Chapter 28
Ivan’s frustration is a beast that haunts me, reaching for me, sniffing out my scent as he watches me from afar, but Thorne’s promise holds in his absence.
My thighs squeeze together at the reminder of last night.
I couldn’t be more ready for him to come back home.
Every moment he’s gone feels like an eternity—not knowing if he’s safe, having no idea what he’s up to.
Hawthorne is rarely vague. I can only hope he’s not putting himself at risk for my sake.
This loophole we’ve found isn’t a perfect solution, but I’m grateful it buys us time, keeps me out of Ivan’s reach. It could work if we’re careful about it. Meticulous, even. Getting fucked for your own safety doesn’t seem like such a big compromise.
But knowing Hawthorne, it won’t be good enough. We won’t be able to rest until Ivan’s gone, which is why I’ve spent the last hour in his office looking for anything that might help me find a way to make Ivan’s absence more permanent.
My search has proved fruitless, but I’m not willing to give up just yet. Instead, I stroll through the house, hoping to inspire some creativity, maybe knock a tucked-away idea loose.
I start for the stairs with the best of intentions, but distraction is easy in this house, so many memories to get lost in.
Running my hand along the wall, I can’t help but think of afternoons spent kneeling in front of his record collection, a couple of melomaniacs introducing each other to new favorites and swapping the ones we were tired of.
While I was dipping my toe into classics like Bauhaus and The Cure, he was always discovering new artists.
Then there was his mom, often popping in to educate us baby bats on the subgenres, evolution of goth sounds, and dropping short musical history lessons, such as the influence of funk, blues, and Black creatives as a whole on goth culture and the bands we loved.
She was a professor through and through, and I soaked up every bit of knowledge she was willing to share, knowing how music was my lifeline, often the only thing standing between me and the ear-shattering arguments that filled my house day in and day out.
The music was a major part of it, obviously, but everything about the goth subculture had a formative impact on me.
The respect and ethics, the appreciation of the macabre, the acceptance of the somber, the embrace of nonconformity, and the challenge to the mainstream had always resonated with me.
The fact that Hawthorne shared those values shocked me at first, but after getting to know him—the real him—and his family, it made sense.
For a jock that was loved by everyone, he sure didn’t act like one of them. The disease that was popularity never managed to fully sink its claws into him. That’s why, despite all of our differences, we created a friendship built on mutual understanding.
That friendship was the foundation for everything.
Rock solid and forged from years of deep bonding.
It’s why, despite the hopelessness that Ivan tried to drown me in, when Hawthorne says to trust him, I can’t help but believe that there’s a way out of this.
He’s never let me down. If anyone can figure it out, it’s us.
Losing track down memory lane, I don’t even register that I’ve walked down the stairs and onto the back deck until the sun beams down on my face as it peeks through the clouds. Perfect weather for a walk.
A morbid curiosity propels me toward the mausoleum. Whether I intend to look upon my dead body, I’m not sure. On the one hand, it could be therapeutic. On the other hand, what if it’s traumatizing? I’ve worked with dead things most of my life, but my own corpse might be taking it too far.
As I approach, I halt in my tracks. On the steps is a woman with dark brown hair who looks to be in her early twenties.
“Hello?”
Instead of answering, she stands and silently walks into the tree line.
Hesitating for a moment, I consider whether it’s smart to follow. But I can’t just not, right? Shit.
Jog-walking, I follow. “Wait,” I shout when I finally spot her again, but the woman continues deeper into the trees. I’m forced to pick up the pace to keep up with her. The path she sets isn’t an easy one to follow, but I make my way through. Catching glimpses of her, I finally manage to catch up.
“Where are you taking me?” I say, half out of breath.
“I’m going to give you what you need to get rid of him.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ll see,” she responds cryptically.
“Why should I trust you? How do I know you’re not just helping him?”
She sighs impatiently. “Because I’m the reason he’s here in the first place.”
“I’m sorry…are you saying you’re the one who killed him?”
“I was.” She stands up taller. “It was mostly luck and desperation. I fought for that knife. I’d never stabbed anyone, but I figured anything that sharp could do damage and had a pretty high chance it would hit something critical.
” Her eyes go distant. “Besides, I was already done for. All I could think about as I was tumbling in those leaves with him, breathless, bleeding out, was that if there was any justice in this world, any at all, that he wouldn’t walk away from that night. That no other women would go missing.”
“Other women?”
