Chapter Three #2
“Sidney’s grandmother taught art,” says Hana. “She did most of the prints and sketches. Nature was her favorite subject, as you can see.”
He nods and looks around the room. This is not awkward at all.
I love my home. However, having him in it makes me doubt everything.
The house has a simple layout. A living room at the front of the house with a fireplace on one side and stairs on the other.
Then the kitchen, half bathroom, and a small, enclosed patio are on the right.
While the dining room and study are on the left.
Walls are a warm off-white with the original honey-colored wooden floorboards throughout.
French doors with mottled glass separate the different rooms. Though I tend to leave them all open.
Furniture is a mix of Grandma’s and mine.
Her midcentury teak dining table and my navy sofa.
Her pair of vintage black leather and chrome armchairs and my blue velvet cushions and grey wool rug.
Our eyes meet, and yeah. I was so right about it being uncomfortable.
His face is a careful blank. He just stands there in jeans and a tee with a black leather jacket and matching boots.
I realize I’ve been so hungry for the sight and sound of him.
I’m grateful to have him here. But this is not a helpful time to be ovulating.
Hana grins. “Doesn’t Sidney look pretty?”
Noah just nods.
“Your neighbor was about to go for a ride. Did you know he had a motorcycle?”
I clear my throat. “No.”
“Noah, this is Muriel. She’s the third member of our group.” Hana walks toward us, through the dining room and into the study. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
I get to my feet with my mouth open, only I don’t know what to say. Having someone new in my house is an odd enough occurrence. Showing him the contents of this room is on a whole other level.
Noah watches me in silence.
He doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would tell the whole town what we’re doing here.
Secrecy around this project isn’t do or die.
However, I have no idea how the local police or anyone else would react to the news.
Which makes me nervous. There are people still out there who believe I was behind the death and disappearances and that my ex is innocent.
#justiceforryan is their cute catchphrase.
They put it on tees and bumper stickers to help pay his legal fees and keep his name in the public eye.
I am the first to admit that the evidence can seem damning at first. One of my hairs was found on Briana Petersen’s remains and a search of the area where her body was found had been performed on my computer.
But cellphone data had me at home on the night she went missing.
I was watching a film with my grandmother, who was able to provide me with an alibi.
Ryan wound up being tied to the murder through his connection to me.
There have been times when that has felt ironic as fuck.
He had his cellphone turned off during the night in question and an eyewitness saw the victim with a man matching his description.
But back to the here and now. I’m curious what was said to get Noah over here. This could be Hana shooting my last shot. And realistically, the worst that can happen is he rejects me again. Like I don’t have a bottle of tequila and a bag of limes ready to go. I shut my mouth and sit back down.
“There’s a link between Sidney and Ryan’s victims. Or the missing women who we believe were also his victims. They all had long hair and either attended or worked at or near the college,” says Hana.
“We know he took Sidney to the place where he buried the body of Briana Petersen. A couple of months later, heavy rain displaced the soil, and her remains became exposed. It was sheer luck that they found her.”
His attention turns to the walls.
“Lot of places to hide dead bodies in Vermont,” says Muriel in her usual dry tone.
Hana makes a noise of agreement. “We believe he also took Sidney to his other disposal sites. All of this is about figuring out where they are.”
“He took you to a lot of places?” Noah asks me.
I nod. “We did a lot of hiking, and he would pick where we’d stop to rest.”
“For years now, we’ve been trying to help Sidney remember all those spots,” says Hana.
“That’s what all of the pins in the map mean?” asks Noah.
“Yeah. We’re pretty sure we’ve got them all.”
Noah pauses and turns to me. “Did he ever hurt you?”
“No. I mean, not until the end.” I shake my head. “But he could be controlling. I was young and stupid, and thought I was in love.”
“The night they arrested him, he had a kill kit with him,” says Muriel. “He brought a backpack into her apartment. It had duct tape, rope, and other things of that nature.”
Noah blinks. “He was going to murder you?”
“Things hadn’t been going so great.” It isn’t easy to meet his gaze. “I didn’t like being told what to wear or how to behave. Not that he did that exactly. But I knew what the disappointed looks meant.”
“A psychopath can come across as confident and charming. It’s because they don’t care about social norms,” explains Hana.
“They truly have no fucks to give and that can make them seem free and enlightened and above it all. But the manipulation and lack of empathy often becomes obvious to targets over time.”
“They have trouble reading or mirroring emotions, even when it would benefit them,” adds Muriel.
Noah raises his brows. “You’ve done a lot of research into this.”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” says Hana with a smile.
Muriel sits back in her chair. “This is about keeping that bastard in jail. But it’s also about helping people. Thoughts and prayers don’t do a damn thing. You wouldn’t believe how many cold cases there are in this country. Let alone how many women go missing each year.”
Hana nods soberly.
“So…Ryan’s control over Sidney was slipping,” continues Muriel. “And for him, we believe, it’s all about control.”
“He was really going to kill you,” repeats Noah.
I raise my face. “Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
“You were just a kid.” He stares at me for a moment. Then he gestures to the walls. “This is why you stay in town?”
“Yes.”
He turns to Hana and says, “Thank you.”
“No problem. Have a nice ride on your motorcycle!”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says to Muriel. “Thank you for letting me intrude on your Sunday.”
We all watch him leave. The heavy tread of his boots on the hardwood floor and the sound of the door closing shut behind him.
He’s the first person outside of our group to ever see this room and all the evidence of our almost decade-long obsession with death.
And he didn’t run screaming, which I am willing to take as a sort of win.
Muriel sighs. “I can’t believe he ma’amed me. Though he does have excellent manners.”
“Yeah. I really wasn’t prepared for how much hotter he is up close,” says Hana. “But I thought it went well. Don’t you think it went well?”
“Jury’s still out on that one. Did you tell Sidney you were bringing him in here?”
“I didn’t even know I was going to do it,” says Hana. “But then I saw him standing there and just thought…fuck it.”
Muriel snorts.
Hana frowns in my direction. “Sidney, say something. I can take you salty, but I can’t handle silence. Are you mad at me or what?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “You look like you’re experiencing big feelings.”
“I am.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But this is a good thing. He has all of the facts now and can make an informed decision as to whether he ever wants to talk to me again. Thank you.”
Muriel’s eyes widen for a second time today.
“You know, I refused to let Ryan control me. But that’s exactly what I’ve been allowing the situation he caused do to me for years.”
Hana nods sadly. “Yeah.”
“Women often carry the shame for things they didn’t do. The question is,” says Muriel, “what are you going to do about it?”
I get to my feet and stand tall. “Who wants a margarita?”