Malevolent Intent

By Susan Peltier

Scott Henderson despises his sister and harbors a dark secret-he's a serial killer. In the peaceful Midwestern neighborhood, Scott's sinister intentions become known as he sets his sights on his first victim, his sister Emily. Emily faces escalating terror as Scott shifts from a protective older brother to her worst nightmare. The community rema

• Language: English
• Publisher: Warped Books
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781964633541

Book preview

Malevolent Intent by Susan Peltier

SUSAN PELTIER

© SUSAN PELTIER, CATHERINE GRANTHAM AND CHRISTINA FONTENETTE 2024

THANK YOU TO

DAVID FONTENETTE, CATHERINE GRANTHAM,

AND ELI ALLEN

I LOVE YOU

,

AND A SPECIAL THANK YOU TO

KATHLEEN AYALA

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Prologue

Scott stood in the shadowed hallway, his heart thumping with a mix of anticipation and a deep- seated loathing. The darkness felt like a cloak, wrapping around him, concealing the twisted relief he believed would come with Emily’s end. Can’t you just leave me alone? The fear in Emily’s voice was palpable, a sound he found oddly satisfying, yet it was her existence that grated on him, a constant thorn in his side.

Why would I leave when I haven’t finished with you yet? His voice was a low murmur, each word dripping with malice. Approaching her, he relished the visible tremble in her form, a physical testament to the terror he instilled.

Her scream, as he yanked the blanket away, was a sound he’d imagined countless times. I’m not going with you! she yelled, but her defiance only fueled his conviction. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the culmination of his hatred.

Let me go! Emily’s scream pierced the stillness of the room, a desperate plea that echoed off the walls. To Scott, it was nothing but the sweet sound of her realization that escape was impossible.

You have nowhere to run, Emily, he sneered, his voice a chilling caress as he backed her into a corner. Each word he spoke was a deliberate prod at her despair, a way to savor the fear that oozed from her pores.

The impact of his fist against her face felt like a release, a physical manifestation of his desire to erase her from his life. You think you can get away from me? he hissed, watching as fear overtook her features.

Her pleas for mercy, her attempts to escape, were all in vain. Scott felt a rush of power with each moment of her struggle, a dark satisfaction in knowing that her end would bring him the peace he so desperately craved.

As her body went limp, a perverse sense of calm washed over him. Wrapping her in the blanket, he carried her through the darkness, each step away from the house a step towards the relief he had longed for.

At the pond, watching Emily’s body disappear beneath the surface, Scott felt a momentary surge of triumph. I told you that someday you would be snake food, he whispered into the night, a grim epitaph for the sister he believed he needed to eliminate to find peace.

The thrill of the moment was fleeting, replaced by a sobering return to reality as headlights approached. Silently, he made his way back, ensuring that every trace of the night’s act was concealed, leaving Emily’s room untouched, a shrine to the sister he had erased for his own twisted sense of relief.

The next morning, as his mother started breakfast, Scott was sent to wake Emily. With practiced ease, he pushed open her door, calling out with a feigned irritation, What are you doing? Get the fuck up! Mom wants you to get your ass up for breakfast. He stood motionless, waiting. Then, in a well-rehearsed, panicked voice, he yelled, Mom!

Chapter 1

Emily, a petite 14-year-old, clutched her backpack as she stood at the edge of the playground, watching her brother, Scott, maneuver across the monkey bars with ease.

Hey, Em, watch this! he called out, bursting with confidence as he showed off. Emily looked up. Wow, Scott, you’re like Spider-Man!

Scott dropped to the ground, his feet kicking up a small cloud of dust. You should try it too, Em. It’s not hard, he said, his tone playful yet edged with a subtle challenge.

Emily shuffled her feet, looking unsure. I might fall, she complained.

Scott shrugged, a trace of impatience in his gesture. Falling’s part of it. You won’t learn if you don’t try.

She watched as he walked away to join a group of older boys on the football field. Emily sat on a nearby bench, her eyes following Scott. She noticed how effortlessly he socialized with the older boys.

Lily, a girl from Emily’s class, sat next to her. Your brother’s really good at basketball, she remarked, watching the game.

Yeah, Emily replied, low, her attention still on Scott. Her feelings about him were complex, pride and a subtle unease she couldn’t quite understand.

Taking a breath, she tried it herself. As she climbed, Scott called out from a distance, Just don’t look down!

Her small hands gripped the cold metal, and for a brief moment, she felt a surge of achievement. But then, her grip faltered. She fell, landing on the soft grass below. The pain was mild, but the shock of the fall left her dazed.

Scott’s laughter, unexpected and sharp, cut through the air. Emily gazed at him, hoping for concern but finding only amusement.

