Whispers of Deception

Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

S he knocked on the door, once and then again, the chilling cold biting at her bones. The home in front of her was stately and large, with high windows and trimmed trees. She assumed it had been passed down through his family; it was the kind of home that belonged to those with old money. Seconds seemed to turn into minutes, and as she turned to leave, the door opened—the wood scraping against the porch.

“Lilia?” His voice made her turn.

“Hi.” She brushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you. I can come back another time.”

“No.” Professor Jameson shook his head. “I was doing some reading. Come in—have a seat.”

“I won’t be staying long. I’m here for the casserole dish that my mom let you borrow.”

The words caused a visible light to go off in his head. “Ah. The dish. Of course.” He pushed his glasses up. “Sit. It’s in here somewhere. I’ll be just a minute.”

Lilia nodded, her hands shoved into her jacket pocket as she rocked on the heels of her boots. It felt strange being in his home. It wasn’t anything like she had been expecting. Far grander, like something so normal for the townsfolk of Mills Creek. Photos lined the walls, portraits of animals, family members—there was a bookshelf on the far wall, filled to the brim with leather-bound books and classics.

“You have so many books,” Lilia said aloud.

She was met by the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen.

“Do you collect them?” she asked.

“It’s a bit odd, no? Although cliché, if anything. Very on the nose for a professor,” Jameson called out from the kitchen.

Her fingers grazed the worn leather, the crumbling pages feeling so used and loved under her touch. She longed to have a collection like this one day. She plucked one from the shelf, flipping through it and sliding it back. She repeated the movement over and over until her fingers caught on a brown notebook. She tilted her head, snagging it from the shelf; it was tearing at the seams, words bursting out from how much had been written in it. She smiled softly, turning the book over in her hand, and as quickly as the smile appeared on her face, it disappeared. Her stomach dropped. She exhaled sharply as her eyes zeroed in on the embroidered lettering on the front. WM was etched across it.

It was Willow’s journal, the one she carried everywhere, always. But here it was, on Jameson’s bookshelf.

The creaking of the floorboards made her slip the book back onto the shelf, her hand grasping the one furthest from it as he entered the living room.

“Find anything you like?” Jameson stood, holding the casserole dish in his hands. “Feel free to take one.”

“I did.” She was holding onto the book so tightly, she was surprised the pages hadn’t torn. “Do you mind if I keep this one? I’ll return it when I’m done, promise.”

“Take whatever you like. I’ve read them all a million times.” He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was tight and fake, but she couldn’t control it. She felt like she might puke. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” she asked.

“Of course,” he nodded. “Down the hall, it’s the last door. You can’t miss it.”

She rushed down the hall once the living room was out of sight. Her legs felt heavy and weak as she fumbled through the long corridor. Photos lined the walls, and there was a darkness in the space that wasn’t present in the living room. She tried every door, turning knobs only to find them all locked. She pulled and pulled, unsure what she was looking for—anything that might have belonged to Willow.

The fifth door she pulled opened, causing her to stumble forward. She caught herself with a huff. The room was large, a huge canopy bed made of darkened wood standing in the middle. There were two doors; she assumed they led to a bathroom or a closet. Male clothing was tossed carelessly on the floor, and she nearly cursed herself.

It was his room.

She closed the door softly behind her and shakily fumbled for her phone. Lilia could hardly type the message. She could barely believe it when she sent it.

She pinned her location and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the dark walls, the light bedding, anything until her eyes found the one thing she wished she’d never seen.

It shone in the light from the window, the diamonds reflecting on the wall. The quaint bracelet sat on the desk in the corner of the room, haphazardly, beside a stack of books and a half-drunk cup of coffee.

She approached it slowly, as though it would somehow come to life and bite her. Her throat tightened, and the soft whimper that escaped her was a telltale sign that she was seconds away from a panic attack.

