Not by me, of course. Oh no, if I had any money, which is fucking hard in this place, I still wouldn’t give it to some pigs. No, the company I work for pays him each week to keep his mouth shut and help us out. I suppose it’s because they want to ensure their assets are being taken care of. That and the fact I can’t kill for them while I’m in here is incentive enough for them to want me to break out.

I’m perfectly fine with that, of course. I’ll abuse any help I can get. Besides, it’s not like they’d leave DeLuca in this hellhole, so they’ve got two inactive people now … that’s no good for business.

Not that I care. I just want to get the fuck out of this place. I could give two shits about the company. Really, all I care about is the cash they send me after a completed job. I don’t care about any of them, except for maybe DeLuca … or maybe not. Like I give a fuck.

I don’t remember ever giving a fuck.

All I know is using and abusing people to my heart’s content. That’s what I know, that’s what I’m good at, and so I’ll stick to that. Keeps me sane.

When I’m done for the day, we place the rectangular plank on top of the hole and place the new grass on top, making it look like we recently maintained the yard. It’s a good cover for a place nobody looks at; plus, all the other guards think we’re keeping the yard clean and fresh. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’m working to get the hell out of this place, so I can finally have my revenge. Nobody tries to outwit me, and if they do, I’ll make sure they are punished for it. That woman, Vanessa Starr … she thinks she can beat me at my own game, but she hasn’t seen me at my best yet. She showed her cards, and now it’s time to show mine. When it comes to power, I come out on top. I’ll make sure to pay her a visit when I get out of this place. It’ll be too late before she ever sees me coming.

CHAPTER 3

VANESSA

Age 9

Running around with the other girls, playing a game of catch, I notice the boy sitting in the grass. He’s in the same spot where he always sits during the break, doing something all by himself. Every time I look at him, I wonder why he doesn’t try to make any friends. Maybe he doesn’t like games. Or maybe he’s afraid. I don’t know.

None of the other kids wants to come near him. They say his parents didn’t want him and that he’s dangerous because the orphanage he lived in kicked him out. I think it’s all lies because everyone else is afraid. But I’m not.

Somehow, that one day, I stop playing catch and decide to go over to him. I wonder if he’s really who they say he is. Maybe I’m just interested to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye. I want to give everyone a chance, even if others don’t.

I go and stand behind him, watching him play with the ants on the ground. He has a magnifying glass in his hand, but instead of just looking at them, he’s trying to burn them.

I kneel down beside him, and then he notices me. He almost falls to the side but manages to catch himself, his eyes widening when he looks at me.

“Hi,” I say, chuckling. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. It’s just me.”

“What do you want?” he asks, as if it’s a genuine question.

I don’t understand it. Does he think I want something from him? He must be expecting people only to talk to him if they want something from him. Poor boy.

“Nothing. I just want to know what you’re doing.” I give him a genuine smile, and he just gazes at me with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

Then he starts prodding the ants with his fingers, crushing some of them in the process.

“You know, it’s much more fun if you let them live,” I say after a while.

He stops burning and smashing them and turns his head to me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to show him, like he wouldn’t even know how. I rub my lips together, trying to figure out what to do. Then I spot a caterpillar walking up a leaf, and I lean forward to grab it.

“See this little one?”

He nods, biting his lip.

“Well, if you let it live, it’ll transform into a beautiful butterfly.”

“Oh …” he says. Didn’t he know that? Maybe he just doesn’t pay attention in class. I wish I could do that sometimes … not pay attention without being punished.

I smile at him and place the caterpillar in his hands. “Give it a name.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s your pet now. You have to take care of it.” I laugh. “You have a responsibility now. You have to keep it alive. Otherwise, you’ll never see what it’ll turn out to be.”

“But you just said it would be a butterfly.”

“Yeah, but they’re all different. No one butterfly is the same. And if you don’t make sure he lives, you’ll never know what he’ll look like.” I wink.

“Oh … right.”

He looks at it up close, like it’s something weird. It’s just a bug, but I guess he’s only used to killing them instead of just watching them. No wonder the other kids are scared of him.

I pick up a leaf and hold it close to the caterpillar. “They need air and a leaf, of course. That’s what they eat.”

“Hmm … but where do we keep it?” he asks, putting it down on the leaf I gave him.

I mull that over for a second then take in a breath. “Oh, I know! Hold on.”

I jump up, clapping my hands to clean off the dirt, and run back inside the building, leaving the boy behind. I quickly run to the teacher whom I know has a couple of jars stashed in the supplies.

“Miss, can I get a jar so we can keep a bug?” I ask her with my cute voice.

“Of course, honey!” She takes one out and hands it to me. “Here you go. Now remember, they need air, so make sure you don’t cover up the holes in the lid.”

“Will do,” I say, running toward the door.

“Oh, and make sure you give them fresh plants!”

“Thank you!” I yell as I run out and back to the boy.

He has a wide smile on his face the moment he sees me, which surprises me. He’s not as scary as the other kids think. I think he just doesn’t know better, but I can help with that.

“Look,” I say, putting the jar down. I grab the leaf with the caterpillar and place it inside, closing the lid. “Now you can carry him around wherever you go.”

He picks up the jar and holds it up to gaze through it with one eye closed.

“You still haven’t named him, though,” I say.

He looks up at me with a bright smile on his face. “Miles the Second.”

“Miles the Second?” I chuckle a little.

“Yeah, Miles the Second.” He taps on the glass, probably scaring the little bug to death.

I muffle another laugh. He’s adorable. “I love it.”

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Hey … I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Miles.”

“Oh …” I blush. No wonder. It now makes sense that he named his bug that way.

“What’s yours?” he asks.

I hold out my hand. “I’m Vanessa.”

***

Age 10

With my legs dangling over the edge of the small wall near the playground, I sit and do my homework. The wind is blowing my dark brown hair in front of my eyes, so I have to slide it behind my ears every other second. Only after a few minutes do I notice Miles sitting in the grass only a few feet away. He’s on his knees with a magnifying glass in his hand, watching something on the ground. I watch him from my corner, curious to see if he’ll still burn them or not. I don’t know how long he’s been there or why, but I guess we both just like being in each other’s vicinity.

However, my parents told me to pay attention to my homework, and if I don’t have it all done by the time I get home, I’m sure I’ll get scolded. I don’t want them to be angry, so I’d best not get distracted.

I try to focus on my books instead of the boy, but then other kids flock around Miles.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” a redheaded kid says.

“Nothing …” Miles answers.