray said, "but I wanted to," even after she realized she didn't deserve it. "I… I wanted to!"

She wanted to choke the life out of her, slash her throat, take her breath away, and never, ever give it back.

Her sobs picked up, they rose louder, and louder, louder than they had in a long time, loud enough to be unmistakable, even in the harsh weather. She clamped her hands over her eyes, trying to block out the rest of the world, but her effort was for naught when she felt Zack's arms wrapped around her abruptly, the sound of his scythe falling to the ground echoing with a metallic clang. The feeling overwhelmed her, but in the same way she gave into her every dishonest desire, she latched onto him with a tight embrace, sobbing against his chest. Zack wasn't able to fool himself over her tears any longer.

She'd violated God's precepts, and even before her confession, He'd certainly seen deep in her heart, realizing she'd preformed her righteous duty without virtue.

"Please, Zack," she begged, not knowing what else to do, how to fix herself anymore, "help me."

While Zack already knew he'd been right, he realized clearly now a gigantic difference between him and her in this regard. Ray may have wanted to kill people, but unlike him, she didn't want to want it. It tore her apart. Unlike him, she couldn't bear the weight of her sins forever, and as was the case any time Ray wasn't strong enough...

He'd decided he'd do it for her.

Ray lay atop his chest, eyelashes soaked with the sparkling remnants of tears. They huddled together on the couch, Zack on his back, Rachel nestled upon him as he ran his hands through her long blonde strands from top to bottom, fiddling lazily with the ends.

Their current stronghold, the unoccupied Carlisle residence, wasn't what one would call a lovely stay—it was cluttered, littered with empty bottles and dishes, unkempt clothes strewn about, making it somehow even dirtier than either of their floors. His long reach extended to the nearby window, daylight peeking through the folded, tattered blinds.

"Hey, Zack?" Ray said quietly, the first time either he'd spoken for what felt like a long eternity of laying together in misery. After a moment, he let go, his hand returning to the back of Ray's head, ushering a "hm?" as she shifted to peer at his face better. "I'm sorry I hit you."

A lopsided smile appeared on his face as he went back to stroking her. "Surprised it took you this long, honestly," because God knows he wanted to slap her how many times now, much less bury her ass six feet under. "I ain't mad."

Despite his gentle insistence, against him, Ray shifted after a moment, propping herself up slightly to cup his jawline. While he was curious, he let her do as she pleased, like usual, though somehow confused as her face narrowed in on his. Lightly, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his concealed cheek—the same spot she'd slapped; Zack's breath hitched, heart somehow more moved now than when she'd hit him earlier.

Her angelic touch hurt more than any slap she could ever rightfully give.

His arm shifted slowly, bandaged palm drawing near her cheek to wipe away her remaining tears with the back of his hand. The uncharacteristically tender gesture caught her off guard, making her heart race. Rachel didn't know why, but the sensation made her tears gather thicker, falling from her ducts as he ineffectively tried to salvage her happiness.

"Ray," Zack said slowly, "tomorrow, I'm dropping you off at the cafe, then I'm leaving."

On the window pane across the room, the rain poured hard, a rumble of thunder resounding off in the distance.

In certain confusion, Ray's brow knit together, unsure if she'd heard him right. "Wh…what?" she muttered, like she didn't comprehend, shifting to sit up slightly, and Zack, doing the same, put his hand on her shoulder.

"I already talked to that guy," he explained. "He said it's fine if you stay. He even said he wouldn't tell anyone you're there," Zack said despite the growing concern clear upon Rachel's muddled visage.

"But," she muttered urgently, and he could see the panic picking up in her expression. "I… I don't—?"

"Stop," he cut her short, raising to his feet, looking down at her, "it's not up for discussion."

"But, we're… we're not done," Ray said frantically, shaking her head, abruptly standing, "I can't do this without you!"

Foster withheld a heavy pause before reaching in his pocket, pulling out a faded card of sorts. "No," Zack fully realized, "but I can," he said, holding the item out for her to see: an old driver's license. "This fucker raped and murdered his eleven-year-old grandson, was supposedly doing the same to another kid. I killed him today. That good enough for you?" Zack's brow knit together rigidly as Ray took the ID in hand, mouth slightly agape. "You get what I'm sayin', right? I can do this on my own," and probably much better than her, because he actually understood right from wrong. "I'll do it for you."

