Chapter 87: Old Dog, New Trick

[Jason’s POV]

I wake with a start, my eyes flying open as consciousness floods back. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the plush comfort of the bed a stark contrast to the lingering unease that clings to the edges of my mind. Sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. As my vision clears, I become aware of movement to my left.

I turn my head, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, and my breath catches in my throat. Erica stands before an ornate wall panel that has swung open, revealing a hidden compartment I’ve never seen before. The sight that greets me is both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Mounted on the concealed wall is an impressive array of knives, each one glinting dangerously in the soft morning light. The blades range from small, wicked-looking daggers to long, elegant swords, their polished surfaces reflecting the room in distorted fragments. Erica moves with practiced efficiency, her hands dancing over the weapons as she selects various blades and carefully places them into a large, black duffel bag.

My anxiety flares up instantly, a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I’m not bothered by the weapons. I just don’t know why she’s packing them.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

Erica turns to face me, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Good morning, love,” she says softly, her tone warm despite the dangerous glint in her eyes. “I need to go on a business trip today, but I’ll be back tonight.”

The thought of being alone, even for a few hours, sends a wave of panic crashing over me. Images of Tessa flash through my mind, her predatory smile and cold eyes haunting me even weeks after the incident. My heart rate quickens, and I can feel a cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

“Please,” I begin, my voice cracking with desperation. “Please don’t go. I... I don’t want to be alone.”

Erica’s calm demeanor suddenly falters as she looks at me, her eyes filled with heartbreak. She comes over to me as my panic rises, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking my trembling hands in hers.

“Erica,” I plead.

The sunlight streaming through the curtains casts a soft glow on Erica’s face, highlighting the conflict in her eyes. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with the effort.

“What I need to do is important,” she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes seem to tear up as she continues, still being cagey about the details. The light catches on the unshed tears, making her blue eyes shimmer like the surface of a troubled sea.

I open my mouth to protest again, but something in Erica’s expression stops me. Her gaze hardens, a steely resolve settling over her features. Yet even as her jaw sets with determination, her eyes remain soft, filled with an adoration that takes my breath away.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Jason. Amelia found Tessa,” Erica says, her voice low and intense.

I let out a long, shuddering breath as Erica’s words sink in. My mind reels, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

“Why not let Amelia deal with her then?” I ask. The words feel hollow even as they leave my lips as if I already know the answer but need to hear it spoken aloud.

Erica cups my cheek, her touch impossibly gentle. Her eyes meet mine, and the love I see there is never ending. For a moment, I’m lost in the depths of her gaze, drowning in an ocean of reverence so vast and deep that I could happily lose myself forever.

“I want to kill Tessa with my own two hands,” Erica says softly, her voice a mixture of tenderness and steel. “Then there will never be any doubts. Maybe your nerves will calm after I do.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with promise and the weight of unspoken emotions. I can see the determination in her eyes, the fierce protectiveness that both comforts and terrifies me. But something in her assumption makes my heart clench painfully.

I reach out, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. “Tessa being alive isn’t what’s bothering me lately,” I confess, my voice cracking with the weight of the admission.

Erica’s expression crumbles, her face a canvas of heartbreak and anguish. She pulls me close, guiding my head to rest against her chest.

“Jason,” she breathes, her voice thick with emotion. Her fingers card through my hair, the gentle motion sending tingles down my spine. “Tell me, what’s really bothering you?”

“It’s... it’s all these random women,” I confess, my words muffled against the soft fabric of her shirt. “They get one whiff of me, and suddenly they become insane. It’s like I’m some kind of catnip for psychos.”

A humorless laugh escapes me, the sound hollow and bitter. “The only people I can even trust anymore are our family and friends. But Tessa... she was a friend. Or so we thought.”

I pull back slightly, looking up to meet Erica’s gaze. Her blue eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, a maelstrom of emotions swirling in their depths. “The only friend I feel like I can even trust 100% is Justine,” I admit. “Because she’s been my friend since before.”

Erica’s arms tightened around me, and her embrace was fierce and protective. “I understand,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “We’ll discuss how to handle that when I get back, okay? I promise we’ll figure this out together.”

Erica’s eyes soften as she takes in my vulnerable state. She cups my face gently, her thumbs caressing my cheeks. “I know it’s hard, love,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. “But I promise, I’ll make this right.”

Before I can respond, she leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that steals my breath away. It’s not gentle; it’s fierce, possessive, and filled with a passion that makes my toes curl. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming every inch as her own. I melt into her embrace, my hands fisting in her shirt as I desperately try to pull her closer.

The kiss seems to last for an eternity, yet ends far too soon. As Erica pulls back, a thin strand of saliva connects our lips, glistening in the soft morning light. I’m left panting, my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. My lips tingle, swollen, and sensitive from the intensity of her kiss.

