Chapter 23 #4
“I-I never asked, and he never told me. I was six years old and barely understood what I saw. I-I didn’t understand what a serial killer was, or that they keep killing—”
“But you must’ve known about all the women disappearing,” he says harshly.
“They had several counties in Northern California on high alert. It was all over the news that there were women going missing left and right. Several counties had strict curfews for over a year before they even arrested Lionel, and all the kids at school talked about it because we couldn’t play outside after dark anymore.
We're the same goddamn age, Rev, and for a long time, women being murdered was all anyone could talk about.”
His body seems to inflate with fury as he stares down at me, his stare menacing and blazing with anger.
“Georgia died in 2009. My mom died in 2011.
She was his last victim before he was arrested.
Do you know how many women he could've killed between their deaths?
I mean, fuck, Rev. The man was probably on a fucking spree for decades before he killed Georgia.
Families in all of Northern California were terrified for years because they couldn't find him, which is why we were virtually on fucking lockdown. And all along, you knew exactly where he was. You had to have connected the dots eventually, right? That he was the one doing it?”
I nod, several more hot tears searing paths down my cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I knew and was too scared to say anything.”
Dread stares at me like I’ve morphed into a beast, like he doesn't even recognize me. Unshed tears well in his eyes, glassy, offering a stark reflection of his agony.
“You knew he was still murdering women, and you didn’t tell anyone.” It's a statement, not a question.
I nod rapidly and roll my lips, because what else is there to say? I understand why he’s so angry. It’s the same reason I’m so angry with myself.
“You could’ve saved them,” he whispers, the words breaking at the seams. Then, his face twists with fury and disbelief. “You could’ve saved her.”
I close my eyes just as another tear slips free. “Yes,” I say, my voice hushed.
“If you just… if you just would’ve told someone—”
“Your mom would still be alive,” I finish, my voice cracking.
He stares at me with wide eyes, thunderstruck, hurt, filled with so much rage.
I was a witness. I even knew he kept trophies from the murders.
And I stayed silent.
And because I did, Lionel D’Amour was free to meet Katherine Sharpe two years later.
He was free to ask her on a date. He was free to pick her up at her house, leaving behind a grieving little boy who’d already lost his father.
And he was free to murder her, to scatter her remains in a fucking junkyard.
Dread takes a step toward me, his expression battling between disbelief and anger.
“It took five months before we went to trial, and the trial took another month. That entire fucking time, I fought with everything I had to get people to believe me, and almost no one did, except that jury, Barry, and Jeff.” Another step, and my spine curves, feeling so incredibly small.
“That whole time,” he points an accusing finger at me, baring his teeth, “you sat in on all those interviews, praising what a wonderful dad he was while knowing he was a fucking monster!”
“I was a little kid—”
“SO WAS I!” he roars, his voice cracking.
I wince, rivers rushing down my cheeks as he struggles to breathe, his face flushed red.
“They all called me a fucking liar. For years, Reverie! They still fucking do. They said I was putting an innocent man behind bars, that the real Locksmith was still out there. Kids bullied me fucking relentlessly because their parents said I was evil. The world wrote hundreds of articles about the little boy who manipulated a jury into ruining a man’s life.
They fucking stalked me, sent my grandmother death threats, vandalized her home more times than I can count.
I-I couldn’t go out in public without someone recognizing me and giving me dirty looks or telling me I should be ashamed of myself.
They fucking tormented me!” I flinch as he trembles violently, so much fucking agony reflecting at me.
His voice quietens, though his words are raw as he says, “But no one gave a fuck about how my life was ruined. No, they only gave a fuck about how I ruined yours.”
He takes a deep breath, seeming to struggle to hold back the tears threatening to spill over his waterline. That, more than anything, almost sends my spine crumbling to dust.
“And I-I get it, Rev. You were fucking terrified. You saw something traumatizing, and even though it fucking hurts, I can understand why you were too scared to tell anyone. But when they arrested your father, he couldn’t hurt either of you anymore.
He wasn’t allowed out on bail, so he was in jail for a year before the trial even began. ”
“There were a few times he mentioned having friends, and they sounded like threats,” I defend weakly.
“They sounded like it, or they were?” he questions.
“He never explicitly said they'd do anything bad to me. It was just the feeling I got. Except for when I was thirteen. I think he knew I was pulling away by then, so he told me he had friends who weren’t in prison. That's when I decided to walk out and never go back.”
Dread hums. “But you never saw these alleged friends? Never heard of them or saw them outside of these vague mentions?”
I bite my lip, my chin trembling, and feebly shake my head, understanding how stupid it sounds now. Admittedly, I've always wondered if he really did have friends, or if he was just trying to scare me.
Regardless, even if he didn't then, he might now—if he and the copycat truly are working together.
“Did the police ask you if you saw anything?”
Another hot tear trails down my cheek, and the guilt in my eyes is answer enough.
“And you said no.”
I roll my lips together, and after a beat of hesitation, I nod again.
“You stayed silent. You knew the truth. And you didn’t say a fucking word,” he says quietly, a bone-deep sorrow embedded in every syllable.
“Why?”
By the time the word squeezes past his throat and falls from his lips, it’s in fragments, whispered so brokenly, I barely hear it at all.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. No matter what I say, it will never be sufficient.
It will never take away the fact that someone out there had the opportunity to save his mother, and they didn’t take it.
Nor will it change the fact that he went through hell to put my father behind bars and then went through hell for succeeding.
Not a single time did I step in to help him.
Dropping my gaze, I clear my throat again and swipe away a few more stray tears before wringing my fingers together.
