Let's not forget that racism STILL exists in our world (sadly). The more we portray its existence, being with any person of the poc community (African-Americans, Asians, Latinos, Arabs, etc), the more we bring awareness to this problem.

This chapter contains very strong language. The n-word and the word spics, both extremely offensive racial slurs, are used on their entirety in this chapter. In addition, there are extremely offensive beliefs and expressions shared by Levittown's villain. My purpose is not to offend anyone, so if you feel uncomfortable with one of my characters saying these words or expressing these offensive "beliefs", please tell me. I will censor them if this is the case.

The views/expressions/language used in this chapter are NOT my personal opinion or take of the world!

Read with caution!

Happy reading, loves ♡

50
ALEXA KING
-Present-

Levittown's woods
October 28, 2018
5:25 a.m.

PRETTY GIRLS LIKE ME get lost in these woods all the time.

That's what he said all those weeks ago, when I was sitting in our sacred place and he came out of the dirt path. Back then, he was the symbol of authority and safety in our town. I was a girl stricken by the shock of sudden death, her traumas forever coexisting inside of her but still so full of hope. Hope for justice. Hope of better things to come.

It's frightening how things change in a matter of weeks. He was hiding behind a handsome face, the glistening authority of his badge, the safe title of being a father, his caring act. All this time, he was hiding in plain sight. The man I knew is but a well-constructed mask, a fragment of an imagination that he created in all of us. He built himself from scratch, hiding his dark nature, his impure needs, his thirst for murder. The beast lied dormant inside of him and waited for the perfect moment to attack. He made himself anew to fit into Levittown.

Perhaps he already fitted into Levittown's darkness, and we're just strangers in a town that's cursed with an unknown, evil entity. Perhaps we're all dark enough in our own way --- a lie to cover our true identities, a bruise to project our insecurities onto someone else, a secret to protect the one who is gone forever --- but the ones who take macabre actions are protected by the shadows that plague this town.

He was always U, unchanged but portraying a side to him that could've been a possibility; that could've been good.

Be careful and don't stay until dark, okay?

I thought I was safe when he found me near the riverbank. He pretended to care about me. He seemed concerned about my well-being, about me staying until late in the woods. He even talked to me about Melody's case, his face bearing a dubious expression, almost as if to say: not it. A skillful actor in his best element. All along, he was covering his rage and suppressing his boiling hatred.

It's ironic how we found each other in the same place a couple of hours ago. Instead of concerned, he was in rage, ready to kill me. Instead of safe, I felt threatened and thought I left him for dead.

Melody's case was led by her killer. Its resolution would've been one of two: either it would've transformed into a cold case or he would've pinned it all on someone innocent. All the while, he would've been free, plotting his next crime...

Melody's killer was right there all along, asking me questions, showing concern, promising to find the truth about that night when the truth was never an option.

Now I know what he meant by pretty girls like me getting lost in these woods. I finally know what my momma meant by her lullaby. It's hard being a girl like me in this cruel world.

I'm no longer that girl, full of hope. Perhaps I never was to begin with. All I know is, I'm never going to be the same again.

Not after Melody's murder.

Not after Christopher's death.

Not after the discovery of U's identity.

Not after U's purpose.

Not after this moment, where my life is hanging by a threat, teetering between woken death and Death itself.

"Drop the bat," he mutters in my ear, his grip getting tighter around my neck. His skin is stark white against my dark one, blue veins traveling like roots across his arm.

I know his voice. I know him.

Mr. Ellis is still giving me his back, blood trickling down from the side of his face onto his neck, as I choke out, "Micah?"

This is how a pretty girl like me gets lost in these woods: she has to be different from the rest, someone who sticks out in a town that's mostly populated by white folks. It can't be only about the darkness of her skin or the fact she's the only Black girl in Levittown. She needs to be special in a fucked-up kind of way. She's the girl who sees dead bodies, first her mother's and now her best friend's. She's the daughter of Cecilia King, W.S.'s lover and last victim. She's in love with the son of her mother's killer, a beautiful boy who is not at fault for what his father did but still had the same blood coursing through his veins. A girl so full of pain and secrets that she becomes an easy target.

