Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
HER
I knew I couldn’t afford a room.
But by the time I made it out of the woods, my muscles were screaming with fatigue, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I wanted was a place to shower and sleep. And even though I tried to clean myself up with wipes in the bathroom of a questionable gas station, the man at the front desk in the motel scrutinized me. Still, I kept my chin up, and he handed me the key after I paid for one of the cheaper rooms.
After showering, I towel myself off and slip into a clean set of clothes. The Wayside Motel isn’t fancy, with its yellowed walls and stained carpet. But right now, it feels like paradise. After flipping off the light, I collapse onto the bed and close my eyes. Even though I washed up, I still feel dirty—all the sweat, the dirt, Damon’s cum leaking down my face …
I shift uncomfortably, rubbing my thighs together. Even now, after everything that’s happened and everything he’s done, my body still feels aroused by the mere thought of him. I hate that even after all this time, he still has this twisted hold over me.
Taking a deep breath, I try to focus my thoughts elsewhere. I came out here to visit my father and find out exactly what happened that night.
And why he gave himself up for me.
I roll over and fixate on the painting across the room—a landscape of rolling hills and a bright blue sky. For a moment, I allow myself to get lost in it, an escape from reality if only for just a moment. But it doesn’t take long for reality to creep back in. Damon’s face appears in my head. Along with his words, his touch, his presence.
Curling up in a ball, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will it all away. Eventually, sleep takes me, but it’s far from peaceful. All I see is Damon’s face contorted in pleasure as he fucks me, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside of me.
I wake up suddenly, jerking upright.
The morning light filters through the gap in the curtains. I rub my eyes, disoriented from the unfamiliar surroundings of the motel room. I run my hands through my hair, wishing I could clear my mind of all thoughts related to Damon. As much as I try to resist him, I can’t help but feel drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
It’s fucking twisted— I’m twisted. We’re both sick in the head, but it feels inevitable that we’ll always find our way back to each other. And to be honest, I just don’t know what to do with that realization.
After sliding out of bed and stretching, I contemplate what to eat before heading over to Ellsward County State Penitentiary. But the more time creeps forward, the more my stomach ties itself into knots. It’s been years since I’ve seen my father, and a strange combination of dread and sadness claws at my brain.
This will be the last time I’ll ever see him.
After dressing, I leave the motel in search of breakfast. Fortunately, the hunt does not take long; I find a small restaurant only a few miles away. The sticky tabletop and seats patched with old, peeling duct tape make me wonder about the food quality. Still, I scarf down my waffles and inhale my coffee before departing.
I make my way to the prison. The looming walls serve as a stark reminder that this will be our final goodbye. Sorrow hits me like a truck, and I struggle to hold back the tears as I approach the gates. The guards let me through, and I take a deep, shaky breath as I park.
As expected in a high-security prison, there are many guards along the way, each one vigilant and armed. Once I’m cleared by security and granted entry, I’m escorted to a booth in one of the visitation rooms. I sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair, repeatedly twisting the ring on my finger as I wait for my father to arrive.
After what feels like forever, my father finally walks through the door. He looks older, with a thinner face and streaks of gray in his dark hair. Sitting across from me, separated by a glass pane, he picks up the phone. Though he looks exhausted, his eyes—the same ones I inherited—sparkle when he sees me.
I bring the handset to my ear. “Hey,” I say, trying not to let my voice shake.
“Hey, little Penguin.” His voice is rough and worn, but it’s still the voice I know and love. “It’s good to see you.”
Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. “It’s good to see you too, Dad,” I say, exchanging smiles with him for the first time in years. “I missed you … I’m sorry for not visiting you sooner.”
He leans closer to the glass, and I catch sight of his thinning arm. The baggy jumpsuit just makes it even more obvious that he’s lost weight. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” he says. “I imagine things haven’t been easy for you since then. And I wouldn’t blame you for holding a grudge after everything I’ve done.”
I stare at him, struggling to reconcile the man before me with the monster who took so many lives. But he’s my father, the person I looked up to the most. I don’t think I can ever truly hate him, no matter how much pain his actions inadvertently caused me. “No grudges. I just want you to know that I still love you. Nothing can change that.”
“I love you too, Penguin.” He smiles, pressing a hand to the glass, and I do the same. “Thank you for coming to visit me today,” he starts, his expression turning serious, “but something tells me you’re not here just to exchange pleasantries. ”
Perceptive as usual . He’s always been eerily skilled at reading people. “No,” I admit, knowing that lying to him is pointless. “I came here to ask you some questions about the past—questions that nobody else can answer.”
