Epilogue
ANNA
ONE YEAR LATER
Darcy hops up onto the vanity counter beside mine, eyeing my getup with a laugh. “Remind me again why you’re doing this?”
“Because I love it.” Given my recent windfall, I know it sounds weird, but isn’t that the point of having money?
To do what you really want?
She just shakes her head. “I’d be spending my nights bathing in a bathtub full of hundred-dollar bills, but, hey, that’s just me.”
I try not to laugh as the makeup brush works over my lips, but the effort is fruitless.
I really lucked out on the whole roommate situation.
I think it was the universe’s way of making up for Francesca.
It had been only a matter of time before Darcy met Damon and only another matter of time before she realized he was the same guy she initially saw in our hallway.
Before I “met” him. Thankfully, she came to this conclusion after she witnessed how much we had both been fucked over by the system, so she had already been on our side.
She doesn’t think Damon had anything to do with the robbery.
Like everybody else, she just assumes that he was supposed to be some kind of patsy for Lillian and that Damon didn’t want me dragged into it if she learned of our relationship.
It makes sense, since Damon apparently asked Darcy when they met not to say anything about seeing him in the apartment, given that the police wouldn’t be too happy to learn about it.
Of course, if Darcy wanted some kind of monetary gain, she could easily take what she knows to Lillian’s lawyers, but the girl hasn’t so much as lifted a finger to call them.
As far as she and everyone else in town is concerned, the Widow Blackwood can fuck off.
“Speaking of how we spend our nights,” Darcy purrs, “we need to go to that club opening next week. They’re supposed to have this mixologist there who makes these killer cocktails, and a bunch of local influencers will be there, including the lead singer from Demon Index.”
Not that long ago, the idea of going somewhere with hundreds of phones filming every angle of the room would have sent me running for the hills, but when she mentions the possibility of there being karaoke, I’m immediately sold.
I haven’t quite gotten used to my new status as a minor “celebrity” among the true-crime crowd, but I’m getting used to being back out in the public eye again. Still, I appreciate the anonymity when I can get it, hence my current job.
The artist puts on the finishing touches to my skeleton makeup, giving me just enough time to make a track around the festival before it officially opens for the season.
I ask Darcy if she wants to join me, but she looks over my shoulder, triggering a ridiculously cartoonish grin to creep across her face.
“I’m good,” she says simply, sliding off the table and disappearing to the other side of the warehouse.
I can only assume one of the scare actors has caught her eye, so I head to the back entrance where Rachel is dishing out last-minute assignments.
“You ready to go?” I ask.
She’s the one who suggested we do the tour, but she too suddenly gets a curious expression. It’s not as ridiculous as Darcy’s, but it’s still weird nonetheless. “Oh, uh, I still have a few things to take care of. Why don’t you go, and I’ll catch up?”
Again, what she’s saying isn’t weird. She’s just acting the part.
When I don’t move, she begins smiling like an idiot, quite literally pushing me out the door and closing it in my face.
Oookay.
To the Slaughterhouse, it is.
I turn on my heels and take the path down to the festival, already seeing several of the updates they’ve made since last year.
Given what happened my last night working here, one might think it would deter me from wanting to come back, but nothing could keep me from the Slaughterhouse tonight. Especially not Sebastian.
I honestly didn’t think he would go away after everything that happened, but shockingly, that’s precisely what he did.
Nico says his connections have been keeping an eye on him, and by the sounds of it, dear old Bashy isn’t doing so well.
He’s still dealing with physical therapy, having not regained full use of his hands, and he’s apparently developed a severe case of PTSD.
Sebastian hasn’t made a public appearance since news broke about his brutal “mugging,” and an anonymous source close to him told the gossip rags about his growing paranoia.
Seeing as how I dealt with the same thing, I’d have some sympathy, if not for the fact that he was the asshole responsible.
And while he’s locked away in his penthouse, I get to breathe the crisp autumn air mixed with the scents of popcorn, hot dogs, and other concessions.
