CHAPTER 1
Rebecca Black paused and soaked in the rhythmic sound of The District’s hottest street drummers—battling it out in front of a crowd of onlookers outside of D.C.’s Verizon Center. It was a common sight any day of the week, but especially on a late Sunday night, timed perfectly with the conclusion of whatever concert or sporting event had just occurred inside.
Tonight, it was hockey—the Capitals’ first home game of the regular season and the fans were in rare form after watching their team get knocked out of the playoffs back in April. Her friend, Lexy, was no exception. She had been harder to handle than any one of the oversized drunk men surrounding them. At that moment, she remained inside, trying desperately to find a vendor that hadn’t closed its gates yet so she could kick off the season with a bright and shiny new jersey.
Rebecca was glad Lexy was delayed. Although she could genuinely enjoy any sporting event, the rich street culture of the city was what really got her heart thumping. She allowed herself to surrender to the beat as the drumsticks continued to bounce off the array of overturned plastic buckets—each one varying in size and emitting its own signature sound.
After her brush with death just over a year ago, Rebecca had vowed to embrace life and everything it had to offer. Witnessing four teenagers make musical magic right before her eyes was one of those offerings, and she couldn’t get enough of it.
She still thought of Andrew Donovan. In fact, she thought of him every day, whether she wanted to or not. She took part in taking his life, and now he seemed to be hellbent on taking over hers—even from his grave.
She vowed to fight it as best she could, and street-band distractions almost always did the trick. Her eyes closed and her head bobbed in unison with the drums. Blonde waves danced around her shoulders. She had completed her reverse makeover soon after it happened. Her hair had been colored back to the honey gold she was known for, and it was growing even faster than she had hoped. Little by little, she was returning to her true self and putting that entire hellish experience behind her.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Lexy said as she suddenly appeared at Rebecca’s side and tugged on her arm.
“I’m not.”
“Please, I’m starving. We can come back and listen to them after. I’m sure they’ll still be here.”
Rebecca doubted they would be, but Lexy’s pleas won her over. She felt eternally indebted to Lexy. Not because she whipped up an alibi to keep Rebecca out of prison. But because Lexy was the one that had to deal with the traumatized Rebecca immediately following Andrew’s dissection and slaughter. Rebecca put her through hell during those first few weeks and she had no problem making it up to her every chance she got.
“You win. I could use a real drink anyway,” Rebecca said as she linked her arm in Lexy’s and the two headed up 7th Street.
“Amen. A girl can only handle so much beer.”
The two strolled another fifty feet and yanked open the brass handle at the entrance of Clyde’s.
“Wow,” Rebecca said as they entered into a wall of people.
Clyde’s was a landmark sports bar containing most, if not all, of the hockey fans they had just left. The decor was primarily dark wood from floor to ceiling, including the walls, booths, and of course, the bar. Bronze sculptures depicting athletes of a bygone era in various sporting poses sat atop most of the booth backs. A grand staircase led to the second floor which housed another bar, and what appeared to be just as large of a crowd.
After realizing the patrons in front of them were all waiting to be seated, Rebecca and Lexy snaked their way through to the far wall.
Available seating was nowhere to be found, but they managed to squeeze into a tight standing space at the back corner of the bar.
“It’ll have to do,” Lexy said, waving her hand to get the attention of one of the three bartenders.
Moments later, a sodden-faced blonde in her mid-twenties appeared in front of them. “Do you need any menus?”
“Yes. And two margaritas on the rocks to start,” Lexy replied.
Rebecca’s eyes swept the faces in the room as she waited. It was a habit she found herself doing every time she encountered a crowd of people. She had spotted Andrew’s face on more than a few occasions over the past year. She knew it wasn’t real, but still...she’d like to know ahead of time if she was going to have to deal with that bastard’s ghost all night.
The bartender returned with their drinks and slapped a couple of menus on the bar in front of them. Rebecca wasted no time, grabbing her bowl-like glass and nearly emptying it in one go.
“So, what jersey did you end up getting?” she asked as she wiped the salt from her lips with a napkin and peeked down into Lexy’s bag.
“Seriously? What jersey do you think I got?”
“But, you have almost a dozen jerseys of the same guy.”
“They can change from year to year. Besides, it’s my season-starting tradition.”
“Ever thought of trying someone different? Just to, you know...try someone different? What about that Austrian guy? He was cute.”
“It’s not about cute. It’s about total badassery. I invest in the best and only the best.”
“I get it. He’s your version of the Big O.”
“Exactly,” Lexy said as she giggled and clinked her glass with Rebecca’s.
Rebecca downed the rest of her margarita and gestured for the bartender’s return. The girl trudged back over to them, her face drawn tight in annoyance.