Ray's mouth fell slightly agape, lips quivering lightly, soullessness gaze distant and quizzical, as if nothing about what he was saying made sense, and it never could.

"What about… our promise?" she asked breathlessly.

"When I'm done, I'll come back," he told her almost gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, bending at the knee to look her in the eye, "I'll still be the one to kill you."

Shock, awe, and disbelief showed upon Ray's expression, not able to process a thing, contrary to him, who'd clearly already put a lot of thought into this. A hot tear trailed down her cheek, but this time, Zack didn't brush it away. "Wh…why, Zack?" Rachel whimpered. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, to which he was silent for a long moment before finally voicing aloud the one thing he'd been avoiding for so, so long.

"Because I'm an adult, and you're a child."

Without another word, he let her go, and Ray merely stood stunned as he walked out of the living room, into the master bedroom nearby. She dropped the license to the ground and it landed with a small, plastic clatter. With her knees growing weak, the girl flopped down onto the couch again, watery gaze both fixated and unfocused.

After all they'd done, all they'd been through together, there was no way he was being serious, right?

What happened to make him decide to do something like this? Was it because she didn't kill the girl? Was it because she got hurt? Was it because she finally had someone other than him, and he was waiting for the first person he could find to pawn her off on? Her thoughts raced with the possibilities, falling back to the only explanation he had provided—because she was a child. He must've been telling the truth, she knew, but she wondered why something like that started mattering to him now. If that really was the reason…

Maybe it was time to grow up.

"Will you watch her until I come back?"

"For as long as you need."

"Are you sure she'll be safe here?"

"I'll protect her with my life."

In the other room Zack sat on the unmade, queen sized bed, hands covering his face as he hunched over slightly. He let out a deep exhale, only overlapped by the sound of a light, shuffling step. He groaned, "I told you, Ray, I don't wanna talk about it, so just—" Looking up as he spoke, Zack's voice was suddenly lost in his throat, all but forcibly taken away as his jaw fell open slightly, stunned to the core. "Huh?"

It felt like his heart flatlined completely.

Rachel stood before him, four-foot-eleven, wearing nothing else besides the cross choker he'd given her and a pair of black, lacy panties.

Her hair had fallen to cover her otherwise exposed chest, barely keeping her decency, but it still left very little to the imagination. As was the case even when she was dressed, she had an immature sense of curvature to her form that was somehow exacerbated by the fact that she wasn't wearing anything. Zack gaped, genuinely shocked and wide-eyed. "The… the fuck you think you're doing?" he asked incredulously. He turned his head full to the side to look away, but not for her sake. "Go put a damn shirt on!" Zack shouted, and despite his protests, she merely took a step closer, broaching the distance between them.

Rachel forcibly sat herself in his lap.

With a sharp inhale, he tensed up, her touch burning hotter than any flame could ever scar him. "Why?" she asked innocently, and chills ran down his spine as she draped her arms around his neck and gazed up to him.

"Y-You know damn well, why!" he shouted, and Rachel merely tilted her head to the side, unmoving. As he was about to shout at her again, the moment he opened his mouth to speak…

Ray's tongue was already inside it.

She kissed him salaciously, pressing up against his body in a way that simply felt natural, curving into him with her back arched. He didn't have his hoodie on, the only thing separating them being his thin layer of bandaging and Ray's flowing hair, and it made him lose his breath. He put his hand to her shoulder to ward her off, but like always, her will bested his, no contest.

Save for maybe the time he'd been lit on fire, Isaac Foster had never been so completely taken by surprise.

"Ray," he muttered against her, but when she didn't react, he gave her a slight shove, their lips finally parting with a small smack, "Ray!" He looked her in the eye finally, fucking rough as it was to resist a wandering gaze, and she only peered back blankly, as though she didn't understand. "Stop it, or I'm gonna get mad!"

"That's okay," she purred sweetly, leaning in closer as her lashes fluttered, lips drawing upon his again, "you can take it out on me."

