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“I know what you're doing, Jesse.”
Jesse raised his head reluctantly, taking as much time as possible. Giving Genevieve the time of day was always a chore. She always rambled on about something or another, always in her pesky little accusatory attitude she seemed to only reserve for her brother. He stared at her with half-lidded eyes that said he was already ready to finish this conversation.
“What, pray tell, am I doing?”
Genevieve folded her arms tightly over the top of her dress, hiding a locket of their grandparents behind her arms. She scowled, an expression she seldom wore anywhere outside the house. “You're killing things. People, too.”
Jesse scoffed, rolling his eyes. He laughed. “No, I'm writing a letter.” He motioned to his desk, where a piece of paper and a pencil clearly sat, then gave his sister a look of fake pity. “Now, Genevieve, I know you've been busy lately, but, really, I didn't expect you to work yourself into hallucinating.” He turned back to his letter.
The sound of heeled boots angrily clicking across the wood floor made Jesse groan; clearly, this conversation wasn't over yet. Genevieve was at his side quickly, hands perched on her hips.
“I wasn't talking about right this second. Learn to use your brain for once,” she snapped. “I'm talking about what you've been doing on and off for years.”
Jesse turned sharply. His eyes were wide, wild, his eyebrows high on his face. Slowly, his mouth raised into a smile. Genevieve took a step back. There was a dangerous glow in his eyes, one she'd not seen so close before; she'd seen remnants of it in his eyes when she found their mom dabbing at his blood-speckled face with a wet cloth, but, seeing it now, it was so different. A chill ran down her spine. She crossed her arms again, gloved hands fidgeting with the long sleeves of her dress.
“Gennie,” Jesse drawled, “you're making a fuss over nothing. I don't understand what the issue is.”
Genevieve blinked hard. Her eyebrows furrowed. The formerly loose grip on her sleeves tightened, wrinkling the carefully ironed fabric. “What are you talking about?” she hissed. “You can't possibly be this delusional. I refuse to believe that you don't know that killing people, innocent people, is wrong!”
“I need you to understand something,” Jesse said, folding his hands on his lap. “Father Beau says that God has a plan for everybody, and every person He made has a purpose in life they're meant to fulfill – with how much mother makes us attend church, I'm sure you've heard this a million times before, I needn't repeat his lectures to you, but verses Jeremiah 32:19 and Job 42:2 are worth revisiting, dear sister.
“All of this is to say, doing this is my purpose,” he continued. “It's what I was put here to do.”
“No!” Genevieve argued, raising her voice. In any other situation, she may have blushed at how loud she was, fearing she would grab the attention of their parents, or Leonora, or Abigail; instead, she spoke boldly and unapologetically. Seldom did she speak like this while at home – and the shock on Jesse's wide-eyed face reflected that. “He did not make you to end the lives of others. Why would He want you to steal innocent, regular people's lives? Especially when there are criminals in this town– criminals you haven't even attempted to harm, not that that would be right, either.”
Jesse stood, pointing at Genevieve. She took half a step back, but kept her shoulders up to maintain some level of confidence. “The things I kill have no purpose in life,” he said coldly, “outside of being prey for me to hunt. Do you think the birds have anything they were put here to achieve? Do you think the milk delivery boy would ever become something? I know. I know that dying by my hand was the only reason they were put on this earth by Him.”
He smiled.
Genevieve felt as though she couldn't breathe, and yet her chest rose and fell dramatically. She understood perfectly well what he was saying, but none of it made sense. Everything aligned with his behaviors, and she could see the honest brutality in his eyes, but she could hardly imagine her little brother saying something like this. Using the Lord's words in such a manner was unthinkable.
Her stare was cold, hard, and frightened. Still, she swallowed thickly. This is your career, Genevieve, she reminded herself. You're meant to take down lunatics like this.
“What a selfish line of thought,” she criticized. “The universe doesn't center around you, nor does God's will. Why would He make somebody only to doom them to die?”