Her captor has had an eye on her for quite some time now. He knows her movements and mannerisms by heart, not because he finds her fascinating but because he loathes her skin. Her skin, which in turn means that he despises her for just existing. In turn, she becomes vulnerable. An easy prey. Another pretty girl who is naïve enough to trust that same captor when he presents himself to her in sheep's clothing. Another pretty girl who isn't really pretty, just the subject of someone's blind hatred.

What's so wrong with my skin color? Why does it create this amount of hate? How can someone loathe another person just because they're being themselves? Despite my best efforts, I can't silence that little voice in the back of my head that whispers, there's something wrong with you.

"I said, drop the bat!" Micah shouts, his voice wavering, his body trembling.

He presses the gun against my temple with more force, creating a sharp pain throughout my head. The pain isn't what scares me, not really. It's the fact that one of my best friends, the guy who I poured my heart to just hours ago, is holding a gun against my head in preparation to kill me if I don't oblige. I drop the bat without much fight, the sound of wood against cement creating a sharp clank.

Mr. Nazi, the name appearing bright and bold in Micah's phone.

It's my dad. He saw me with Jose.

Your mother supported a serial killer for months. She was by his side when he was planning his escape, fucked him after he fucked a dead body. Does that mean that you're like your mother just because you're her daughter?

You have to keep this a secret. Don't tell my father. He will kill me.

It was always there, and I was just too dumb to notice it. My body goes limp against Micah's, all the adrenaline that came from the primitive instinct of survival fading away. Is this really my life? Is this how it's going to end? In an abandoned house in the woods, this monster of a house that hides within it real life monsters? In the tight grip of one of my best friends, his strong arm around my neck like a snake, choking me just enough to cause me pain but not kill me? In front of Mr. Ellis, a man who saw me grow up, the person who was supposed to keep us all safe?

Is this really it?

"Why?" I whisper, directing the question toward Micah.

Micah's body goes rigid, his grip on the gun loosening a little, but doesn't say anything.

"It's always about the why," Mr. Ellis spats, turning around. "How original of you. I firmly believe in immediate action, instead of wasting time explaining the why to someone who isn't worth a damn."

It's one thing to see his back and a whole other to see his face. I knew the man who has been standing in front of me was Mr. Ellis, but there was still the possibility that it was all a mistake. My mistake. It's not. The realization floods me with a fear so immense that it paralyzes my whole body.

My mind is shouting, begging for me to move. But my body... it seems it acquired a life of its own, detached from my brain.

Mr. Ellis is leaning against a long table, his posture relaxed and composed. As if this is just another day. As if I'm the same girl from before, who willingly listened to whatever he had to say because I respected him once upon a time. As if he's not Melody's killer, not the leader of a cult that seems to target minority groups. As if we're having a normal conversation, when we both know he's about to kill me.

"I've waited so long for this moment. I'm almost giddy," he says, pointing his gun against my forehead.

Now I have two guns against my head with the promise of two bullets --- double the pain, double the assurance that I'll be dead and not struggling to survive. One bullet is betrayal, the other is deceive.

This is my life. I close my eyes, awaiting the inevitable. The darkness that comes after death, the insignificance of life once you no longer have it.

The nothingness of it all.

"The question isn't why. It's, how should I kill you? Do I just pull the trigger and watch as your body falls to the floor like dead weight?" He tuts, shaking his head. His grip on the gun doesn't waver like Micah's. "Too messy. Do I savor this moment, just like I did with Melody, and torture you a little before killing you?"

My eyes grow so big, it feels as though they might bulge out of my face. My heart is pounding against my throat, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I hate how weak I look, how impotent I feel, how vulnerable I am.

He laughs, the deep sound bouncing all around me. Somehow, it just makes me feel more powerless.

"What does the crowd have to say? Do we kill poor Alexa instantly and take her out of her misery? Or should we make her suffer before killing her? Either way, the outcome will be the same. I swear to God I love the process of it all, the thrill of taking my time."

