Shadowface

Chapter 33

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

SUMMER

I am only in my first semester of psychology, but I understand enough to know the layers of how complex Lincoln Kennedy is. The fact he claims he is incapable of feeling anything is bullshit .

He feels me just fine. He felt me multiple times this weekend—feelings were plentiful as his eyes transformed and morphed as he gazed at me. It’s confusing how someone who evokes such a range of emotions in me can claim he’s devoid of any himself.

I can’t deny that I’m slowly losing him. I can sense Mikael gradually taking control over him. It started subtly, but as the weekend progressed and I spent more time with him, I could see him transforming. The way he observed me, his facial expressions, even the way he fucked me…everything changed.

Lincoln was still there, the parts I love, the part that makes me feel safe, and seen. The part that exists because of me. There was more of him, more to him, if that’s even possible.

It’s like I was simultaneously with both of them. Lincoln and Mikael, and whatever godlike entity emerged when they were together—that’s the Lincoln I didn’t recognize.

After our house meeting with Xander, Lincoln took me downstairs and let me sleep. I could tell he wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I didn’t press him. I also didn’t want to trigger Mikael. Although, everything about me is a trigger for Mikael.

Lincoln and I cuddled all night, and it was nice and normal. I tried not to think about the other man behind those eyes, who I hate to admit I am in love with, too. I fell in love with Mikael a long time ago; it’s more of a primal, basic instinctual love, not nearly as deep as it is with Lincoln. But sometimes that unexplainable love is the most powerful. I listened to Lincoln’s heartbeat and snuggled into his warmth until I drifted into a dreamless slumber.

When he dropped me off on Sunday afternoon, he told me he wasn’t going to talk to me again until I submitted my paper, which I was able to finish late Sunday night. Luckily, I finished my readings at his house and submitted my reflection, which was two days late. I was able to dig in when I got home, as well as catch up on my other classes.

Dani was home, I saw her car; Misty was there, too, but neither of them left their bedrooms. I knocked on Dani’s door to let her know I was okay, but she didn’t answer. I texted her that I was home, but she didn’t read it.

Dani and I don’t fight—she’s never been this mad at me. I also have questions about what the hell happened between her and Xander this weekend. I need to warn her, without giving up too much, and tell her to stay out of this. I’ll give her a few days to stew. I hope when she understands how in love with him I am, she will forgive me.

By Monday night, I still hadn’t spoken to Dani. She had been out all day and arrived home late. I spent Monday night video chatting with Lincoln, and I kept the video on all night long.

He was busy and distracted, but wanted to stay on with me. When I saw Lincoln in class, he smiled but kept his distance, and I’ve spent the majority of the week working on my next paper.

Last night, we didn’t talk and I had trouble sleeping, so I ended up spending hours reading about the original killings in 1979 and analyzing all the evidence. It’s disturbing to think that my family may have played a role in every horrifying event that has occurred in this town. That my grandma Didi killed all those people. She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. It doesn’t make sense to me.

It’s Wednesday night, and I’m waiting for Lincoln to call. I check the class portal and see my latest paper has been graded.

My stomach twists. Lincoln gave me a C. I grab my phone and rage text.

Summer: You gave me a fucking C?

I receive a message back almost immediately.

SF: You can do better than what you submitted. Your thoughts were all over the place, and you didn’t drill down on any topic. The C was generous. It would have been a D, but I’m aware of how rough you had it with us this past weekend, so I cut you some slack. Plus, fantastic blow jobs persuaded me to bump you a letter.

My mouth falls open. Lincoln really has a way of making my jaw drop.

Summer: I was a tad distracted by a sexy guy in a mask who calls himself a god.

SF: Don’t be mad at me. I told you I wasn’t going to take it easy on you just because you’re my girlfriend.

My stomach flutters and I read those words again. Girlfriend? Did he just call me his girlfriend? Our relationship has been so confusing; I didn’t think those words were in his vocabulary. But I suppose I’m his girlfriend…

Summer: I never asked you to take it easy on me. Never, not once.