And then, it finally clicked.

Woah. What the fuck—what the ever-loving fuck.

Was Ray trying to seduce him?

With her hips remaining pressed near his, God knows he wasn't about to let her feel that it may have been working. Grabbing her much more forcefully now, he tore her from his person, throwing her off and onto the other side of the bed. He faced away from her as he resisted the urge to pant heavily, practically unable to catch his breath and collect himself, keep his cool. She propped herself up slightly, a dissatisfied look showing as her hair fell in her face. From the corner of his eye, Zack saw her shift, reaching out to him, but he cut her off before contact was made, because he was having fucking none of it.

"Touch me again and I'll put you through the fuckin' wall."

"Why can't I?" she asked simply, causing Zack to grow both incredulous and frustrated in more than one way.

"Do you ever listen to a damn thing I say?" he hissed. "You're fourteen, that's wh—!"

"Okay, Zack," she cut him off sharply, a notable change about her voice as Ray shifted swiftly to look him in the eye, glowering intently, terrifyingly. "Fair's fair, right?" she said, her tone taking a sharp turn as she preemptively knew what he was about to say. If this is how he insisted things had to go, then so be it. He tried to back off, but she leaned in as they both sat atop the mattress yet. "Tell me," she said sternly, "what makes you an adult, but not me?"

Despite his rapidly shattering nerve, he was able to muster up the energy to glare at her. Was she being serious right now? For the same reason as before, "'Cause I'm a grown-ass man, and you're a little girl, dammit!"

"Oh?" Ray lowered her gaze, the tone of her voice suddenly familiar to Zack in a way that meant nothing good was about to come out of her mouth. "And," sure enough, "how old are you, exactly?" Ray asked. After a momentary lapse of shock from the question, she could see him hesitate.

"I… I'm," he couldn't meet her gaze, "over twenty." A vague answer, but the closest thing he had.

"Really?" Ray hummed. "How can you be sure?" she prodded him, her monotone snark clear. "Tell me, Zack, what year were you born?"

He opened his mouth to bark the answer, just as quickly realizing he wasn't able to. His voice came out as an airy stutter before fading all together. Just like she thought.

"You don't even know, do you?" On the contrary, Ray knew exactly the date, time, and location of her own birth: June 10th, 20[XX], 5:32 PM, in the hospital two miles from here. "Did you even know you were in your twenties before I told you?" Ray taunted him, furthering insult with injury. "For all you know, the document I read with your information was wrong—or, who knows, maybe I lied to you about what it said? It's not like you'd be able to tell for sure," Zack's brow knit together rigidly, hoping for her sake she wasn't about to go there, but sure enough, "because you can't read."

He grit his teeth, jaw tense, therein standing tall as she remained on the bed. He loomed over her menacingly.

"Aren't adults supposed to know how to read?"

"Shut the fuck—!"

"Or did you mean emotional maturity?" she drowned him out despite her still calm tone, at the most opportune time it would seem, as if she'd provoked him for this very reason. "You're yelling at me, a little girl, just because I told you the truth. But I'm not mad right now," she stood to match, pointing up towards his face, "you are."

She'd love to hear his argument on this one.

He slapped her hand away harshly, though she didn't flinch otherwise, unwavering. She wasn't nearly done yet. "What makes you think that just because you're over eighteen that you're an adult? The law? You know what else the law says?" (Not mentioning the whole wanting to execute him for serial murder, a.k.a., something else he disregarded?) "Adults do taxes. Adults pay bills. Adults own houses, and cars, and bank accounts, and children can't do those things," legally, if nothing else, "but do you do any of those things? Do you have any idea what goes into them? Because," guess what? "I do."

He clenched his fists, fingertips twitching with fury clear as if he wanted to strike her, but if Ray noticed, she hardly cared. "Fuck off, that's not what I meant, and you know it!"

Ray merely looked upon him with an unwaveringly blank gaze. "Then, why?" she asked. "Tell me why I'm a child, but you're an adult," she posed to him, to which his clenched fists grew tighter, and his voice rose as shouted.

"Because—!"

"Because I've never had sex?"