What a difference a year makes.
Without the fear of Sebastian breathing down my neck, I was able to sell every last piece of clothing and jewelry he ever gave me, letting me walk away with a cool $1.4 million. And it went to great use, particularly in paying the legal fees for multiple lawsuits.
Public sentiment towards Lillian and Devin Blackwood soured rather quickly after news broke about his actions towards me during the robbery and her many indictments of fraud.
I managed to sue Westfall Jewelers for a very generous seven-figure sum, and oh so sad for Devin, his inheritance kicked in before the trial for my civil lawsuit against him personally. To say the jury rewarded me with a healthy chunk out of it is being polite.
And things aren’t looking much better for his mother. In fact, they’re far worse. There wasn’t any evidence attaching Devin to any jewelry or real estate fraud, so at least he didn’t have to see the inside of a jail cell. The same can’t be said about Lillian.
Due to her financial resources and connections, the judge in her second case deemed her a flight risk, so she’s been sitting behind bars for the past eleven months.
Afraid that Lillian would use him as a scapegoat completely, Officer Benedict Holt sang like a canary after more “evidence” suggested he may have been one of the robbers in her first “fake” heist. Since it was the only way to escape being charged as an accessory to the robbery, as well as the murder of Keith Randall, Holt gave a full confession, admitting to the “small” roles he played in several of Lillian’s endeavors, including setting up Damon five years ago.
Being a former cop placed in prison’s general population is pretty much a death sentence, so in exchange for his cooperation, the prosecution gave him a reduced sentence and put him into protective custody where he would serve out his time in solitary confinement.
Sadly for Holt, Nico knows a few of the guards at Bensenville, so that private cell isn’t going to be so private after all.
As for Lillian, when all was said and done, she faced charges of defamation, obstruction of justice, false reporting of a crime, malicious prosecution, and civil rights violations, all of which she was convicted of.
Sadly, it only landed her a nine-month prison sentence and subsequent probation, but those were just the criminal charges.
Like her son, Damon’s civil lawsuit against her did a doozy on Lillian’s bank account.
She was also indicted on sixteen counts of real estate fraud and sentenced to twelve years in prison with the possibility of parole in six.
Too bad for her there are far worse crimes she’s still about to face, and things aren’t looking too good for her at the moment.
The case won’t be going to trial for at least another year, but I doubt that’s still enough time for her attorneys to come up with a good defense.
Her “involvement” in the “staged” jewelry heists has her looking at charges for conspiracy to commit robbery, as well as being an accomplice to the robbery itself.
Then there’s the possession of stolen property and resulting insurance fraud.
If convicted, those charges alone could put her behind bars for at least a decade or two, but her biggest obstacle will be overcoming the charge as an accessory to felony murder.
When all is said and done, she may never find herself outside of a prison ever again.
It would seem wrong to let her rot away in a cell for the rest of her life, especially for a crime she didn’t commit, but no one feels too bad, seeing as how she had sent her stepson to prison, stole his inheritance, and then hired someone to kill Damon without consequence just to ensure he would never get out to contest what she had done.
As far as I’m concerned, the punishment is not nearly enough.
At least Damon’s frustrations of not being able to find work were swiftly rectified, not just because his criminal record got expunged.
He loves working with cars, and despite being free to get a job at any garage in the city, he used some of the money he got in the civil lawsuit against his stepmother to open up his own shop.
The public attention he got from Lillian’s case also caught the eye of an advocacy organization that helps to overturn convictions for those wrongfully imprisoned.
They wanted him to be a spokesperson, and when Damon realized he could help out some of the guys he had met during his incarceration, he agreed to assist them when possible.
As for me, I finished my final year at college this past spring, and since then, I’ve taken on a part-time design job to still work on book covers.
My favorite role, however, is a behind-the-scenes position with the same domestic abuse organization that connected me with Carmen so that I could disappear from Sebastian’s radar.