SF: I want to be the best boyfriend I can be for you. The kind your father would approve of. That means I have to push you, baby.

I nearly choke on my tongue. I’m not sure if my father would approve of Lincoln, but I don’t say that. I part my lips and huff before I press the call button, and he answers on the first ring.

“Hi, pretty girl. Did you miss me?”

I jolt at the sound of Mikael’s voice. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting it. Lincoln’s essence has been coming through and I haven’t seen Mikael since he re-sliced my thigh.

His voice is calm and sexy as always, but it’s not Lincoln on the other side of this phone right now. I’ve spent hours on the phone with Lincoln this semester, and this isn’t him, but in so many ways, it is.

I rarely get to communicate with Mikael directly, even though he’s always underneath the surface, so I need to be sure?—

“Mikael,” I whisper. “Is that you?”

A beat of silence. “Summer, it’s still me.” I blow out a breath and nearly drop my phone as a tidal wave of relief washes over me. His voice, for the moment, sounds like Lincoln again.

The idea of Lincoln disappearing because of me is something I can’t process. Even if there’s a small part of me—the darkest, most repulsive and repugnant part—that can’t help but be incredibly thrilled every time Mikael visits.

I grip the phone and stare down at my computer screen, at the article I was just reading about Shadowface: 2002.

My father—my serial killing, psychopathic father—never loved me. He wasn’t capable of loving people. He killed them and studied them and had no love to give?—

“Speaking of my father,” I say carefully, “he didn’t love me. He lied to me my entire life.”

“He loved you, Summer. He moved his entire life away from Kinsmen to keep you away from it all. He did what he could to keep me away from you.”

I pull my knees to my chest, as if it could fix everything. “Then why did he pull strings to get me to come here? I don’t believe that scholarship was a coincidence.”

He chuckles. “That was all me. I think you underestimate how much control I have here. You needed to come here, and I had to make it happen.”

Of course it was Lincoln, but part of me wishes it wasn’t—that my father believed in me.

“Did he kill anyone else?” I ask. “Or was it the four known victims?”

He pauses longer than he should, and that pause answers my question. “I believe you have the necessary information to answer that question.”

My stomach eats itself when I think about my suppressed memory or acknowledge what I witnessed as a young girl. However, with each passing day, it becomes clearer and more of it resurfaces.

My father killed a lot of people. The girls in the photo’s were the beginning.

Mikael’s mother was the first, and not part of the documented cases. As in, he never left a photo. She was dead and forgotten.

I scroll down on my computer and click on a picture of my father. It was taken only a year before he died. He was still so young, attractive, charismatic, and the smartest man I ever knew. Everyone loved him, everyone wanted to be around him. He helped so many people get over such terrible tragedies.

The tears sting my eyes like poison. I don’t want to cry over him, but I loved him. He was a good father to me.

I peer outside, at a cloud passing the autumn moon. “I understand why he killed your mother, but why did he kill the other girls?” I ask him.

He lets out a breath, and I can imagine him running his hands through his hair, disheveling it.

“Honestly, Summer, my theory is your father was born with a taste for blood. When he killed my mother, it sparked something in him, and he went on a spree. He couldn’t control it. Don’t ask me why he left the photographs; I can’t begin to understand his version of crazy, or why he took such a vested interest in me.”

I sit with those words for a moment. A big part of me knew Lincoln was important to him, but I never dreamed he was the child of a woman he was in love with.

A sick, vile, and twisted thought hits me. “Lincoln… We’re not…?”

“No, Summer, get that dirty thought out of your head. My real father was a one-night stand. I was born before my mother even met your father.”

He’s silent for a moment before he says, “He’s not my blood relation, but he is the most brilliant mind I’ve ever encountered. I know him well enough to know that your mind is the same as his.”

“Because you think I’m a psycho, capable of mass murder?”