Zack's breath hitched, voice lost completely as he was stunned horrifically silent. By the way his eyes had gone wide, reflecting shock and clear discomfort that she said something so blatant and forward without an ounce of shame, Ray could tell she'd bested him. Finally, Rachel said nothing now, waiting—no, forcing him to give her some response, but his voice fumbled to find semblance in his throat. Nothing of consequence came.

Then, Ray looked terrifyingly serious.

She took a step closer to him, to which he, alarmed, took a step back.

"I may be a child, Zack," she encroached on his space farther and he stumbled—though she remained firm in resolve, "but I'm not naïve—and it seems to me," Ray said, and cornering him, Zack's back bumped into the wall, he couldn't run any farther, "like you're the one who's conflicted about this." Her tone was accusatory, certain, but he couldn't break away from her if he tried. "I may not be an adult," Ray reiterated, "but you're a twenty-year-old child. Tell me, Zack..."

Rachel stood on her tiptoes, leaning up to his face, lips a few narrow inches from his—certainly close enough to have felt his breath were he not holding it helplessly. Zack looked at her in near-shock, as if he couldn't fathom how to react, especially as the unclothed Ray was so near.

"Are you a virgin?"

A cruel question to which Rachel already knew the answer. If he were just any killer, that might be one thing, but he was Isaac Foster, a man as far removed from connection than she, and intimacy wouldn't be anything less if it meant he could get by without taking off his bandages, something he'd long since proven was never happening.

Despite the fact that she was clearly trying to provoke him, for once in his life, Zack said nothing, his brow knitting together sternly, anger dissipating to a look of seriousness. He could get mad, lash out, play right into the point she was trying to make, but, if only to prove her wrong, he steeled himself, because he knew.

He knew what this was really about.

It was just like she'd said. Yeah, Ray was young, but she wasn't stupid. She was smart and cunning and calculative in a manner he would never hope to understand, willing and able to do anything to get her desired outcome. Zack may not have been the smartest man, but he knew full well exactly what she was doing, and it wasn't doing this because it's what she sincerely wanted.

"What, Ray?" he muttered bitterly. "You think getting me to sleep with you will be enough to convince me to stay?"

Seeming almost surprised, Ray's brow knit together as she peered away almost guiltily. "That's... that's not—"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he choked out, hand raising to cover his eyes as he stayed with his back to the wall. She'd asked him to help her, and when he, for once, actually did? She pulled something like this! "What do you want from me?" he asked, voice dwindling with exasperation, and realizing her answer, Ray couldn't give her reply for a long, agonizing moment.

Maybe that was part of it, but it would be a bold-faced lie to say she was doing something like this for the lone reason of hoping to make him stay.

He felt her delicate fingertips pressed to his jawline, ushering him to turn and face her way.

"If you're really leaving," Ray whispered, "I want," she trailed off, tone so timid it was almost foreign, causing Zack to barely looked up, almost shocked to notice her cheeks had been painted an uncharacteristically ardent shade of pink, "to become adults together."

By her confessed desire, Zack's pulse raced so painfully that he wanted to cut the source from his chest. His heart beat, and beat, and beat—perhaps the fastest it ever had in his life, for this child who'd cursed him from the moment she'd showed up on his floor.

"Just be honest with me," Rachel begged. "If you can look me in the eye and tell me that this isn't what you want, I'll stop," but only then.

His lashes remained parted, just barely, as he gazed upon her heated visage, the innocent sight alone doing all sorts of terrible things to him. He couldn't dismiss her, couldn't forget her—even if he wanted to. It beat, and it beat, his heart, for her.

Rachel Gardner.

For the same reason he'd wanted to leave in the first place, denying her felt all but impossible.

For so long, he resisted. This, of all things, was not Isaac Foster's modus operandi, and yet—restraining himself now was harder than any kill. The asymmetric gaze looking back upon hers narrowed in the blink of an eye, growing dark, desirous, lustful. His hands found themselves placed firmly on her soft, hardly nubile form, one around her back, the other cupping the base of her skull. His sinister, raspy word resounded in her ear. Despite his values, in that moment, Zack knew what he should have said, but, oh.

He'd rather fucking die.

"You know I hate liars."