She grasped the bracelet, holding it up. The delicate charm she had given Willow weeks before her disappearance dangled from it.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

She whirled around, her hip knocking into the desk as she tried to gain her balance.

“You should’ve just left, Lilia.”

His tone was so different from the kind, gentle one she had come to know over the past few months. His blue eyes were nearly black, his nostrils flaring as he stared at her.

“Why do you have this?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “How did you get this?”

“She left it after a lecture,” he said calmly.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. She left it. I was going to give it back.”

Lilia shook her head slowly, in disgust. “She would’ve never left it. She wore it every day.”

“Give me the bracelet, Lilia.”

“Did you kill her?”

She could feel bile rising in her throat.

“No.”

“Liar,” she whimpered. “You’re a liar.”

“I would’ve never hurt her.”

“You killed her!” Her voice raised in pitch.

“I did no such thing, Lilia. I would’ve never killed her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She was wearing it when she left the party. The police couldn’t find it, but her mom swore she had it on. She never took it off. How else would you have this?”

“You need to calm down,” he said, nodding as he approached her. “You’re hysterical. You’re not thinking straight.”

“No! Stay away from me.” She moved toward the door. “Don’t come any closer.”

“I didn’t kill her. I would never hurt her.”

“Stop lying! You’re a murderer.”

He was in front of her now, his body heat engulfing her own. His eyes were crazed and bloodshot. “Shut up!” His hands slammed into the wall above her head.

She was trapped.

“Please.” She whimpered. “Just let me go.”

“Shh.” He motioned with his finger. “Don’t cry.”

“Please.”

He was so close that his breath fanned across her face. There was a sadistic look in his eye as he inclined his head to look at her more closely. He made a sound of approval in the back of his throat before he leaned forward to touch his forehead against hers. He sighed heavily. “You beg so pretty. You’re so beautiful, Lilia.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she slapped him and started to claw at him—her nails digging into the side of his face as she pushed him away. “Fuck you.” She fought, though none of her hits landed the way she wanted them to. Jameson grabbed her wrists tightly and shoved her back up against the wall so roughly that her head slammed against it.

“Don’t do that again.” He held her forearms against his chest.

Her head throbbed, and her ears rang.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

He tilted his head, his eyes dragging down her neck as he shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

A sound came from her that was a mix of a groan and a half-cry. Her face was covered in tears.

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Do you think I want to do this to you? This isn’t me, Lilia.” Jameson’s hands were cold against her cheeks. His thumb wiped a tear from her face. “You’re perfect.”

She turned her face out of his grasp, facing a far mirror on the wall. The girl she saw was so broken, so afraid, and vulnerable.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

God, Lilia, think.

His thumb ran along her lips before he backed away slowly. “You remind me so much of her.”

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

“So defiant. So ambitious. It’s what I loved most about her.” Jameson ran his finger along the sheets.

“You don’t kill the people you love.”

“She was going to leave me. I had no choice.”

“You had a choice—everyone has a choice.”

“I needed her, and she kept trying to leave me. I couldn’t let her do that. We belonged together.”

“It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the mystery guy. The man she was cheating on Augustus with.”

“She loved me.”

“She trusted you, and you killed her.”

“I couldn’t let her leave me.”

“Who is Phoebe Hastings?” she whispered.

The sound of the name caused his head to snap back.

“Don’t say that name again.”

“Who is Phoebe Hastings!”

“My wife!” Jameson was back in her face again.

The truth dawned on her. “That’s why she used that name isn’t it? You forced her to go by your dead wife’s name?”

“Willow loved being Phoebe. She hated this place, she enjoyed the escape. It was a reprieve for her.”

Lilia’s heart pounded in her chest. Her mind raced as she scrambled for something—anything—to save her.

“You’re disgusting,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Jameson tsked , shaking his head as though he were disappointed with her. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things. I’m not the monster you’ve made me out to be. I loved her, Lilia. She just . . . didn’t listen.”