“Doesn't He do that for everyone, Gennie?” Jesse challenged. He slotted his hand into his pants pocket, cocking an eyebrow.
Genevieve scowled. “You know well and good that that's not what I meant, Jesse. I meant that nobody is put here for the sole reason of being murdered. While that may be part of His plan for them, it is not why He made them. God gave everybody a purpose that they were meant to fulfill, and that purpose is detached from others. ”
“Is that so?” he retaliated. “Everyone's purposes are detached from other people? You, of all people, shouldn't be making that claim. Your purpose is to help others, right? To bring justice to those who need it? How is that ‘detached from others’?”
“Because I'm doing it for myse–”
“And Mother,” Jesse interrupted. “What about her? She's here to raise us to be successful people worthy of the St. James name. How is that not centered around other people? Tell me, Genevieve.”
“It's–”
“You needn't continue,” he dismissed. “I can already tell whatever reasoning you have will be somehow even more idiotic than usual.” He grinned as she fumed.
“My point, Genevieve, is that destinies and plans are intertwined constantly. It's not unreasonable to say that God put me here just to kill; it's simply a fact.”
“Fine, then,” Genevieve said, turning around and walking to the door. “If that's what your fate is, I suppose mine is to stop disgusting people like you. Mother and Father won't let you hear the end of this.”
A barking laugh cut through the air. Genevieve spun to face the source – Jesse. One of his hands was clutching his stomach as he laughed openly, bent over as if he'd been told the most hilarious joke. All Genevieve could do was watch and turn red.
“What is so funny?” she demanded.
“I'm sorry,” Jesse said through low chuckles, “did you actually think Mother and Father care? Oh, you're dumber than I thought, Gennie. They couldn't care less. So long as I don't ruin my good clothes or get too public, I'm free to act out God's plan as much as I see fit.”
Genevieve blinked again. Her heart stopped. An ugly feeling washed over her. When she first began connecting the dots about Jesse committing murder, she thought she would never feel more hopeless. She was wrong.
“Wh– Our parents know?”
Who else could she turn to? Everybody who could stop Jesse was out of the question, save for herself.
“Of course they do,” Jesse replied, seemingly offended at her question. “Mother's been cleaning up after me since I was seven. Really, you should pay more attention.”
This was what despair felt like.
Her face must've shown it, too, for Jesse began laughing again. When Genevieve's attention came back, he was a lot closer to her. Despite the extra inches her boots gave her, he still towered over her. Her hands shook.
For the first time, she was scared of her little brother.
She clenched her jaw. “You won't get away with this.”
Jesse laughed again.
“Watch me.”
—
“Genevieve? Is that you? Why are you here so late? The library's been closed for hours now.”
Genevieve walked into the loft above the library where Enid lived. Her friend merely stared at her, a puzzled look on her face, still holding the door. Genevieve ran a hand through her wavy hair.
“Please, Enid, close the door,” she requested. “I mustn't speak about this where anyone could possibly hear. I need privacy, and I need you to swear to me that anything said here does not leave this room.”
Immediately, Enid closed the door. The desperation on Genevieve's face left no room for arguments – not that they would ever fight, anyway.
Genevieve exhaled, lacing her hands together in front of her and looking down at the wooden floor. “I apologize for coming to you so late, and for not giving you a warning.”
“Your sorrow isn't necessary,” Enid assured, approaching her friend. She adjusted the narrow glasses that sat on her wide nose. “You've a key for a reason. You're welcome here any time.” She paused, tilting her head and creasing her eyebrows. “Especially when something's on your mind. What's bothering you?”
“Oh, you know how to read me too well,” Genevieve commented, taking a seat in Enid's desk chair.
“I do,” Enid giggled, “but I also know that you don't make a habit out of showing up at my house uninvited after the library is closed.” Her smile faded. She walked to Genevieve a little quicker, standing in front of her before sitting on her bed.