Why are you laughing? she asked, hurt.

Scott’s response was dismissive. It’s funny, Em. You’re okay.

Emily scrambled to her feet, dusting off her jeans. She glared at Scott, who was still laughing with his friends. His laughter felt like a jab at her dignity.

You’re mean, Scott! she shouted, shaking with hurt and anger.

Suddenly, Scott’s laughter died in his throat, his amusement flipping to annoyance as if a switch had been flipped. The friends who had been half-heartedly tossing a ball around stopped, their eyes locking onto Emily, drawn in by the tension.

Shut up, Emily. Stop whining, or else… Scott’s voice trailed off menacingly, leaving his threat to hang ominously between them.

Emily didn’t wait to hear the rest. She spun around and bolted, her sneakers pounding against the pavement as she made her escape. The laughter and jeers of the other kids faded into the background as she ran.

She sprinted down the street, the houses blurring past her. Her heart pounded, not just from the physical exertion, but from the raw surge of defiance that filled her. It was a new sensation, frightening yet empowering.

Bursting through the front door of their house, Emily slammed it shut behind her, the sound reverberating through their home.

The sudden noise jolted Alexandra, her mother, from her afternoon tasks. She emerged from the kitchen, a dish towel in hand, her eyebrows knitted in concern. Emily! What on earth? she exclaimed, her voice a blend of irritation and worry.

Emily, panting and flushed from her run, leaned against the door, her eyes downcast. Emily Jane, I’m talking to you. Why are you slamming doors? And why do you look like you’ve just run a marathon? Alexandra’s tone was sharp, demanded an explanation.

It’s nothing, Mom, Emily mumbled, looking at the floor, her chest still heaving from her exertion.

Nothing? You don’t slam doors over nothing, Alexandra countered, her arms crossed over her chest. Though her posture was stern, her voice softened, a hint of concern breaking through. Is something bothering you, honey?

Emily’s internal struggle was palpable. She teetered on the edge of confiding everything, but she ultimately retreated behind her walls. It’s really nothing, Mom. I…I just wanted to come home, she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alexandra sighed, her expression a mix of frustration and worry. If it’s nothing, then why the attitude? Go to your room, Emily. Calm down, and we can talk about this ‘nothing’ later.

Emily stomped up the stairs, her steps thudding loudly, a clear signal of her mood. She muttered under her breath, a string of half-formed grievances. Pushing open her bedroom door with a force that made the hinges protest, she stepped inside and slammed it shut. Leaning back against it, she let out a long, defeated sigh, her anger slowly giving way to a deep, weary sadness.

Collapsing onto her bed, she stared blankly at the ceiling, Scott’s laughter haunting her thoughts. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so mean? she whispered to herself, her voice a blend of confusion and hurt.

Rolling onto her side, she hugged her pillow, seeking solace in its soft embrace. The comforting familiarity of her room did little to ease the turmoil churning within her. She felt isolated, misunderstood, a part of her wishing for the impossible—to dissolve into the softness of her bed and vanish from the world.

Hours later, Emily woke up to the sounds of domestic life unfolding below her. The clatter of pots and pans, her mother’s humming, and Scott’s animated discussion about football filtered through her door. Disoriented, she rubbed her eyes, pushing back the vestiges of sleep, and glanced at her clock. It was already evening.

Curiosity nudging her forward, she tiptoed to her door and paused, listening. Scott was regaling their mother with tales of his latest football triumph, his excitement palpable even from this distance. Annoyance flared within Emily as memories of the afternoon’s humiliation surfaced, but the sharp edges of her anger had dulled with time.

She ventured into the kitchen, drawn by the enticing aromas of dinner. What’s for dinner? she asked, her tone casual, as if the events of the day had been shelved away, irrelevant in the face of familial routine.

Alexandra turned, a look of surprise flickering across her face. Oh, Emily, you’re awake. We’re having spaghetti tonight. How was your day, sweetie?

It was okay, Emily responded, sliding into a chair. The sting of the playground incident and Scott’s laughter seemed inconsequential now, overshadowed by the warmth of the kitchen and the promise of a familiar meal.

Scott glanced at her briefly before turning back to his mother. Can I get a ride to football tomorrow? Coach said we have extra practice.

Of course, I can drop you off before work, Alexandra replied, then turned to Emily. You’ll take the bus home, okay?

Emily nodded, her attention drifting to a stray pencil on the table. The conversation about football practice and transportation arrangements floated around her, barely registering. Her thoughts were already anticipating the spaghetti, and perhaps, an evening in front of the television.

