“Oh, honey. I’m so happy to see you again. After the accident I never got a chance to say goodbye. And then the fire up at the ranch.” She pulls me into one of those old-lady hugs where they squeeze you into their bosoms and starts to pet my hair.

She smells like rose water. Not a scent I care for, but it’s very popular with the old ladies in this mall. I let her hug me because she doesn’t know better. She doesn’t know I’m a killer now. She doesn’t know what I’m gonna do in the days ahead.

“How have you been, sweetie?”

I’m grateful for the opportunity to pull away and get the smell of her old satin coat lapels out of my nose. “I’m great. I live with my uncle now.”

“Oh, he’s such a blessing, taking over the store like that—”

“No, a different uncle,” I interrupt her and force myself not to laugh. I have so many damn ‘uncles’ people just stopped asking. Now that Mrs. Sheldon has been reminded of that fact, she changes the subject.

“Where are you going to school now, dear? Still homeschool?”

“Yes, ma’am.” When people ask about homeschool you gotta be extra special polite or else they think you’re a serial killer in training. I almost snicker at that one. I should really stop calling myself a homeschooler. I soften the blow with a lie. “I’m going to private school this fall though, so I’ll get the proper amount of government-mandated brainwashing before the cynicism sets in.”

She smiles but her eyebrows are all slanted like Eric Cartman’s when he’s mad. I prepare myself for the next question, which would probably require me to give her an answer worthy of calling social services, but I’m ready for her to move on and leave me alone. So I say nothing. Just let the silence hang between us.

“Well,” she says, finally taking the hint, “it was wonderful to see you again. You’re so grown up now. You look like a proper young lady.”

“Thank you,” I say sweetly. And then I plaster that expression on my face and wait for her to leave.

She smiles for a few more seconds, then nods. “OK. I must run. Bye, dear.”

“Byeeeee,” I call out after her. She never looks back.

I walk over to Mrs. Sheldon’s booth. She sells vintage clothing so she has a full-length mirror set up. I stand in front of it and take myself in. Harper is the only girl I know. We might not be friends, exactly. But I’m starting to think of her that way. So I compare myself to her.

I’m tall. I’ve definitely grown a couple inches this year. I’m not as tall as Harper, but I’ve only got an inch to go, I bet.

Blonde hair. It’s longer now than it’s ever been. James made me comb it in the truck, so it’s almost tidy. Harper’s hair is longer than mine. And more silky.

Blue eyes. They are not the striking kind of blue that some people have. Harper has brown eyes. They are light and mine are dark. A little bit muddy if you don’t see them straight on.

Long legs. I have always had long legs. That’s one thing I have over Harper, I think. She’s got athletic legs. Like she works out. I don’t work out.

Small breasts. These are new and I turn a little to get a better look at them, and then sigh. There’s not much to see there. I should start wearing a bra though. I wonder if James will take me bra shopping?

I cackle to myself as I picture that. He’s so easy to fuck with. How can a guy who’s killed hundreds of people be so damn easy to fuck with?

I take one last look at myself and vow to buy some clothes that don’t come from the Burlington ALCO if I live through this stupid plan.

And then I sigh and look back at my dad’s booth. It feels like he could just come walking right out of the back room. That instead of Merc running this place for the last several months, it would be him.

“It’s not, Sasha. So just get used to it. The only thing that matters now is revenge.”

I can’t believe I said that out loud.

I walk into the booth and start looking for clothes. I rummage around the vintage section until I find a pair of green army fatigues in a small enough size, and then I undress and pull them on real fast.

I find a white t-shirt and some old boots and put those on too.

And now… I feel like the real Sasha. It should make me smile, but instead it makes me nostalgic for the life I used to have. It might not have been anything special to people on the outside, but to me it definitely was.

I don’t care about hunting or fishing. I could take or leave camping and survival training. But the thing is, I did all that stuff with my dad. He made all that stuff special.

And now that he’s gone… well…I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to ever set foot in the forest again. I don’t want to shoot guns or bows. I don’t want to camp or survive.

I just want to get even and then I want them all to leave me alone.

I turn my back on the store and walk back to my own booth. On the far table there’s shards of wrapping paper and ribbon from the last day I was here. Christmas Eve. The day Merc came to buy guns and Ford came to buy presents. I allow a miniscule smile for Ford and then a small chuckle startles me as strong hands clasp over my eyes.

I react with an elbow to my attacker’s ribs.

“Ow,” he bellows. “I give! I give!”

His hands come down from my eyes and I whirl around with surprise and excitement. “Nick!”

He holds me by the shoulders and then pulls me in tight for a hug. “God, I was fucking worried about you.”