The Mindf*ck Series

Chapter 1

𝘛𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩.
- 𝘝𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦

𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗔𝗡

“Marcus Evans…that boy was a handful when he was a child, but such a sweetheart. And Victoria…she was always his shadow. Wherever Marcus and Jacob went, she followed. They let her. Just a year separated Victoria in age from the boys. And Robert, well, he did all he could to make sure those kids were loved. Jacob spent more time at his house than he did his own, because Robert was made of a sort of strength and compassion you can’t find just anywhere.”

Diana Barnes clears her throat, and I watch as she stands to get a glass of water.

“You boys want anything to drink?”

“No ma’am,” we both say in unison.

Her chocolate skin is a stark contrast to her ivory dress that hangs to her knees. She’s a regal, timeless sort of woman, with haunted eyes. Haunted eyes like my Lana.

Only there’s a sense of guilt there as well, unlike Lana’s. There’s a jaded harshness to the way she carries herself, as though she’s forcing herself to make it through each day.

“You have kids?” she asks us as she returns, sitting down with her water, drawing out the suspense.

“No, ma’am,” we both say again.

“I’ll bet you both enjoy being bachelors and thinking time will never catch up with you.”

Donny shifts in his seat uncomfortably, but I just smile.

“I’m not married, but I’m not a bachelor.”

She studies me intently for a moment. “Victoria would have liked you. She was mostly raised by her father after her mother died when she was ten. She shared a house with two men, so she was more comfortable making friends with boys than girls. She was selective with her friends more than her boyfriends. Not that anyone could have known.”

I inch forward. “Known what?”

“Nah. I’m getting ahead of myself. You need to know first that Robert died in lockup the night he was convicted of crimes he 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 commit. They threw every shoe and the kitchen sink at him to make him the murderer, as though that would somehow make the killings just disappear and everyone could go on with their lives.”

She sips her water again, and I refrain from demanding she get to the point.

“Robert was with his kids every night. My boy was even over there a lot of those nights. Jacob Denver, of course, was there most nights as well. Robert cooked, he cleaned, he cared for his children, and he usually had others come over and hang out as well. Such a good soul and a good home, people couldn’t stay away. My boy’s daddy left when he was a tiny little thing. Robert always talked to my boy as if he was his own, and as a single working mother, I appreciated all the help I could get. I returned the favor when I could.”

She pauses, swallowing down emotion that I didn’t detect in her voice. Her eyes grow dimmer.

“He never could have raped and killed those women. He couldn’t even raise his hand to his own kids. My boy saw him. Jacob saw him. Several of those nights, he was home with his kids and two extra. Didn’t matter. They wouldn’t allow the eye witness testimonies or admit them as alibies in the courtroom.”