My body has grown numb. I can't feel parts of it, like my hands or knees. This is not me. This is not my body. This is another version of me, another Alexa who lives in an alternate reality. A nightmare that portrays the worst scenario but isn't real. This can't be my life.

Which is worse? To die instantly or to suffer to a point where my body can't take it and dies?

"Then again, we have all the time in the world. Nobody knows you're here, except for that teenage waste downstairs. Micah already took care of him. It's just us here, in a hidden place in the woods." He takes his index finger off the trigger and lowers the gun. I let out the air I didn't know I was holding. "By the time your father notices your absence, you'll be long gone. I'll make sure they never find your body. Let this be a warning to your father. Your kind is not welcomed here."

Those words again. My kind.

Then, another thought: teenage waste. Sebastián. What did Micah do to him?

My stomach churns and grumbles, not from hunger but from disgust. The urge to throw up is bigger than me.

He's wrong to underestimate us, though. He probably thinks we're just some stupid kids who don't think of things before they do it. They just risk it. While that was true before Melody's death, things have changed. Sebastián called the police as soon as we arrived here. We gave them our location and told them the situation. The police should be here any second.

I'm not so hopeless after all.

I don't know how I find the words, let alone the courage, but I do. "Wouldn't want to make the same mistake twice, huh? Like you did with Melody."

He tuts again, shaking his head as though I'm a bad behaved child or an annoying voice in the background. "Melody's body deserved a proper burial. If I wanted her body gone forever, it would've happened. She's one of my own, and if she stuck by me through thick and thin as she promised she would, then she'd still be alive right now. Your body, on the other hand..."

He snorts before breaking into a roaring laughter. If she stuck with me through thick and thin means: if Melody agreed to help him kill me.

He doesn't need to finish the sentence for me to understand the ellipsis. My kind doesn't deserve respect, that's why he laughs at us. My kind is hated for their skin color, that's why he kills us. My kind doesn't deserve a proper burial because our bodies are easily disposable, objects that elicit blind hatred for naturally being ourselves. My kind is not white, and therefore, we deserve to get killed and buried by our killers. Down, down in the ground, piles of dirt above us as the last glimmer of sunlight touches our dark skins. Down, down in an unknown place, far away from society, never to be seen again.

He wants to erase us, as if years and years of history can vanish just like that. Erase us, as if we never existed, as if he alone can make our legacy disappear. Erase us, as if we're not as human as him, with thoughts and feelings and voices and loved ones.

Disposable. Forgettable. Threats. Menaces.

We're reduced to that.

My kind.

"So, that was your plan all along?" I struggle through these words, my voice almost getting trapped in my throat. "Getting me here to kill me?"

"I mean, that was the initial plan. I just needed to know how I would lure you here, but you made it so easy." He grins, waving the gun around. "It was all a coincidence, really. I had an... inconvenience with my son a couple of hours ago. I found him with..." He looks at Micah with disgust, his nose scrunching as if he's just smelled something rotten. Micah trembles behind me, his hold around my neck loosening. "We fought. I came to this house to punish Micah and teach him a lesson. What better lesson than you, Alexa?"

What does he mean by lesson? Why am I the lesson?

"Do you get it now? I was here for other reasons, but you made it so simple by coming to us. I get to punish my son and kill you."

How is he planning to do both things? The mystery alone is making me sick.

Mr. Ellis comes forward, his face clearly visible for the first time. One of his eyes is swollen shut, a purple bruise that ends on his high cheekbone. I did that when we were fighting near the riverbank. That is what saved my life for a couple of hours, only to lure me back to him. Either Levittown hates me, or life gets a kick out of being ironic.

Even with that nasty bruise, I'm able to perceive the handsomeness of his face, the one Melody talked about in her letters. His eyes, those brown eyes I've been searching for, are now looking at me with so much hatred. Melody's in them, trapped forever in this man's evil gaze. I couldn't find him sooner, even though I had him in front of me all along, because he transformed himself into someone else to live in "normalcy" in Levittown's society.