“I believe that your minds are similar, but it is entirely up to you what you choose to do with that mind. I’ve watched you throughout your entire life, witnessing you turn into the confident girl you are now. This is precisely why your reaction to discovering that all the men in your life are serial killers is abnormal. Now, ask me the right questions, not the stuff you already know.”

More riddles.

I blow out an exasperated breath, feeling the weight of the situation. The sound of clicking fills the silence on the other end of the line.

His thesis is due soon, the semester is half over. He’ll be a full-fledged professor in a matter of months, yet within that same timeframe, he is expected to slaughter me and inherit a fortune.

I breathe out, staring out into the trees, the starry night, the old town road, that may be my undoing. “I miss you, Lincoln,” I confess. “I can’t function anymore without being near you.”

More clicking.

“You’re a distraction for me right now, baby. A pleasant one, but you won’t help me hit my thesis deadline. My research is done now. I just need to write and finesse. I’m not clear-headed when I’m around you, as you’ve probably figured out.”

I smile despite myself. “Maybe a distraction is a good thing once in a while.” His phone call suddenly turns into a video call, and I answer it immediately.

He’s lying on his bed with the phone propped up on his nightstand. My heart stills when I see him. His hair is mussed as usual when he’s working. His skin is so pale, it’s almost like he’s glowing. And I’m relieved to see him wearing his glasses.

He arches his sexy brows. “What do you have in mind?”

I place my phone on my dresser, and I lift my knees, hinting at what he’s missing. I pull off my shirt so I’m on full display, and I lie back for him.

I hate that I crave him so much and it’s only been a few days. I hate that he supposedly doesn’t feel the same way.

He glances up from his computer and smiles. He’s stressed, I can tell by the tightness of his eyes. I pull my blanket up to cover myself. “I know you’re busy. I’m distracting you, I’m sorry.” I have so much to process, so much to consider, but all I can do is think about him.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am stressed, and I despise it. I have fifty shitty papers to grade before I can even think about beautiful distractions like you.”

This makes me melt a little inside.

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask and motion to get dressed.

“Don’t you dare move an inch—not one fucking inch the rest of the night.” He drops the computer down a touch. “Just lie like that, pretty girl, and let me watch you all night long.”

Pretty girl.

It’s become cathartic to have him watch me. Like when he’s not watching me, there is a dark empty void in my stomach. I secretly like the thought of Mikael watching me, too. Maybe a tiny bit more…

I click open my computer, now more focused—and naked, very naked. I have my own work to do, anyway. After a few minutes, I click off my Word doc and type in Mikael Peters in the search bar. Lincoln’s staring so intently at his computer, I almost think he’s in a trance.

“Are you okay, baby?” Lincoln asks, raising his eyes and my body relaxes.

“Yeah. Just tired.” I lie so easily. That must be hereditary, too. Lincoln goes back to his grading, and I go back to my search. I spend the next half hour desperately searching for him. I check local hospital records, nearby school’s…anything to hint he existed.

It’s like Mikael Peters died the day his mother did. There is no record of him anywhere that I can find, and Lincoln only has an online footprint as an adult.

Those tiny moments I’ve had with him.

Mikael. It’s always been Mikael behind those eyes.

So handsome, so fucking damaged, so utterly psychotic because of what my father did to his mother.

“Three years old,” I whisper so softly. Why was a three-year-old boy watching that unfold? What kind of mother would do that? Where was he before Lincoln emerged?

My heart explodes for both of them. For Mikael and the life he didn’t get to experience, and for Lincoln, for the life he got to live but won’t get to finish.

“Summer, what’s wrong, pretty girl? You look upset.”

When I look up at the screen, Lincoln’s watching me . He quirks his head, and I quickly work to control my emotions.

“Lincoln, my life really is in danger, isn’t it?” I ask him as all color drains from my face.

His silence sends pins into my heart, and a few seconds go by before finally, he says, “More than you’ll ever know.”