Chapter 1 #2
Three fucking weeks from now, Lionel D’Amour will be a free citizen again.
Free.
My hand flies to the pendant dangling around my neck, and I nervously slide it back and forth along the gold chain. It’s a North Star, gifted to me by Barry on my fifteenth birthday.
“You’re my North Star. No matter where you are, I will always find you.”
I’ve held tight to those words, just as I do now as the threat of Lionel coming to find me becomes very fucking real.
“Has it made the news yet?” I ask, sniffling and releasing the pendant to wipe away the snot gathering at the tip of my nose with the back of my hand.
“No, not yet. From what I’m being told, they're treating his case very differently and keeping his release private. Usually, the CDCR releases parole decisions on their website weekly, but they're holding off until the following week of his release. Since the news of his parole hearing broke, the media has become out of hand, and Lionel’s lawyer claims there’s some group out there who believe he’s the Locksmith and have made threats to his life should the board approve his parole, so they’re taking extra precautions.
Not to mention his case being very high profile, so it’s guaranteed to incite chaos on prison grounds between the media and public to witness him getting out. ”
Of course he gets special treatment.
I’m not even surprised.
“And Dread?” I ask, my voice faint. “If you know, then he probably knows now, too, right?”
“He will soon. I have a contact at the prison who let me know ahead of time, and I called you the moment I found out. Victim Services will mail out a letter to him and his attorney within the week.”
I hang my head as the urge to vomit strengthens.
The day Dread finds out… the last four years are going to look like fucking Disney World. Somehow, I’m going to be blamed for Lionel’s release, and if I dare to imagine how furious Dread will be, it’ll look more like a fucking night terror.
“We knew this was a possibility with the copycat still on the loose,” Barry says quietly. “We only hoped it wouldn’t be for another few years.”
I grit my teeth. I hate the fucking copycat murderer almost as much as my father.
Four months after Lionel went to prison, some sick fuck started emulating the Locksmith’s murders. Barry suspects they’re either a fan of Lionel or a friend carrying them out in order to discredit Dread, but it’s impossible to know for sure.
Barry and Jeff have insisted to the public the murderer’s a copycat and not the real Locksmith, but to the world, it just looks like they’re trying to save face because they put away the wrong man.
“And anyway,” Barry continues, “no one expected Lionel to be found guilty in the first place, and we knew public perception could play a hand in their decision.”
No one expected it because there was almost no hard evidence against him.
No DNA. No murder weapons. All Barry and Jeff had was circumstantial evidence.
The day of Katherine’s disappearance, security cameras recorded him in a gas station three blocks away from Katherine’s house.
They also had cell phone tower pings and footage from one traffic cam.
But nothing put him directly at her house, and that’s where reasonable doubt set in.
The only reason the jury changed their minds was because of eyewitness testimony from Dread, Katherine’s son.
Not only did he recount a man coming to his front door wearing exactly what Lionel wore in the gas station footage that day, but he could describe a child’s drawing of angel wings tattooed behind Lionel’s ear in perfect detail—none of which he could’ve possibly known unless he saw Lionel like he claimed.
However, while the jury may have found Lionel guilty of Katherine’s murder, that wasn’t a decision the public agreed with.
No, because earlier that same day, Katherine had taken Dread to Lionel’s car dealership in Silent Mist, and it’s widely believed that’s where Dread actually saw him.
It didn’t matter that Katherine had texted a friend that she met a ‘handsome car salesman’ the week prior when she got her oil changed, or that she had only gone to the dealership that day to sneak in a kiss before their date later that night.
Dread had said Katherine parked the car, leaving him in it while she snuck around to the back of the dealership, only to return about three minutes later to drive them home.
Then, she left for a date five hours later, and she never came home.
To the world, Katherine could’ve been dating any one of the six car salesmen who worked there, though they all denied it.
And because she didn’t go inside the building, there was no footage or witnesses who saw her there with Lionel specifically.
But there was still a possibility Dread somehow saw Lionel at the dealership, and that was enough to cast him as a liar.