“So,” she urged, “tell me what's troubling you.”
“Do you promise this won't be discussed elsewhere?”
Enid reached for Genevieve's hands. She brushed her thumb over the fabric soothingly. “Of course,” she replied softly. She gave her best encouraging smile. “Everything we talk about stays between us. Besides, who would I talk to besides you? You're among the only people here I actually converse with.”
Genevieve tried to smile. It was a poor attempt, though, and she dropped it immediately. Hesitantly, Enid removed her hands.
After a moment, Genevieve looked up at Enid. Her eyes were serious. “I don't think I can go into detail at this moment,” she admitted. “I apologize. I… My story is unbelievable, and I'm well aware of it. I know you're my most faithful friend, Enid, but… I cannot let the general public hear of this. Not now. I don't have evidence of anything, not concretely, and I know my parents wouldn't dare speak up, nor would Leonora or Abigail.”
“Genevieve…”
Genevieve held up a hand, telling Enid to hold her tongue.
“I'll tell you more as I try to piece facts together. I mustn't speak so concretely before I've gathered the proper amount of evidence,” she continued, setting her hand back in her lap. Shakily, she inhaled. Her eyes looked away from Enid.
“If… Enid, you must promise me something.”
Enid's hand grabbed Genevieve's again. Genevieve's gaze returned to her.
“Anything.”
One hand – Enid's – squeezed another – Genevieve's.
Another inhale.
“In the event that I fall in harm's way,” Genevieve said quietly, “I need you to know that my brother is at fault.”
Panic flashed on Enid's face; Genevieve recognized the expression, not on Enid, but on herself. The face she made, with disbelieving eyes and a half open mouth, was exactly how she looked when Jesse told her everything. She understood how her friend felt, and part of her wanted to mirror the look of terror, but she willed herself to stay composed.
“I don't know if anything will happen, of course,” she continued after a moment. “All I know is that Jesse has… threatened me and, although I can't say more, I can tell you that I have good reason to suspect he'll follow through.”
“Why?” Enid croaked. “Why would he want to do that to you?”
Genevieve closed her eyes. Her grip on Enid's hands tightened, trying to find something, anything to stabilize herself. She took a deep breath. “I'm unable to share the full truth with you, but… I've had some other suspicions about him confirmed, and he was none too happy about that.”
“Does anybody else know? Your parents? Should- should we have the sheriff do something?” Enid asked, her voice pitching upwards with every word. She moved to stand, but Genevieve gently guided her to sit again.
“We can't,” she said, shaking her head. “Our parents won't take meaningful action, and I won't allow myself to go to the sheriff without solid evidence. You're the only person who knows.” She exhaled, looking away and loosening her grip. “I apologize sincerely for putting a target on your back and for forcing this burden onto you, Enid, but… Keeping it to myself was making me miserable. Besides, I want somebody to know the truth if I'm harmed. God willing, that won't happen, but one can never be too prepared, right?”
Suddenly, Genevieve stood up. Enid scrambled to do the same. Genevieve's hands went to smooth the bottom part of her dress. She took a moment to recollect herself, then whispered, “I must go. It's late. I don't need anybody to think anything suspicious is going on with me,” she explained sheepishly.
“I wish you didn't have to leave,” Enid replied, smiling sadly. Genevieve returned the melancholic grin, rubbing her friend's arm sympathetically before making her way to the door. “Please, when you can, keep me updated.”
“I'll try my hardest.”
The door opened. Genevieve took a step, but Enid's hand on her arm stopped her. Their eyes met.
“And try to stay safe,” Enid added. Desperation flooded her words. “For me.”
Genevieve's words caught in her throat. She wanted to promise that she would stay safe, that she would be careful and healthy. She wanted to. The practical side of her brain, though, knew it wasn't possible. Guaranteeing that would only make Enid disappointed.
She swallowed and forced a smile.
“I'll try my hardest.”