The space between them was forgotten instantaneously. He pulled her back into a kiss, one impassioned, intense, fervent, all pretenses shattering like glass, but Ray decidedly had no objections to his forcefulness. He easily overpowered hers this time, but despite any surprise, she gave in fully, letting herself be handled until she began running out of breath. He pulled away a narrow fraction, a silver thread connecting the tip of her tongue to his before dissipating.

"I want you," Zack finally admitted, "so fuckin' bad."

"Then," Rachel said breathlessly, "take me, Isaac."

The use of his honest name almost made him weak at the knees, carnal desires overwhelming him in a way like never before.

Grabbing her roughly, pushing her back onto the bed, he pinned Ray's left wrist above her head with one hand, and she let herself be handled by him, strands of blonde fanning out upon the mattress. He hovered over her menacingly, his knee riding between her legs, grinding against her inner thighs. His lips trailed along her skin, from the corner of her mouth to her soft jawline. A sharp breath filled her lungs as she felt his tongue tracing the line of her throat, as if plotting where his blade would fall. He relented for a moment, frantically biting the tips of his middle and ring finger to withdraw the wraps slightly, allowing a narrow brush of his skin on hers, all he needed to send chills down her spine.

His hand slid up her torso, to the center of her exposed chest, without an ounce of shame or hesitation, fingertips landing upon the middle of the untouched, flowering her.

The soft feeling of her skin beneath him was all but addicting by the very first touch, yet he was somehow more mesmerized by the beating heart beneath. With her hand entangling in the back of his hair, she panted his name in a breathless gasp "Zack", and it only served to both motivate and confuse him more.

Was she really getting off to a serial killer?

Well, it's not like he had room to talk, 'cause damn if he wasn't hot as hell for her right now.

"God," Zack breathed, "you're so fucked-up."

His darling, fucked-up Rachel.

And as his fingers glided down the length of her center torso, somehow, he was even worse. He felt Ray tense the lower he went, her little hand gripping tighter the ends of his hair, the heated look on her face almost distant he broached the lace edge of her panties. He dipped his head down slowly as if to kiss her again, but then, for some reason, he stopped suddenly.

Sensing an odd, uneven mark on her skin, Zack froze up in realization.

Recognizing his sudden shift, Ray's brow knit together slightly. "Zack?" she exhaled airily. "What's wrong?" She tried to focus on his expression as he was so near, her vision a little bleary in their closeness. Hesitantly brushing Ray's hair from her skin, exposing her torso fully now, Zack propped himself to look upon her body, her hip, in the place where his hand had been. On her flesh, she bore a small but certain circular disfigurement.

A gunshot scar.

Against his will, the memory of a lifeless Ray laying in a pool of her own blood flashed in his mind, the sound of a loud shot silencing all else. He couldn't comprehend it then, and he couldn't comprehend it now, and something in the pit of his chest welled uncomfortably tight, unbearable, agonizing.

"I'm going to carry our promise with me forever."

"Zack?" Ray called out again quietly, to which the unreadable expression on his face warped clearly as he grit his teeth sharply. "Are, are you—?"

Tearing himself from the girl he pinned, Zack grabbed Ray by the bicep, pulling her to stand tall, and she gasped inaudibly as he handled her. From the bed, he grabbed his hoodie, draping it roughly around her shoulders, threading her arms through, jerking the zipper upwards to cloth her again. "H-Hey—!" she fussed, but before she could ask any further, he dragged her along against her will.

Graceless in confusion, Ray stumbled as Zack threw her out of the room.

As she reclaimed her footing, Ray pivoted on her heel, but she was a second too slow, and he slammed the door in her face. Reaching for the knob, the sound of the lock turning was heard. Slowly, her arm lowered back to her side, at a loss for what it was that tipped him over the edge. Turning again, Rachel didn't walk away, instead slumping to the floor. Awash in the neverending cascade she'd inevitably drown in, Ray could resist the tears burning in her eyes.

Pulling her legs to her chest, she huddled up, burying her face in her knees. She pressed her back to the door, listening to the pouring rain above as it refused to relent.

Unbeknownst to her, Zack sat just the same on the other side.