“I would get out of bed and go straight to the kitchen, pull the sharpest knife from the drawer, and then make my way to Harper’s room and plunge the blade into my father again and again until I was sure he was dead.”
Judging by the blank expression on Jane’s face, the words that poured out of Sawyer’s mouth were of more surprise to Sawyer than they were to her therapist. Sawyer didn’t consider herself to be an angry person. But suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
“In the past,” Jane said, “did you fantasize about doing the same thing to the men who hurt you?”
“No. I’ve never dreamed of killing anyone but my father.” Sawyer rubbed her knee, pressing down to make it stop jumping. “I also have nightmares about the Black Wigs. Have you read about them?”
“The vigilantes?” Jane asked.
“Yes.” After a pause, Sawyer said, “I recently dreamed about the Black Wigs. I’m not sure if I was wearing a wig, but I was definitely in the woods with a group of women who were wearing wigs and masks. There was a naked man tied to a tree. He was crying, blubbering about how sorry he was. One of the vigilantes kept waving a gun at him. Her hand was shaking. I didn’t know what to do, so I simply stood there, watching. Through it all, my mind was clear. I knew that what they were doing to the man was wrong. But I also understood why the women were so damn pissed off.”
“How did the nightmare end?”
“Just like that,” Sawyer said. “Me standing there like a useless wooden post, not knowing whether to run for help or stay and see how it all played out. Before I could make a decision, I woke up.”
“You’re conflicted.”
“Yes, I am. I’m investigating—I mean, I’m writing a story about the Black Wigs. I’m supposed to be unbiased, but I’m not. I hope Brad Vicente rots in jail. I hope Otto Radley is trapped without food or water in a room so small he can’t stand up. And I hope beyond hope that Myles Davenport’s heart attack was caused by severe trauma.”
Sawyer met Jane’s gaze, waited for her to say something.
Nothing.
Sawyer let out a breath so long and heavy she felt her body sink an inch lower into the couch. “If the Black Wigs had a sign-up sheet,” she went on, “I guess my name would be at the top of the list. I’m weak and broken, aren’t I?”
“You’re neither,” Jane said. “I think you’re going to be all right.”
CHAPTER SIX
Harper Pohler drank a glass of water to alleviate the morning sickness, something she’d experienced when she was pregnant with Lennon and then Ella. This too shall pass, she thought as she glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was just past noon. She still needed to make lasagna for dinner tonight, take a shower, and then pick up Ella at two forty-five. She also needed to clean the house. It was a mess. Before she could grab the noodles from the pantry, she received a text telling her to log on to her computer.
The phone number was unfamiliar, which meant the call was likely coming from a throwaway phone used by a member of The Crew—five female vigilantes who had found each other on the dark web and then formed their group. Early on, they had decided to use nicknames: Psycho, Cleo, Lily, and Bug. Harper was known as Malice.
Weeks ago, after The Crew helped Bug kidnap a rapist, the man had suffered a heart attack and died. Days later, Bug disappeared, leaving the rest of them to deal with the aftermath.
The Crew, referred to as the Black Wigs by the media, was now down to four.
The television remote was on the side table next to a framed picture of Harper; her husband, Nate; and their two children, Lennon and Ella. The picture had been taken on their front lawn two years ago when Lennon was thirteen and Ella was only eight. She laid the picture flat so she didn’t have to look at Nate. Not because she didn’t love him, but because looking at him made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Three weeks ago, he had confronted Harper about her comings and goings. When she told her husband she wasn’t ready to talk to him about what she’d been doing in her free time, which would mean telling him about her involvement with The Crew, he had packed up and left to work a construction job with his father in Montana. It was a temporary move meant to give them space to think things over. She loved Nate and he loved her. When he did finally return, she would need to tell him everything. Before it was too late. If she wanted to keep her family together, she needed to help The Crew finish what they’d started and be done with it.
Harper walked to her bedroom to get her laptop. She brought it to the living room, powered it on, and then used her nickname, Malice, to log on to their private group. The other crew members had already signed on.
LILY: Did everyone see the story on the news about the insurance salesman who was killed last night in the Tahoe Park area of Sacramento? A person of interest was seen leaving the premises wearing a black wig, and the police are now linking the murder to us.
Malice and Psycho answered in the affirmative. Everyone had seen the news.
CLEO: Copycats are coming out of the woodwork. A group of young women who call themselves The Slayers are also in the news.
LILY: I saw that. They’ve already posted quite a few videos on YouTube.
PSYCHO: I think it’s all good. Rape and assault are becoming commonplace, and we’ve helped shed light on something that has been going on for far too long. People in authority are using their positions to do the unspeakable, and they’re getting away with it.
CLEO: I read about a bus driver who admitted to raping a fourteen-year-old, but he won’t be spending time in prison.
PSYCHO: Women are tired of being the ones held accountable after they’ve been harassed and raped. These random players who are taking matters into their own hands—copycats, or whatever you want to call them—only help take the pressure off us. The police don’t have enough resources as it is.
LILY: Good point. Cleo, are you ready to tell us who we’re going after next?
In Harper’s opinion, Cleo was the most damaged and fragile of the group. Her tough exterior was a shield. Cleo had been gang-raped at a fraternity house when she was seventeen. When she finally escaped her nightmare, she had done everything right. She’d gone straight to the hospital. She’d told her parents. They had taken the assholes to court. And all the boys she’d named had walked free.
CLEO: I’d like to go after every single boy who touched me. But I know you’re all eager to move on now that Bug has left town and Malice is pregnant. So I’ve whittled my list down to three men: Eddie Carter, Don Fulton, and Felix Iverson.
Harper brushed a hand over her swollen belly, thankful for Cleo’s decision to go after only those three.
LILY: One at a time?
CLEO: Yes. We’ll start with Eddie Carter, a numbers guy at EFK Financial. He’s married with two kids. Every day of the week, he works out at the gym close to his house.
MALICE: Is that the same Eddie Carter who started the nonprofit program in California to help get families off the streets?
CLEO: I don’t care if he gives scholarships to every young person in America. It’s guilt that’s driving him. Eddie Carter was the leader of the pack. He makes all the other guys we’ve gone after, with the exception of Otto Radley, look like wimps. He raped me and then held me down while others took their turns. He laughed, he jeered, and when it came time to get up on the witness stand, he told the judge and jury that he and I had had sex multiple times prior to the fraternity party. That was a lie. He and the others were let go without so much as a scolding.