And without the constant threat of him lurking in the shadows, I came to appreciate my surroundings, seeing Paradise City for what it was.
My new home.
With the money Damon and I now both have, we could move anywhere, but neither of us has even considered it.
We’ve built a life here.
I make my way through the new addition to the festival that includes a mini cemetery.
Bare black trees with twisted branches that resemble something from a Tim Burton film line the walkway, and I head over a small bridge to the new Haunted Church attraction.
The courtyard and entrance are designed in a Victorian style that suggests a wedding was supposed to take place, except all of the props have been aged and copious amounts of dried blood stain the door and walkway.
With the black and white roses, decorative string lights, and the fog machine blowing a heavy coat around my ankles, it’s hard not to find the place oddly enchanting.
“What’s making my girl smile so much?”
The warm timbre of his voice only has me grinning wider as I turn to face him, but nothing can quite prepare me for the sight I’m greeted with.
Damon promised he would be swinging by tonight, but I assumed that would be near the end of my shift, likely so that we could recreate our little warehouse romp, so to see him standing here in a head-to-toe scare actor costume, face paint included, has me smiling so wide it might split my face in half.
“What are you doing dressed like that?”
He readjusts the lapels of the Victorian tailcoat, as if there was anything wrong with them in the first place. “I just figured this skeleton bride could use a skeleton groom.”
“Which is why Rachel hired Liam again,” I laugh. The sound is cut off by his lips capturing mine, and I quickly melt into him.
Before I can get too carried away, however, he pulls back, grinning. “Then how would you feel about being my actual bride?”
For about three seconds, I think he’s kidding, but Damon drops down to one knee, a small black velvet box already in his hand.
He opens the lid, revealing a black princess-cut diamond at the center of what is undoubtedly an antique ring. It’s absolutely gorgeous and exactly like what I imagined I’d want that I blurt, “Yes!” before realizing that he hasn’t said anything yet.
I’m met with laughter, but not just Damon’s. It’s coming from multiple sources.
I look over my shoulder to see Darcy, Rachel, Jax, Michael, Dominic, and the others not so discreetly hiding behind some of the foam headstones in the cemetery just behind me.
I bury my face in my hands, laughing. Well, I try to.
Before I can pull my left hand up, Damon catches hold of it and slides the ring on my finger. “At least I don’t have to worry about what you’re going to say.”
He draws in a breath, undoubtedly about to ask me the big question, only to be cut off by someone cursing behind me.
Now everyone begins all-out laughing as black and silver confetti begins raining down on the two of us, obviously triggered preemptively.
“Sorry,” Darcy calls out.
Damon gets off his knee, grabs me from the back of my thighs, and lifts me up so that my legs straddle his waist, allowing me to look him right in the eye. “Annaleigh Elizabeth Evans, will you be my wife?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
The laughter from the peanut gallery turns to applause as he kisses me, but I can barely register it.
Damon doesn’t give a shit whether our audience will take issue with the PDA, because he doesn’t settle for a chaste kiss, even after we get comments about needing to get a room.
I catch Damon out of the corner of my eye flipping off Dominic, making me laugh again, but my boyfriend—or rather fiancé —nips my bottom lip with his teeth.
“Did you really just swear during our marriage proposal?” He tries to look serious, and fails miserably. Damon loves it when I curse, especially when it’s the f-bomb. “That’s quite a mouth you have on you, Mrs. Knox. What am I ever going to do with you?”
“Hopefully teach me a lesson, perhaps at the end of my shift?” I look behind him at the warehouse in the distance, but he shakes his head and begins walking in the opposite direction with me still secured in his arms.
“We’ve still got an hour before the festival opens.”
“Oh? And where did you have in mind?”
“Well, I was reading one of those books in your bedroom the other week, and I came across an interesting scene involving the Hall of Mirrors that I’d like to try.”
He doesn’t need to say more. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
I’m promptly set back on my feet when we come to stand in front of the attraction and ordered to run.
And I’m all too happy to oblige him.