He spluttered his final breaths. His head fell forward, and I knew he was gone. I felt only satisfaction.
I stood straight. Dolly stopped dancing. Her eyes lit up. “He’s gone? I defeated him?” she asked, holding her breath.
“You sure did, darlin’.” I moved around to where she was standing. Her lipstick was still spread over her cheek from the Caterpillar’s slap. I narrowed my eyes. “He hurt you.”
Dolly brought her hand to her cheek. Her face clouded with anger. “No. But he smudged my favorite shade.” She pulled out her lipstick from her pocket and walked to the mirror. She wiped away the smeared lipstick and reapplied it to her lips. “Rabbit? What’s a sick fuck?”
I saw the confusion on her face. “People who kill bad men,” I said, picking up my jacket. “People like us.”
“Sick fucks,” she repeated. She looked down at her lipstick, then lifted her head again with a gleam in her eyes. She twisted up the lipstick, ran to the wall and began to write. I stared, breath held, as her uneducated hand tried to write . . . tried to spell. The pink lipstick stood starkly against the white wall. When she had finished, I exhaled, and a smile edged on my lips.
“There!” She jumped back to admire her work. “Sick fucks!” She stared proudly at the wall, but when she turned back to me, I saw concern, even apprehension, on her face. “Is it correct, Rabbit? Did I spell it okay?” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I glanced over her head and read her untidy writing. No education except what I had taught her. Educational neglect, deprived of her absolute right to learn by that cunt of a father and his predatory friends.
Yet she was still the fucking brightest star in my sky.
I read her writing, the misspelled word shining like a beacon . . .
SICK FUX
“Well, Rabbit? Did I do well?” Her voice was weak and nervous. I walked to where she stood with her head bent and eyes wary.
“You did perfect, darlin’. ‘Sick Fux.’ That’s us, written in your lipstick. Your favorite shade, as always.”
Dolly looked down at her lipstick, now completely ruined, and whimpered. I clenched and unclenched my fist until my finger found its way, found its strength, to touch her chin. Dolly gasped at the contact and lifted her huge blue eyes. “We’ll get you another. We’ll get you all the fucking makeup you’ll ever need.”
“Now?” she asked, seeming to forget I was touching her.
“Now.”
Dolly darted across the room for her gun. I made my way to the exit. But Dolly stopped and turned to face the Caterpillar’s dead body. She placed her weapons on the floor and ran to his chair. Pushing on the backrest, she rolled him toward the wall where she had written “Sick Fux.” She placed him directly underneath. She stepped back to admire her work. “Now all the bad men will know who destroyed him.” She smiled, and what I saw was malice through the beauty. “And they’ll know who is coming for them too. Wonderland’s Sick Fux.”
Dolly picked up her weapons and ran out of the door, gun and blade and doll’s head in hand. I took one look at the room, at what my girl had achieved, and I felt the black hole in my chest begin to fill.
Fill with the inky black tar that only Dolly could bring. Fill with the confirmation that we had met as children for a reason.
That she had been designed solely for me.
As evil as me, and all mine to control.
My Dolly.
My darlin’.
My fellow Sick Fuck.
I took the pack of cards from my pocket and fanned them in my hand. When I found the one I wanted, I strolled to the body, mesmerized by the expression of death on his face, and held the card up high. I studied the likeness of my drawing and the face of this asshole, the one that was etched into my mind just as sure as if a blade had sliced into my brain. The two were similar, but nothing could come close to the real face of this prick: a man with an insatiable craving to touch and fuck kids.
I cleared my throat and spat at the bloodied cheek of the Caterpillar, watching the spit merge with the fresh-spilled blood. Flicking my fingers, I sent the card falling to his chest.
I smiled, triumphant at the kill.
The Three of Hearts was dead.
“It’s a treasure trove,” she whispered as she looked around the store. My trunk was filled with more cash than I could carry—the latest bounty found in the Caterpillar’s safe.
Now it belonged to us, inadequate compensation for the years of hell Dolly had been subjected to. It had joined the stash I had from under the Warden’s and Mrs. Jenkins’s mattresses. I had more money than I knew what to do with.