He nods slowly, likely already knowing what I’m about to ask. “What do you want to know?”
I remember Damon’s words in the woods—about the night I lost control and almost killed Richard. About how my father took the fall for me and was found out. That he buried the bodies of his victims practically right in our backyard. Anticipatory dread sends my heart into a violent drumbeat against my ribcage, and I swallow hard.
Dad looks at me, his brow creased in concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay,” I say, forcing a brittle smile as I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I just …” I take a deep breath before continuing. “What actually happened that night? My memory’s hazy.”
He sighs, his gaze drifting up toward the camera tucked in the upper corner of the room. Knowing that our conversation is probably being monitored, he speaks quietly but resolutely.
“I did what I had to do to protect you. When I came to the house that evening to pick you up for the weekend, I found you there with that prick, pale and shaken. I knew something had gone terribly wrong.” He leans closer, lacing his fingers together atop the stark white table. “So I took care of things, for your sake. I wanted to keep you safe, and that’s what I did—even if it meant sacrificing my freedom.”
“But Dad?—”
“It was the right thing to do. And I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting my little girl.” His eyes soften. “That’s what good fathers do.”
I’m overwhelmed, his words smashing into me like a thousand fists, a sob wrenching from my throat. His face crumples at the sight of my tears, and he does his best to give me a reassuring smile in place of his trademark hugs—ones I wish I desperately could have right about now. “Thank you, Dad,” I say thickly. “For everything.”
He nods, his eyes shining with unshed tears of his own. “No need to thank me, little Penguin. Just know that I love you and would do anything for you, okay?”
I nod back, my lip quivering as a fresh wave of grief washes over me. I realize that our time is running out, and the thought of this being the last time I’ll ever be able to talk to my father before he’s executed hits me like a freight train. “Did Mom know?” I ask, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them.
He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly before he speaks. “I tried to hide it, but she probably figured it out.”
I had my suspicions that Patricia knew and did nothing. But am I any better? I suppose I truly am my mother’s daughter, being with a murderer. It’d be hypocritical to judge. “I need to know why,” I say. “Why did you kill all those people?”
He looks at me, his expression shifting, his face an apathetic mask. “They deserved it,” he replies coldly, the Lakestone Reaper himself now on full display before me. “There are bad, bad people out there—bad people that need to be punished. If the justice system fails, then it’s up to people like me to make things right. Even the scales.”
I swallow, meeting his gaze. “And do you regret it?”
“I’m proud of my work and what I’ve done,” he says, as if the answer is obvious. “If I could do it again, I would. Over and over, as many times as it takes. In every lifetime. The world is broken. And this”—he gestures around him—“is the price of justice. I paid it willingly. I have no regrets.”
His convictions evoke a strange mix of horror and admiration in me, and I’m unsure of what to think. He killed people, but he truly believed he was doing the right thing. What am I supposed to make of that?
Though what he says, in some fucked up way, makes sense.
An extended silence stretches between us until I finally find my voice. “Will I turn out like you?” I ask softly.
“You’re my tough girl. Always have been.” He manages a faint smile, once again looking more like the father who woke me up on my birthday, surprising me with breakfast in bed and presents. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”
A prison worker opens the door—and I know our time together is about to end. My father glances at the attendant and gives me a nod. I brush away the tears caught in my lashes and nod silently back .
As I’m about to disconnect, he suddenly says, “I do have one regret.”
That gets my attention. “And what’s that?”
“Leaving you behind, forcing you to carry the burden of my blood without someone to guide you. Leaving you adrift without someone that understands you.” Damon’s face flashes in my mind as my father continues. “I love you, my little Penguin. Never forget that.”
The worker clears his throat, reminding us of his presence.
It’s hard to find the right words to express the indescribable pain that blooms in my chest. “I won’t forget, Dad. I love you, too.”
We touch hands through the cool glass again, my heart tearing into two as it all sinks in.
“It’s time,” the attendant reminds me.
My father disconnects the line and stands, giving me one last look—eyes filled with strength and love. It’s the kind of look only a father can give his child as they say goodbye for the last time. I watch as he’s escorted away, my body numb, all words lost on my tongue. I should have said more, but it’s too late now.
I’m lost in a daze as I make my way out of the prison and into the parking lot, my mind still stuck in that booth. His words about finding someone who understands me still echo in my ears as I get into my car.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s some truth to it.