“All I can say is that I was a kid, Dread. That won’t make it better for you, and I get that, but I was a child who walked in on the most evil thing you could possibly imagine, only to be told the same thing would happen to me and my mom if I spoke a word.
When Barry arrested him, my mom told me every day they were going to release him.
She said over and over that they had nothing substantial against him.
So every day, I expected him to come home.
I was terrified, and I didn’t understand everything, but I understood what it felt like to die. ”
He remains silent long enough to draw my gaze back up to him. He glares at the floor, the muscle in his jaw on the verge of tearing through his flesh while his knuckles repeatedly flex, though he seems to be working on calming himself.
“I wrote a letter to the parole board telling them this,” I say after the silence continues to drag.
He slowly brings his attention to me, and his gaze is cold enough to turn my lips blue.
“I also told them when I was in the shed, he showed me a box. He called it his lockbox, where he kept locks of hair he’d take from all the victims. He was proud of it, and he made me…
” My voice starts to crack, so I take a second to regain my composure again.
“He made me touch the pretty hair. That was the last time I saw it, of course. And when the FBI raided our house, they obviously never found it. I… I don’t know where it is, but I know it’s out there somewhere. ”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, wishing more than anything a black hole would open beneath me.
“You told them all this, and they still let him out?”
I hold out my hands in a shrug, as if to say, What’re ya gonna do?
“They spoon-fed me the same medicine they shoved down your throat. They questioned the integrity of my claim because I stayed silent for so long. As far as they’re concerned, I’m the petty daughter wanting revenge for my mother’s death.
In her suicide note, she’d said she couldn’t take the pain of being separated from the only person she’s ever loved. ”
Repeating those words should hurt, but I’ve long since accepted my mother didn’t know how to love me.
“The warden sent them a glowing letter about what a stand-up man he is, how he deserves to be free, so they ignored it and basically tossed my letter in the garbage.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Of course they did,” he mutters beneath his breath.
I sniffle and then inhale deeply, attempting to gather myself somewhat, despite the absolute carnage inside my body.
“Look, I’m not asking for your protection, but I mean it when I say my father won’t allow me to live if I continue to defy him.
I’ve already broken my promise and tried to tell the parole board the truth.
My mom isn’t alive to hold it over my head anymore, and, well, my life was always going to be on the line anyway.
I’m a witness to his crimes, and I know there’s evidence out there tying him to the murders.
I’m a loose end he’s not going to just let go. ”
He looks off to the side, his eyes darting back and forth as the muscle in his jaw continues to pulse, mulling that over for a moment.
“He could’ve destroyed the box. Gotten rid of it,” he says finally.
I shrug. “It’s possible, but I don’t think he did. He knew he was going to get out one day, and I don’t think he would’ve destroyed such a coveted collection. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and obviously knows how to hide shit.”
The gears in his mind churn, and truthfully, I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to get out of this anymore. I sure as fuck never thought he’d save me. I hoped he’d at least stop dangling me as bait, and take me seriously when I said Lionel will kill me.
Except I realize now that maybe I’m giving Dread the perfect opportunity to get revenge on me, allow him to keep using me to draw my father out, let him kill me, and then either kill Lionel himself or send him back to prison for my murder. Whichever of the two serves him best, I guess.
Either way, I’m dead.
And, well… that fucking sucks.
“You don’t know where it could be?”
I tighten my lips into a firm line. “I guess I’ll try to find out when I’m back home.”
His brow knits, perplexed as to why I'm planning to return to California.
I give him an ‘isn’t it obvious?’ look.
“Did you think I was going to get to stay here?” I let out a derisive laugh.
“I tried to hide from him for a reason, Dread. I knew the moment he found me, he’d force me back to California.
Transferring schools out of the country was my only option, but he fucked that up by holding Roxi over my head.
I already feel guilty for all the women who came after Georgia.
I don’t know if I can handle any more blood on my hands. ”
But I might have to bear that weight, anyway. I bargained with Dread to transfer to London and lost miserably, but I could break our deal, go anyway, and hope like hell he protects Roxi.
What's the value of a promise if I won’t be alive to keep it?
Making that promise was allowing a broken bone to heal incorrectly, and because of it, I have to live a life of pain. The only way to truly heal is to break and reset it. It'll hurt like fucking hell at first, but in time, I'll be okay again.
Unless Dread plans on kidnapping me and locking me away somewhere, he can’t stop me from doing what I need to do, especially with his swim career keeping him so busy.
“You baited him. You basically threw me out like a piece of meat, and now, the monster is coming to get his dinner,” I say simply.
“He already believes I know all of this,” he says calmly, seeming unconcerned. “So if he’s coming to get you, he’s coming for me, too. And that’s exactly what I wanted.”
My smile is full of pity. “You still don’t get it.
He’s not worried about you. You’re the dreadful boy who put away an innocent man.
A broken record with no evidence. You've skewed your reality and created an echo chamber by becoming the king of HCU, but there's an entire world outside this campus, Dread.” I lean forward, my gaze patronizing with a touch of mirth, as if to say, You silly little boy, you have no idea what you're talking about.
It's not funny, but all you can do is laugh at how deluded they are.
“They didn’t believe you then, and they sure as hell won't believe you now.
Your Olympic gold medals mean nothing compared to a white, heterosexual man who's been deeply wronged.
You're still a fucking liar, Dreadful Sharpe.”
His jaw hardens, and my smile bleeds into a saddened chuckle as I lean back.
“Hate me while you still can, because as long as I stay here under your thumb, Lionel will find me, and he won't take you with me.”
My smile fades completely as I stare at him blankly, feeling as dead inside as I will be in the near future.
“And once I’m gone, we both know I’m not coming back.”