Chapter Fifty-Seven
Lilac
My brain hurts after what Irvin did—drowning just to see if I would choose him. Numbness overtakes me.
I hop in the shower, scrubbing the ocean water off my skin. Do I want to admit it out loud that I’m in love with him? I don’t know. I have fallen in love with a monster. Otherwise, I would have let him drown. I would have let him sink. I hate how he tested me.
While I was testing him, he was testing me.
I’m tired of the games.
I hop out of the shower, throw on a T-shirt and sweatpants, and walk into the walk-in closet.
I sit on the lounge chair, thinking I’m in control—but I’m hanging on by a thread.
I breathe deeply, the air burning in my chest, then exhale hard.
My limbs feel like jelly as I struggle to lift my legs.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to the rain beat against the window.
Lightning splits the sky, and for a moment, I feel calm—at ease.
I need something to keep my nerves calm.
I get up and search the island where Irvin usually keeps it. I open the last drawer and pull out a small box. Slowly, I peel it open, and my heart hammers in my chest.
Elena’s driver’s license.
Irek’s driver’s license.
Shelby’s driver’s license.
Robert’s driver’s license.
Tommy’s driver’s license.
I blink. Once. Twice.
It can’t be.
I freeze. My stomach drops.
The only victim not here is Winter. How did—No. No way.
My pulse accelerates, and I clutch my chest. Irvin couldn’t—could he?
He told me he didn’t kill those victims, so how did their IDs end up here?
Every time someone died on campus, he was never around.
Irvin said he only kills if he sees someone as a threat.
He is violent—but not toward me. He enjoys killing people.
He’s manipulative, always controlling where I go.
He moved me away because of the killings.
Was it because he didn’t want me linked to them?
The room spins. I grab the wastebasket and puke, then drop to my knees. I wipe the tears from my eyes.
Irvin is not the man I thought he was. He has a problem; he killed these innocent people.
But he’s a skilled killer—why would he attack Winter? Why would he spare her?
Maybe because she’s my best friend.
Am I capable of loving a murderer? Someone who kills for fun—or who has no regard for human life? I tried to justify his “kills only if threatened” rule, but now he’s pushed too far.
I feel filthy—like I want to bathe in bleach. I feel stupid. Wrong. Broken. Blind. I let him touch me. I let him fuck me. I fell in love with a monster.
I tear clothes from the hangers, tossing them on the floor. I smash a shoe against the mirror. Glass shatters across the carpet.
He lied!
He trapped me!
He killed them!
I love him!
What the fuck is wrong with me?!
I clutch my chest, gasping. Tears pour down my face.
Once I catch my breath, I gather the IDs and stare at them. This isn’t right. Why would he hurt these people? What would be his motive?
I yank open the drawers on the island. Pictures of the victims. Shot. Bloody. Angled strangely. I puke again in the nearest trash can.
I look up. How did the clothes get on the floor? I shake my head.
I need out. I rush to the bedroom. I can’t let Irvin know I discovered he’s the killer. I wanted to be wrong about him, wanted to see past his obsession. But I can’t. Not only is he obsessed with me, he’s obsessed with killing.
I pace. Sit. Pace again.
Do I turn him in? Should I turn him in?
If I do, I betray him—and myself. But what about me? Would staying silent make me a bad person? Do I love him enough not to betray him? Should I choose him or those innocent people? If I keep quiet, we move on like nothing happened. Or I turn him in, and I’m free from this life.
I married another Emerson. My parents’ killer. He didn’t care.
This is too much. Am I too loyal to Irvin, too blinded to see what he’s done? I don’t know who I am anymore. If I love someone like him, what does that make me? Will it make me a monster?
Footsteps approach. I rush to the closet, throwing the IDs inside and slamming the door.
Irvin walks in, hair damp, and strokes my cheek. I try not to flinch, try not to push him away. I stare at the man I thought I knew, and he smiles back at me.
“I heard something crash in here. Are you okay?”
I fight back tears. “I tore up the closet trying to find a shoe Lyrical let me borrow,” I lie.
“A shoe?”
“Yes. It was her favorite.”
“Why don’t you buy her a new pair?”
“It’s a special edition.”
“Get the popcorn started. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I nod.
I watch him leave.
I exhale loudly.
Do I turn my husband in?