His handsomeness soon contorts into something nasty and ugly. It's rough, obscured by years of pretending, years of nurturing so much blinded rage. His true self is finally reflecting on his physical appearance. He's turning inside out, letting all the darkness inside of him reflect on what protects him in our society and catalogs him as "normal". Whatever that is. If I survive this, I know that my life will never be normal.

Darkness personified. That's what he is. He, along with his macabre cult, is what's wrong with Levittown.

"Why?" I whisper, a single tear sliding down my nose and spreading on my lips. "Why do you hate us so much? What have we ever done to you?"

"Don't take it so personal. I have a vision for this town. A dream if you will. And it doesn't include you or your kind," he says, pacing back and forth, wavering the gun around.

My kind.

There's this weird look on his face. A delirious smile brightens up the darkness that took over his features. It seems as though he's caught up in a dream-like state. As he talks about this dream, Micah tightens his hold around my neck but loosens the hold on his gun. He hasn't said anything yet, but I can feel his heart beating on my back. Its rhythm quickens the more his father talks, and if these were normal circumstances, I would think he's having an anxiety or panic attack.

"It all started with W.S., like most things in this town." Mr. Ellis says, tapping his chin with the tip of the gun. What if he forgot to put on the safety? Would he pull the trigger accidently, blow his brains out?

I knew it in my heart. W.S. has a strong grip in Levittown, even after his arrest. His influence is palpable all around us. Maybe this darkness that seems to follow us all is of his own making, something that was born after his heinous actions. His murders were the beginning of all that's wrong in this town, serving as a chain reaction that led me here, to a killer who is teaching his own son that killing out of hate is good.

Maybe I'll be forever connected to W.S., in extension of my mother and my love for his son. He's deep in my bones, living inside of me. He's this darkness that's consumed me for a long time. It doesn't matter if he's paying for what he did. What's done is done. I can never have my mother back. Those young girls, whose skin was as dark as mine, can never have their lives back. This is a wound I will have to carry for the rest of my life if I even survive. It's something you live with, something that makes you grow a thick skin, a wake-up call that announces that life is not easy at all.

"He's our role model, to put it simply. 'If you touch, you've got to dispose'. Have you heard that? Of course, you have! Your mother was one of them," he spats the word 'them' and then laughs. "Unlike William, I don't have the sick urge to touch. Only to dispose. We can't all be perfect, right?"

There's no answer, not even from Micah. Sometimes, it feels like he's here in body but not in soul. I shouldn't feel pity for him. If he's here, it means that he helped his father with Melody's murder. He's as soulless as Mr. Ellis.

Like father, like son.

Like mother, like daughter.

We're not our parents.

A whisper in my ear. Christopher.

We shouldn't be punished for their mistakes.

His voice strangles my heart but electrifies my body. I try to wriggle out of Micah's grasp, but he tightens his hold around my neck. The gun still trembles against my temple.

"William had that awful flaw. He limited himself and didn't see beyond his sinful lust. But that disgusting compulsion began something that was bigger than us. Bigger than Levittown." His eyes glint as he talks, his gaze far away from here as he paces from one side of the room to the other. "This town was once Caucasian, glorious and perfect, but all you niggers and spics began to emigrate here. That's when the pollution started. William began to clean this town of its massive pollution. He limited himself to Black women, but not me. I don't discriminate against men or women. If they're not white, they're not one of my own."

His own.

My kind.

We're not the same, and he wants me to know it.

I gulp down my terror as my eyes follow his frantic pacing. He's no longer looking at me. Instead, he's transported himself to another place, another time, another life. He's where it all went wrong, but instead of regretting his decision to kill out of hate, he seems to be proud of it.

"It's a shame I was on the team that arrested him, though. I was young, inexperienced, but he gave me the tools. He made me see clearer. He gave my life purpose. I'm saving this town from its sin. Do you get it?" He looks at me now, his bloodshot eye wide and alert while the swollen one gets even more purple. "William inspired me. He gave life to something that was already inside of me in 2008. I still remember the first one. What was her name again?"