Emily, honey, could you set the table? Your father will be home soon, Alexandra requested, her back to Emily as she focused on the simmering sauce.

A frown creased Emily’s forehead. But it’s Scott’s turn to set the table, not mine, she protested, her voice carrying a note of unfairness.

Without turning, Alexandra continued stirring the sauce. Scott’s busy with his homework right now. I need you to do it, please.

With a huff of resignation, Emily rose from her chair. She began pulling plates from the cupboard, her movements exaggerated, each plate clinking sharply as she set it on the table, her silent protest evident in the forcefulness of her actions.

Scott, feigning absorption in his homework, couldn’t suppress a snicker. Emily shot him a glare, her irritation clear. You think this is funny, don’t you? she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Just doing my homework, Scott replied, his innocence belied by the smirk playing on his lips.

Emily sighed, her annoyance simmering as she continued setting the table. She meticulously placed each piece of cutlery, her focus on the task at hand, a temporary diversion from her brother’s teasing.

The sound of the front door opening announced their father’s arrival. I’m home! Jack called out, his voice resonating through the house.

Dinner’s ready, Jack, Alexandra announced, carrying the mashed potatoes to the table.

Jack settled into his seat at the head of the table, his movements relaxed as he prepared to enjoy the meal. Alexandra, with a gentle smile, served dinner, her movements graceful and assured.

How was your day, Jack? she inquired, taking her place beside him.

Jack, unfolding his napkin, replied with a nonchalant air. Not bad. The usual office politics, but I managed to snag the Pegasus project.

That’s wonderful, Alexandra responded, her voice reflecting the tranquility of the evening.

Emily watched the exchange, her fork poised above her plate. She was acutely aware of the delicate balance that often governed these family dinners. Her father’s demeanor was calm now, but she remembered instances when a minor misstep had escalated into a full-blown tempest.

As she took a tentative bite, Emily remained vigilant, prepared for any shift in the atmosphere that might signal a change in her father’s mood.

Finish your dinner, Emily, her mother gently reminded her, pulling her back from her thoughts.

Emily complied, her mind preoccupied with the potential volatility of her father’s temper. She had witnessed too many dinners devolve into chaos over trivialities—a spilled glass, a forgotten chore.

The inevitable happened. A glass tipped over, sending water cascading across the tablecloth.

Emily reached for a napkin in a panic, attempting to stem the flow.

Oh no, I’m so sorry! she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a hint of

fear.

Jack’s gaze snapped to the spreading water, his irritation palpable. Emily, what are you doing? Can’t you be a little more careful? he chided, his tone laced with annoyance but still under control.

I didn’t mean to; my hand just slipped, Emily stammered, her hands trembling as she dabbed at the mess, avoiding her father’s stern gaze.

For heaven’s sake, Emily! Can’t you do anything right? Jack’s voice thundered, his patience frayed.

Alexandra remained silent, her presence like a statue, as Jack’s temper flared. Emily’s eyes, filled with unshed tears, sought her mother’s intervention. Mom, please, she whispered, her plea barely audible, lost in the tension that filled the room.

Jack’s patience snapped. He snatched the towel from Emily’s hands, his movements rough and exasperated. Just go to bed, Emily, he commanded, his voice heavy with irritation.

Emily rose, her posture stiff as she fought to maintain her composure. She glanced at her mother one last time, hoping for a sign of support, but found none. With a heavy heart, she left the room, her footsteps echoed her deepening sense of alienation within her own family.

In her room, Emily lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The events of the dinner replayed in her mind, each moment a reminder of the chasm that seemed to widen between her and her family.

It was her mother’s reaction—or lack thereof—that troubled her the most. Alexandra’s usual detachment during Jack’s outbursts had always been a source of frustration for Emily. But tonight, there was something different, a subtle shift in Alexandra’s demeanor that Emily couldn’t quite place. It was as if her mother was a different person in those moments, a side of her that only Emily seemed to recognize.

This realization unsettled Emily, adding a layer of confusion to her already tumultuous emotions. She felt isolated, misunderstood, and now, more than ever, she questioned her place within the complex dynamics of her family.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Emily sat at the breakfast table, listlessly pushing her cereal around the bowl. Scott, on the other hand, seemed his usual self, enthusiastically discussing his plans for the day with their dad. Hey, Dad, I’ve got football practice after school today, he said, his tone casual yet eager. Can you pick me up? We’re prepping for the big game next week.

Jack glanced at him, a smile on his face. Sure, Scott. What time does it end?

Around 5:30, Scott replied, his eyes lighting up. Coach says we’re really shaping up this year. We’ve got a solid chance at the championship.