Erica smirked, a predatory gleam in her eye as she took in my disheveled state. “Don’t worry too much about me being gone for the day, though,” she says, her voice filled with desire. “I would never leave you unattended. I invited Justine and Brooke over to watch you.”

My eyes widen at her words, a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation coursing through me. “Oh shit,” I breathe, a wide smile spreading across my face despite myself.

Erica chuckles, pulling me into another tight hug. “They’re waiting downstairs,” she whispers in my ear, her breath hot against my skin.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes meeting mine once more. Without warning, she dives in for another kiss, this one even more passionate than the last. Her tongue dances with mine. When she finally breaks the kiss, we’re both gasping for air.

Erica stands up, her movements fluid and graceful. She reaches for the black duffel bag, the zipper’s metallic rasp echoing in the quiet room as she closes it. The sound seems to punctuate the moment, marking the transition from tender intimacy to the grim business that awaits her.

“Come on,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

I watch as she hefts the bag, the muscles in her arms flexing with the weight of the deadly arsenal inside.

We reach the foyer, where Justine and Brooke are waiting. Justine’s usual carefree demeanor is subdued, her dark eyes serious as they flick between Erica and me. Brooke stands slightly apart, her posture tense, hands clasped tightly in front of her. The air is thick with unspoken words and barely contained emotions.

Erica sets down the duffel bag, the thud seeming to reverberate through the entire house. She turns to me, her expression softening as she takes in my face one last time. Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, her touch impossibly gentle given the violence I know those same hands are capable of.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she whispers to me, her voice low and intense. “And when I return, we’ll never have to worry about Tessa again.”

She leans in, pressing her forehead against mine. For a moment, we breathe the same air, existing in a bubble where nothing else matters. Then, with a final, fierce kiss, she steps back.

Erica picks up the bag once more. She nods to Justine and Brooke, a silent command passing between them. Then, without another word, she turns and walks out the door.

As the heavy oak door closes behind Erica with a resounding thud, the foyer falls into an eerie silence.

I turn to face Justine and Brooke, my heart still racing from Erica’s passionate goodbye. Justine’s fiery red hair seems to glow in the soft light, her green eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across her face.

“So,” Justine drawls, her voice low and playful, “do you want to go play video games?”

The tension in the room breaks, and I find myself grinning despite the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me. “Yeah,” I reply, feeling a surge of gratitude for Justine’s ability to lighten the mood. “Let’s play Mario Party.”

Brooke sighs softly, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear. Her hazel eyes hold a mixture of amusement and resignation as she says, “I’ve never been that good at Mario Party.”

*****

[Brooke’s POV]

The soft glow of the television bathes Erica’s room in a warm, nostalgic light. The familiar melodies of Mario Party fill the air, punctuated by the rhythmic clicking of N64 controllers and occasional bursts of laughter. I’m perched on the edge of the plush king-size bed, my legs tucked underneath me, while Jason and Justine sprawl on the floor, their backs against the foot of the bed.

From my vantage point, I can see the top of Jason’s head, his brown hair slightly mussed. Justine’s fiery red mane spills over her shoulders like a cascade of autumn leaves. They’re huddled close together, shoulders touching, as they lean forward in concentration, their eyes fixed on the screen.

The scene before me is a bittersweet portrayal of innocence, a snapshot of a simpler time. For a moment, I can almost believe we’re kids again, whiling away a lazy summer afternoon with no worries beyond who will win the next star. The weight of recent events seems to lift, if only for a fleeting instant.

On the screen, our characters dance across the colorful board. I watch as I, Princess Peach, lose yet another mini-game. The defeat barely registers. I’m too caught up in the moment, too mesmerized by the easy camaraderie between Jason and Justine.

“Ha! Eat my shit, loser!” Justine crows, playfully shoving Jason’s shoulder.

Jason retaliates with a mock growl, his fingers flying over the controller buttons. “I’m going to stab you, Red!”

Their banter is so familiar, so unchanged by time and trauma, that it makes my heart ache. This is how it should be, I think. This is what Jason deserves, laughter, friendship, normalcy.

As I watch them, a pang of guilt pierces through the warm bubble of nostalgia. ‘It’s my fault’ a voice whispers in the back of my mind. If I hadn’t been so naive, so trusting of Tessa, none of this would have happened. Jason wouldn’t have suffered, wouldn’t have been violated and traumatized.

‘At least I gave Erica her location.’

The guilt is a constant companion these days, a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. It weighs me down, colors every interaction, every moment. But here, in this room, watching Jason’s face light up with genuine joy as he plays with Justine, the burden eases ever so slightly.

‘I wonder if Tessa will give me up? If she does I guess I’ll just accept whatever punishment Erica forces on me.’ I sigh inwardly hoping for the best.

Justine props herself up on her elbows, regarding Jason with a mixture of fondness and mischief. The soft glow from the TV casts dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the glint in her emerald eyes.