He pretends to think it over, snapping his fingers as if he's trying to catch the name he already knows by heart. With a last snap, he pretends to catch it. The irony of it all reflects itself on his pointy smile, a smile so evil that instead of brightening his face, it darkens it.

"Anette? Bennet? Linnet?" He turns to me, his smile widening, almost cracking his distorted face in two. I shiver. "Janet Brown."

"What?" I whisper, my body going limp.

It's speculated that Brown was one of W.S.'s victims, but her body was never found. W.S. denied being involved with Brown's disappearance.

It was him. He killed Janet Brown, not W.S. Mr. Ellis got away with murder, and he wants to do it again. He is getting away with it. First Janet, then Melody, now me... and after me, everyone who's in that 'polluted' list.

Janet Brown, with her curly afro and glistening ebony skin.

Janet Brown, smiling at whoever took her last existing picture with teeth so white that it brightened the whole frame.

Janet Brown, who represents what can happen to girls like me for jut existing.

Janet Brown, who is a mirror image of me.

A guttural sound resonates through the dark room, something rough that starts as the halting of air in the throat and becomes a cry in the mouth. The awful sound that resembles the one emitted by a wounded animal is coming from me. It tastes bitter on my tongue, as metallic as blood.

I'm Janet Brown and she is me. Not in a literal sense, more like a spiritual one. I can only think of her parents, who are still hoping she'll come home one day. Her sister, who must be so traumatized by what happened to Janet that she's unable to trust men. Janet herself... those last moments when all she saw was blinded rage and all she felt was fear.

"Don't look so sick, Alexa! We're just getting to my favorite part," Mr. Ellis says, faking concern. "In 2008, W.S.'s crimes were already influencing our once perfect town. People began to understand his message, especially young adults who are so impressionable. Janet, well, she was different. Obviously. There's a price to pay for being different, not part of us. She was being bullied in school for her blackness. Although I wouldn't call it bullying, just a bunch of sissies who can't take a couple of insults. Well, I took advantage of that and offered her my protection. I promised to teach her self-defense. Who wouldn't trust an honorable father and respectful cop?"

I snort, not because it's funny, but because he's anything but honorable and respectful.

"It was so easy to lure her here, to this very room. She was so naïve, but I figure your kind as a whole is like that. You're so vulnerable when it comes to your skin, so needy of validation, and so willing to do anything to be accepted. How pathetic," he spats, ridding himself from the taste left behind by my kind, the so-so of us. "I killed her right where you're standing, Alexa. A gunshot to the head, and then another, and then another. I kept shooting, long after she was dead. I waited for the gun's barrel to be empty, the weight being lifted from my hand. Afterwards, I was trembling. First from shock and then from excitement. That's when I was sure of my purpose."

Everything in my stomach comes out without warning in a puddle of brown and beige. My throat is left rasped and dry. I don't want to stand in the same place she was killed. The thought alone makes my stomach grumble.

"Fuck," Micah utters, backing away from the mess and pulling me along with him. His death-like grip leaves me without air for a moment, dark spots starting to obscure my vision.

The sound of his voice grounds me to the here and now, away from Mr. Ellis, who seems to swallow me completely like a black hole. For a moment, it felt like it was just Mr. Ellis and me, despite the gun against my temple and his arm around my neck. My body is so weak by this point that it surrenders to the threat of his body and the promise of death from his gun.

Mr. Ellis laughs. "She's buried behind the house, if you were wondering. But don't worry, I dug a special place for you next to her." He grins, his once perfect set of teeth now pointy and crooked. "You have to understand that it was for the greater good."

"You're crazy," I mutter, seething.

He tuts, shaking his head. "I'm a visionary."

"No, you're a disgusting racist." I don't know where the courage comes from, but it comes out with force and rage.

He ignores me, clearly focused on his beliefs. He's too far in now to stop explaining his purpose to me, a person he considers to be inferior. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, that's what narcissists do.