“Yes. Well, mostly girls, really. But yes, there were others.” She tilts her head, studying me in dissatisfaction. “How is it that you spent nearly every day with him by your side, and yet, you don’t seem to know anything about him?”
“He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his past. When we first met, he told me he died here, but that’s it. I didn’t make it a habit of harassing dead people about how they ended up that way. They usually told me anyway. But once I saw the real him, well, that was all I needed to see.”
“You have no idea what kind of devil you’ve been in bed with.”
“It’s not as if I’ve had a choice. And trust me, this only further confirms that he’s exactly the type of man I think he is. He’s not the first cruel, manipulative man I’ve ever met.”
“I should have warned you when I realized—” She shakes her head, warning off tears that pool in her eyes. Her jaw is tense as she looks me over, her prying stare setting me on edge.
“Realized what?”
“That you looked just like them…me. Dark hair, brown eyes, not some petite, frail thing. He never liked that.” She sighs. “You know, when they built this house, and I saw that they only had a son, I was relieved. I thought maybe it would end with me. But then…”
“Then I showed up.”
“And you didn’t leave. You only became a more and more frequent fixture.
Even from a distance, I saw his interest in you pique.
I watched the hunt unfold. Because make no mistake, he was hunting you long before you were aware of his presence.
” I lean on the tree for support, my head swimming with so much new information.
She could be lying. She could, but she’s not.
Despite how unbelievable it all sounds, it also fits just right. It makes so much sense.
“How many?” I gasp. “How many did he kill?”
“I don’t know for sure. At least five that I know of.”
“How do you know that?”
“For starters, he killed my best friend.”
“And you…what? Thought you could expose him? Catch him?” There’s no way I would have put myself in that man’s orbit if I had any choice, knowing what he is.
“Not originally, but you can’t ignore fate.
It had been years since I’d seen him. He’d been one of my middle school teachers, and for him to be my professor all those years later.
It’s like Kaylee dropped him in my lap, a sign from the universe and all that.
” She laughs, but there’s nothing lighthearted about it.
“Even though I was much older than she was, I thought, ‘how hard could it be to seduce a man like that?’ It wasn’t hard…
and that should have been the waving red flag.
But I was young and arrogant and so full of rage and hatred that I just didn’t see it coming. ”
“What was the outcome you were hoping for?” I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but I’m astonished that someone would put themself in the position to be alone with someone they suspected to be a killer.
“I was going to get him to confess what he did to her. I’d never considered that maybe he was the one setting a trap and not the other way around.
I thought having the attention of a woman older than his usual affections would be exciting for him, distracting.
Something to fuel his arrogance, not tip him off.
” She shakes her head at her younger self.
“He did admit it, but of course, I never got to tell anyone.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” The words aren’t enough, but I don’t know what else to say.
“It was a long time ago. But thank you. I thought I’d made my peace with it, but when you came back, it stirred up all those old fears, the paranoia. I ran, hid, when I should have helped you. Now I just want to make it right.”
“And how can you do that?”
“I know where the knife is.”
“You do?”
She grabs my hand, dragging me deeper into the forest, weaving between trees. “I saw him hiding it when he was inside your friend. He put it right back in the same place. He thought it was safe, but it’s always been a ticking time bomb.”
She runs her foot over a patch of dirt just at the base of a tree, clearing the leaves and sticks that cover it. Kneeling down, she starts digging. When it takes more than a few seconds, I kneel down to help her, shocked by how deep it’s been buried.
After another minute, my nails dig into the worn leather of the handle. “Got it.” Dislodging it with a hard yank, I tear the knife free.
“Great, now make sure to put it to good use.” My mysterious ally stands and starts to walk away.
“Why tell me this now? Why help me all of a sudden if you’ve been here all this time?”
“Because I was supposed to be his last victim. I can’t bear the thought of him getting satisfaction out of tormenting any more women. It was the kick I needed to come out of hiding temporarily.” She studies me over her shoulder. “Don’t make the risk for nothing. End this, for all of us.”
“Thank you,” I call after her. As expected, she ignores me.
Turning my attention to the brutal knife in my hands, I feel more powerful than I have in years, my instincts awakening, sharpening with attention. This has to be the way.
If I wasn’t eager for Hawthorne to return before, I am now. This is our chance.
The future we planned was always a thing of delicate gossamer, an intricately spun web, the silk hanging by precarious anchor points. But then Ivan walked in and tore right through it, leaving it dangling in tatters. But the spider always rebuilds. The spider is resilient. I’m resilient.