I don’t think even the judge believed him, based on the disappointed look that crossed her wrinkled face when the foreman gave the verdict, which is why she gave Lionel the lightest sentence she could.
California doesn’t have the death penalty any longer, but I wish he would’ve gotten it, anyway.
He deserves nothing less.
Instead, the man accused of the most infamous crime in modern history is being released from prison, and, undoubtedly, the world is going to lose their minds.
Once again, I’ll be back in the spotlight.
People will wonder where I am and if I’ll reunite with him.
Sleuths will come looking for me, speculations will arise, and it will be easy for them.
Thanks to the second worst man to be born, most of Hollow Canyon University knows exactly who the hell I am, despite changing my legal name once I turned eighteen.
They'll also go looking for Dread, too, wanting his opinion about his mother's alleged murderer being released. Obviously, it'll lead them to our college, and once the public discovers we go to the same university, they'll have an even bigger heyday.
Even worse, Dread isn't the only person in Hollow Canyon related to a Locksmith victim.
Soon after I learned Dread was attending HCU, I found out Olive Benderman followed him here.
Her mother, Olivia, was murdered in August of 2009, though Lionel has never been charged or convicted of any other murders outside of Katherine's.
It's only known Olivia and the other victims were murdered by the Locksmith, but alas, most people don't believe the serial killer and Lionel are one and the same.
I don't know all the details of Dread and Olive’s friendship, only that they got close over the years and are best friends.
In conclusion, my father won’t have to go searching for me because the media will do all the fucking work for him.
It’s not a matter of if Lionel will find me, but when.
A cold sweat blooms across the back of my neck, and nausea swirls in my stomach. I feel feverish, and I can’t tell if I need to vomit or lie down.
“Try not to stress, sweetheart,” Barry soothes. “Lionel can’t get to you. You’re safe. I know the media will hound you, so just keep away from Kellan and give them as little to work with as possible. Eventually, they’ll lose interest.”
I almost laugh at the irony. He’s so fucking wrong, it hurts.
“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I lie, my voice hushed.
“Call me if anything comes up. I’ll be in touch. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you, too,” I whisper.
The line goes silent, and I immediately drop the phone on the bed to bend forward, tucking my head between my knees as the panic in my system peaks.
My old therapist taught me breathing techniques when the media attention became too overwhelming. Right now, though, I can’t even remember how to think, let alone recall her instructions.
My body sways, and after a few moments, I manage to suck in a deep breath.
I can survive this. I’ve survived under the roof of a monster, and I’m surviving under the reign of another.
If the Locksmith comes to collect, I’ll just do what I’ve always done.
Run.
I need to get the fuck out of this country.
Like now.
Except, transferring schools to study abroad the second semester of my senior year is going to be fucking hell, and truthfully, the chances of another college accepting me is very low.
I've already scheduled an appointment with my academic advisor, Kendra, but the earliest I can see her is next Monday, which is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. However, given the circumstances and limited time frame, Kendra made an exception.
Fuck.
It still feels so far away.
The pit of anxiety bubbling in my stomach rises, worsening the sickening urge to vomit.
It’s our first day back from Christmas break, and the only reason I didn’t skip my ancient history class was because of the stupid fucking syllabus quiz worth five percent of my grade.
It was sheer luck I overheard another student in this class complaining about it in my dorm hallway this morning as I was heading to shower.
But now that I sit here, sightlessly staring at my laptop screen, I wish I would’ve just taken the hit to my grade. I’m going to fucking fail it anyway. I haven’t absorbed a single question, and I’m nearly finished with it.
A tickle on the back of my head tears me from my erratic thoughts. Instinctively, my shoulders tense, and my eyes close in frustration.
“I can see why your father liked hair, you know,” a deep, rough voice whispers from behind me. He grips a small chunk of my dirty blonde tresses, lifting it for his inspection.
Because, of course, Dread ensured he’d sit right behind me. How the fuck else would he torment me so readily?