"After Janet, I selected different people to form a group dedicated to eliminate the pollution in Levittown. They, of course, had to be white and believe in Unpolluted's cause. Otherwise, it wouldn't work," he says, waving the gun around. "That's what I want to create in this town. A Caucasian utopia, to give it a name."

"I'm polluting your town?" I choke out. Despite myself, his words still hang heavy in my heart. It's like a bucket of ice-cold water was just poured over me, waking me to the reality of things.

"Since the beginning of time, my dear. All you niggers are, so don't feel so special." His expression darkens, transforming his face into a mask of hatred. His words turn to pain in my heart. "It's in the bible. The curse of Ham placed upon his son Canaan. It's the mark of slavery. 'And he said, cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren.' Genesis 9:25."

"Do you really think the color of your skin makes you superior?"

"Alexa, you're not a very good listener, are you? That's exactly what I'm saying. But don't take my word for it if you don't want to. Just go to the bible." He laughs, that deep and thunderous laugh that might've been charming to Melody before she knew the real him. "I'm much better at selecting people. That's why I take a whole year to inspect them before I make my approach. But, boy, was I wrong about Christopher and Melody. I won't make those mistakes again."

Christopher. His name doesn't sound right when Mr. Ellis says it. He gives it a dark edge, a murderous twist.

"Did you kill him just like you did to Melody?" I whisper, a cry getting stuck in my throat.

He arches an eyebrow. "I'm afraid he did that all on his own."

"You're lying," I stutter. Micah trembles behind me so much that he seems to be a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

"Am I?" he asks himself, tapping his chin with the gun. "Don't believe me if you don't want to but think of this: Christopher was a troubled child, what all you sissies call 'depressed.' Whatever that means. For as long as I can remember, he wanted to kill himself. And what if I gave him a little push in the right direction? Not so perfect now, huh?"

I shake my head, an unbearable pain growing in my throat. Tears begin to blur my vision, making everything morph into black. My throat feels swollen, the words accumulating in it to form a painful knot.

Mr. Ellis didn't kill Christopher. My Christopher felt dead before he decided that suicide was the best option to rid himself from the pain, the shame, himself. Mr. Ellis might've played a part in his decision, but he took his own life. The realization breaks me. If it wasn't for Micah's tight grip around my neck, I would've crumbled to the floor, my emotions flooding out of me in masses until all that was left was the familiar numbness.

Why did I leave him alone? Why do I keep making the same mistake over and over again? He needed me, and I just left him there to himself. Oh God, I can't breathe.

"It's a shame, though." Mr. Ellis cleans his gun with a white cloth, then blows on it to rid it from dust. As if that's important right now. "He had so much potential. William's blood was coursing through his body. The only thing he inherited was his father's disgusting urge. What a waste."

In moments like this, when I can't breathe and the world seems to crumble down, I listen to my father's words. Breathe and remember that you're able to. Breathe and forget about the past. Breathe and remember where you are. Breathe and you're going to be alright. So, I breathe and try to make of this situation a problem that has a solution.

Mr. Ellis claps, making us flinch. "Enough chit-chat. I'm ready to punish."

•Word count: 5,022•

Countdown: the epilogue (+ 1 accidental chapter)!!!!!!!!! ♡😅

So... as I was writing the last chapter, which was supposed to be this one, I accidentally wrote two. Or, to be more specific, chapter 50 came out SO long that I decided to divide it in two separate chapters. Either way, I uploaded BOTH chapters for you to read!!!!!!

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 33K+ READS!!!!!!!!!!! I'm blown away at the amount of support that Levittown is continuing to get. Never in a million years did I think it would get this far.

Questions: I'm so nervous to ask this, but how do you feel about the big reveal? I know some of you were already suspecting Mr. Ellis, but how are we feeling about Micah helping him? How do you feel about Mr. Ellis's purpose? I want to know how you feel about everything, how this chapter made you feel. Do you think that Christopher was killed or committed suicide? Was this chapter worth the wait?

Proceed to chapter 51 to read the whole finale!!!!!!!!!!!

Feel free to correct any grammatical errors, but be kind about it. Tell me what you think of this chapter.

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