The truth crashed over her like a wave. “Your girlfriend—the one from the fundraiser . . . Phoebe. Where is she?”

His gaze fell to the floor as he picked at a loose thread on the edge of the bed. “Dead,” he said finally, so coldly that it sent a chill down Lilia’s spine. He said it like it meant nothing.

Lilia bit back a sob, her lips quivering as she whispered, “Please . . . let me go.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he took a step closer. “I can’t do that.”

Lilia backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Her body trembled uncontrollably. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking.

Jameson tilted his head, his gaze drifting over her face. “You’re so pretty.”

The bile in her throat rose as another realization hit her. “You killed McCall.”

Jameson’s expression didn’t change. “He knew too much.”

“He found out about you and Willow, didn’t he?”

“He was too nosey for his own good,” Jameson replied casually, as though talking about a minor inconvenience.

Lilia’s knees were shaking now, barely able to hold her up. “How did you kill her?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

Jameson sighed, almost annoyed by the question. “I saw her with McCall. She was going to leave me. So I followed her to the hotel; I asked if we could talk one more time. She had found the newspaper articles about Phoebe’s death—that’s why she broke up with me.”

Lilia swallowed hard. “How did you kill her?” she asked again, her voice small and terrified.

“I went to the hotel to explain things to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want me back,” Jameson explained as though recounting a routine argument. “I asked her if we could have one last drink together.”

Lilia’s eyes widened. “That’s how you drugged her.”

Jameson shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I dragged her out back. I knew there weren’t any cameras. We had met up there plenty of times.”

Her breath hitched. She felt paralyzed, her limbs heavy and numb. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.

“I drove to the train car station. I was going to get her to listen to me, to talk it through,” Jameson continued, pacing back and forth in front of her now. His voice grew more agitated, more unhinged. “But when I opened the trunk to let her out, the little bitch started hitting me.”

Lilia couldn’t hold back her sobs any longer.

“She just wouldn’t listen,” Jameson muttered, his pacing quickening. “She wouldn’t shut up. She hit me again—caught me off guard—and then she started running. It was like a game.”

A twisted laugh escaped his lips, and Lilia shuddered.

“You’re insane,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Jameson ignored her. “She just ran and ran. But then she tripped—she broke her leg. It was brutal.” He tsked , shaking his head as though disappointed by the memory. “I hit her over the head. Over and over again. She never saw it coming.”

Lilia’s entire body shook with fear and grief. Her vision blurred with tears, her breath shallow and ragged.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

Jameson stopped pacing, turning to face her. His expression was almost serene now, as if he had found peace in his confession. “I can’t do that, Lilia,” he said softly, almost lovingly.

Lilia’s legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, her hands covering her face as sobs racked her body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Jameson crouched down in front of her, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek. She flinched at his touch, her entire body recoiling from him.

“You remind me of her, you know,” he whispered. “So defiant, so full of life. It’s what I loved most about her.”

“Stop,” Lilia whimpered, her voice broken. “Please . . . stop.”

But Jameson didn’t stop. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re perfect, Lilia,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender. “So beautiful.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. She was trapped.

And then, in the distance, she heard it—a faint sound, barely audible over the pounding in her head.

Sirens.

And then a faint pinch.

Hope surged through her, but it was quickly smothered by the overwhelming exhaustion that threatened to consume her. She fought to keep her eyes open, but her body felt heavy, her limbs weak and uncooperative.

“What . . . what—” Her words were slurred.

Had he drugged her?

“Shh,” Jameson whispered, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. “It’s almost over.”

Lilia’s vision darkened, the edges of her world fading into nothingness as the sound of the sirens grew closer. She fought to stay awake, to stay alive, but the darkness was too strong, pulling her down into its depths.

The last thing she heard was Jameson’s voice, soft and distant, as he whispered, “Sleep now, Lilia. It’s going to be okay.”

And then there was nothing.