“Another?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
As the bartender’s arm stretched across the bar and her fingers wrapped around the glass of lonely ice cubes, the cuff of her sleeve rose just enough to send an icy chill down Rebecca’s spine. It barely peeked out, but the unique pattern of the scar was unmistakable.
Rebecca snatched the girl’s wrist and shoved her sleeve up to her elbow. The scarring continued all the way up her forearm and disappeared beneath the raised cuff. Diamonds. Thick white lines criss-crossing their way over her skin’s surface and around, what appeared to be, a full-thickness skin graft. Was the graft performed in a hospital...or in a basement? Rebecca shuddered imagining the answer to that question.
Rebecca’s eyes rose and bore deep into those of the young barkeep. What she saw there explained the downtrodden expression the girl permanently carried on her face. Pain, fear, humiliation, self-loathing. She was a survivor...yet she wore the mask of a beaten-down victim.
The girl regained possession of her arm with a hard yank and pulled her sleeve back down until it reached her knuckles. Shooting Rebecca a violated look, she turned and raced to the other end of the bar.
“Wait!” Rebecca called out after her.
The girl gave a quick glance over her shoulder before disappearing behind the towering glass shelves of liquor. Rebecca followed in pursuit from her side of the counter, stumbling through the sea of drunk hockey fans and body-checking several of them to the floor. She reached the other end, ducked under the hinged bridge, and spotted the double doors adjacent to the back bar. Pushing through them, she entered the kitchen and scanned the room for any sign of the runaway bartender.
Her initial search came up empty, and any further searching was halted by an angry white-coated duo ushering her back out. She ducked through the bridge and out from behind the bar to find Lexy there waiting for her.
“What exactly is happening right now?” she asked, waving her hands in confusion.
“That bartender—” Once again, Rebecca was on the run, plowing through the crowd on her way to the doors at the front of the restaurant.
A minute later, Rebecca found herself at the curb amidst the countless number of late diners still strolling the streets at that hour. She set her radar for a blonde ponytail, but there were none to be found. Turning the rounded corner of Clyde’s, she headed down the pedestrian promenade hoping for some better luck.
She had only ventured down the brick walkway a few yards before she spotted her target, crouching behind a protruding outer wall on the side of the restaurant. The girl hugged her knees to her chest, stroking her forearm with her palm and staring unfocused at the pavement in front of her feet.
Rebecca approached her with soft footsteps and planted herself directly within the girl’s line of vision. Startled, the girl jumped to her feet. She raised her palms and backed herself deeper into the brick cove of the wall.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice shaky and broken.
Rebecca pointed to the girl’s arm. “When did that happen?”
“None of your business. I don’t know you.”
“Did Andrew Donovan do that to you?” Her tone was firm as she took a step closer.
“Andrew Donovan is dead. Now will you please just leave me alone?” She turned her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut.
Rebecca retreated. She hadn’t meant to come off so aggressively and strong. The whole situation was so shocking, her tunnel vision had obscured the fact that this was another human being she was dealing with. She took a deep breath and softened her voice. “I’m sorry for coming at you like that. I was almost one of his victims too.”
The girl slowly opened her eyes and turned her attention back on Rebecca, scanning her head to toe. “Do you have scars?”
“No. He didn’t get that far with me.”
The girl’s shoulders relaxed, and she wiped away a couple of stray tears hanging in limbo on her lower lashes. “I still get pins and needles sometimes,” she said, kneading her forearm with her fingers.
The girl’s barriers began to drop, and Rebecca needed to keep them going in that direction. “What’s your name?”
“Hope.”
“That’s a very nice name. And very fitting, seeing how you actually escaped that lunatic. My name is Rebecca.”
“Rebecca?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry for digging this horrible experience up after all this time. It’s just that it’s quite a shock...seeing you. I didn’t know there was a sixth victim. And a surviving one, at that. Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Excuse me?” Rebecca’s brows narrowed, confused by what exactly the girl was referring to.
“He was already dead when it happened. Andrew Donovan didn’t do this to me. It was someone else.”
“Who?” Rebecca’s mind raced with questions. Was there an accomplice? A copycat? But standing in front of her was a survivor. Someone who could identify whoever was following in Andrew’s footsteps. The girl’s name truly did fit the situation.
“I don’t know who. I never saw his face.”
Rebecca’s shoulders dropped.
“I heard his voice though.”
Her posture regained its perk. “Did he say anything that might give a hint to who he was?”
“He kept calling me by your name. Rebecca. Was that a coincidence?”
Rebecca felt like she had just been punched in the stomach. Her eyes drew to the girl’s long blonde waves poking out of a high ponytail. The promenade lampposts cast barely enough light for Rebecca to catch the emerald glimmer in Hope’s eyes. “No. I don’t think it was a coincidence at all.”