Out of nowhere, Justine drops a bomb on the conversation. “I’ve been working on getting rid of my gag reflex lately.”

Jason blinks, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, I thought that wouldn’t matter because you’re a lesbian?” he asks, confusion evident in his tone.

Justine smirks, sitting up fully now. She tosses her fiery hair over her shoulder, the movement graceful and deliberate. “Oh, sweet summer child,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement. “It’s to impress cool women.”

‘What the fuck is she saying?’

She leans in closer, her eyes locked on Jason’s. The air between them seems to crackle with a moronic tension. “You see,” Justine continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “a woman who can deep throat gets a lot of men. And if you can convince someone, you get a lot of men...” She pauses for dramatic effect, her grin widening. “You can probably get a lot of women.”

Jason’s eyes widen, a mix of understanding and surprise dawning on his face.

“Don’t say weird shit like that to my brother Just….”

Justine’s eyes gleam with unbridled determination as she cuts me off. “Watch this,” she declares, her voice filled with a mix of bravado and excitement. Before anyone can react, she tilts her head back, opens her mouth wide, and plunges her middle finger deep into her throat.

For a split second, the room is frozen in anticipation and dawning horror. Then, like a dam bursting, chaos erupts.

A torrent of vomit explodes from Justine’s mouth with shocking force. It arcs through the air in a grotesque rainbow, splattering against the far wall with a sickening splat. The projectile stream seems endless, defying the laws of physics and human biology.

The smell of half-digested food and stomach acid fills the air, making my eyes water and my own stomach churn. Droplets of vomit rain down, speckling the plush carpet and leaving tiny, glistening evidence of Justine’s ill-conceived demonstration.

Jason’s reaction is a study of conflicting emotions. His eyes are wide with shock and concern, his mouth agape in disbelief. But even as worry creases his brow, laughter bubbles up from deep within him. It starts as a surprised chuckle, quickly escalating into full-blown, body-shaking guffaws.

The sound of his laughter, so pure and unrestrained, is like music to my ears. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him laugh like this, with such unguarded joy. For a moment, I forget about the disgusting scene unfolding before us, lost in the simple pleasure of seeing my brother happy.

But reality quickly reasserts itself as Justine continues to heave, her body wracked with violent spasms. Concern overtakes my initial shock, and I leap into action.

I gently pull Justine’s hair back from her face, wincing as a few strands stick to the corners of her mouth. With my free hand, I rub soothing circles on her back, feeling the tremors that run through her body with each heave.

“It’s okay, Justine,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring despite the chaos. “Just let it out. You’re going to be fine.”

Jason’s laughter has subsided to occasional chuckles, concern now dominating his features. He scrambles to his feet, narrowly avoiding the growing puddle of vomit on the floor.

“I’ll get some water and towels,” he says, his voice rough from laughing. He darts out of the room, leaving Justine and me alone in the aftermath of her disastrous demonstration.

Justine slumps against the bed, her body trembling with exertion. Her fiery hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her usually vibrant green eyes are watery and bloodshot. Her chest heaves as she gulps in air, each breath ragged and shallow. The front of her shirt is splattered with vomit, a grotesque abstract painting of her failed attempt.

Despite her disheveled state, a weak smile plays at the corners of her lips. She looks up at me, her eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion.

“Did you see how hard he laughed?” she wheezes, her voice hoarse.

I nod, unable to suppress a small smile of my own. “I did,” I admit. “Was this your plan all along?”

Justine shakes her head, wincing slightly at the movement. “No,” she croaks. “I really thought I could do it.”

I can’t help but chuckle, relief and amusement mingling in my chest. “Maybe deep-throating isn’t for you,” I suggest gently.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room, Justine’s labored breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning. The smell of vomit hangs heavy in the air, a pungent reminder of the chaos that just unfolded.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. Jason rushes in, followed closely by three maids I’ve never seen before. Their eyes widen in horror as they take in the scene before them, the splattered wall, the stained carpet, and Justine’s bedraggled form.

The eldest of the maids, a stern-looking woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun, lets out a strangled gasp. “Jesus fucking Christ!” she exclaims, her voice rising in pitch with each word. “What the fuck happened here?”

The other two maids, younger women with matching expressions of dismay, begin to flutter about the room, their hands hovering uselessly over the mess as if unsure of where to begin.

“Out!” the older maid barks, her shock quickly giving way to efficient professionalism. “All of you, out now! We need to clean this up immediately before it sets in.”

Jason, Justine, and I exchange glances, a mixture of guilt and amusement passing between us. Without a word, we begin to shuffle towards the door, careful to avoid the worst of the mess.

As we pass the maids, I can’t help but notice their panicked whispers.

“How are we going to explain this to Miss Erica?” one of them hisses.

“Never mind Miss Erica,” another replies, her voice trembling. “What if Mrs. Knight sees this?”