That’s great, son. I’m proud of you, Jack responded with fatherly pride. I’ll be there at 5:30 then. And Emily, you’ll take the bus home, right?

Jack, noticing Emily’s demeanor, asked with concern, Em, you’re not eating much. Something on your mind?

Just not hungry, Emily mumbled, her spoon clinking against the bowl.

Scott glanced at her, a mischievous spark in his eyes. Maybe she’s still thinking about the monkey bars yesterday. Not everyone’s a natural acrobat, right?

Emily’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. Stop it, Scott. That’s not funny, she snapped, sharper than she intended.

Hey, I’m joking around, Scott retorted, with an edge that Emily felt more than heard.

Jack intervened. Scott, apologize to your sister. Emily, let’s try to start the day on a good note, okay?

Scott offered a reluctant Sorry, Em, which sounded insincere to Emily. Frustration bubbled inside her, and she pushed away from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Could you at least say a real sorry?

Scott, leaning against the wall, looked at her with an expression that was part amusement, part annoyance. I already said sorry, Em. What more do you want?

A sorry that actually sounds like you mean it! Emily retorted.

Jack’s brow furrowed in disapproval. Enough, both of you. This bickering every morning is getting old. Emily, Scott has apologized. Let it go.

But Dad— Emily started, but he cut her off.

No ‘buts.’ I expect better from both of you. Now, go get ready for school. I’ll be waiting in the car.

With a resigned sigh, Emily turned away. She knew arguing further would only make things worse. She headed to her room, her steps heavy, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t articulate.

Scott, meanwhile, shrugged off the argument with ease, smirking slightly as he made his way to his room. The ease with which he shrugged off their parents’ scolding only added to Emily’s sense of injustice.

In her room, Emily quickly threw on her clothes, her mind replaying the argument. She had a twinge of guilt for yelling, but she didn’t believe Jack understood. Her brother’s attitude was changing, and she couldn’t figure out why.

Downstairs, Jack waited impatiently, his keys jingling in his hand. Emily and Scott emerged from the house. A tense silence filled the space. They piled into the seats, lost in their thoughts, the atmosphere thick with the residue of the morning’s conflict.

The usual chatter during the drive to school was replaced by an uneasy silence. Emily stared out the window, while Scott fiddled with his phone, both avoiding any further conversation.

As they pulled up to the school, Jack turned to them. I expect both of you to have a good day. And tonight, let’s try to have a peaceful dinner, alright?

Emily nodded silently; her thoughts still tangled. Scott mumbled a half-hearted Sure, Dad, before hopping out of the car.

Emily stepped out of the car, still upset. Her mood weighed on her as she walked into the school. The morning classes blurred past, a meaningless stream of words and numbers that failed to penetrate the cloud of her ruminations.

Lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough, offering a break from the relentless flow of schoolwork. She entered the cafeteria. The familiar cacophony of her peers hit her like a wave, yet within that sea of noise, she felt adrift, isolated by her own tumultuous thoughts.

She was about to settle for a secluded corner when Scott’s voice sliced through the air, unmistakable and unexpectedly directed at her. Hey, Em, come over here! His call, a rare acknowledgment in the public sphere of school life, momentarily lifted the clouds from her mind.

Surprised, she made her way toward him, a cautious hope flickering to life. But as quickly as it appeared, Scott’s next words snuffed it out. Hang on there. I didn’t say you could sit with us. Go get me another milk, would you, four-eyes? His demand, followed by the laughter of his friends, crashed down on her, dousing the flicker of hope with the cold reality of her brother’s cruelty.

Emily’s face flushed with embarrassment and hurt. She stood there, momentarily frozen, as the laughter of Scott and his friends wrapped around her like a winter chill. The sting of humiliation was palpable, a bitter pill that soured her stomach and made her tray feel like a ton.

She turned away, barely a whisper, defeated but dignified. Fuck off, she muttered, retreating to a table in the corner, far from their mocking gazes. She sat alone. The isolation of the table was a small island in a world of indifference.

As the last bell rang, signaling the end of another long school day, Emily gathered her things with a sense of relief. The walk to the bus felt longer than usual, her mind replaying the lunchtime incident, each step a reminder of the chasm between her expectations and reality. Yet, as she settled into a seat by the window, the familiar landscape rolling by offered a kind of solace, a reminder that the school day, with its trials and tribulations, was behind her.

The bus ride home was uneventful, a transition from the chaos of school to the promise of the familiar warmth awaiting her. She watched the neighborhoods pass by, each one drawing her closer to the refuge of the home. When the bus finally pulled to a stop, Emily hopped off with a lightness in her step, the day beginning to lift at the thought of seeing her family.

The short walk from the