Chapter 30 Reverie #2
I shrug. “Who else would help him? She's probably the copycat.”
Again, Barry’s response is delayed, which has my heart dropping before he even gets the words out.
“Sweetheart… It can't be the copycat.”
My eyes snap to Dread's, my lips parting in shock, prompting him to silently mouth, “What?”
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure no one is lingering in the hallway then pull the phone away from my ear and hit the speaker button.
“What do you mean it can't be the copycat?” I ask slowly.
Dread’s expression falls, stone hardening his features as he stares at the phone. I'm unsure what to make of it, but Barry's voice is pulling my attention away.
“A girl was reported missing last night. Elise Bender. Her remains were discovered this morning,” he says, though caution lines his tone.
My brows knit, and my mouth flops with bewilderment, speechless.
“W-what?”
Barry releases a heavy exhale, as if he doesn't want to say whatever's next. “The copycat left her remains in a trash bag outside of the police department's door about two hours ago.”
Dread’s stare flies up to meet mine, just as stunned as I am.
“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he's saying. “How do you know for sure it's the copycat who left them? And aren't there cameras?”
“Yes, but they were wearing a hood and what looked like a ski mask, as well as all-black, nondescript clothing. He walked on and off the property, so no vehicle, and there are no other cameras that caught him or his car.” He lets out another heavy, tired sigh as he continues, “As for the remains, I’ve already inspected them. ”
Them, because the remains are never whole.
“They're exactly like the copycat's. Same consistency with the cuts. Exactly like all the other victims when Lionel was in prison.”
I blink several times, staring down at the note, wondering if it's just a figment of my imagination. But I know it's not, because Dread stares down at it, too.
“B-but what if he killed the person beforehand, flew here, and had Lionel drop them off to make it seem like the copycat was still in California but actually wasn’t?”
He doesn’t answer for a few beats, the silence weighted. “You definitely have the mind of an investigator and know what questions to ask,” he says with a hint of pride, though it’s followed by a sad chuckle.
My frown deepens, confused. “Officer Hillcrest provided us with his body cam footage,” Barry begins on a heavy, frustrated exhale.
“Footage with a clear date and time stamp of Hillcrest visiting Lionel’s home at the same exact time the remains were left outside the police station.
They timed it all perfectly. The evidence is indisputable.
It’s physically impossible for either Lionel or the copycat to be in Colorado already.
Lionel can’t fly without prior approval and wouldn’t be stupid enough to try without it, so even if the copycat got a direct flight and no delays, it’s… it’s just not possible, honey.”
I sputter for a moment while I try to organize my thoughts.
“I don't…” I trail off, my heart picking up speed as a sickening feeling weighs in my gut.
“I don't understand. If it's not Lionel or the copycat, who the fuck threw this at Dread's window? It has eyeballs in it, Barry. Potentially Mindy’s eyeballs! Whoever took her is either trying to set me up or is taunting me.”
I bite my lip just as it begins to tremble.
God, all of this is just so… fucked up. And I'm so fucking tired. Of all of it.
Why can't everyone just leave me the fuck alone?
“I’m going to call the sergeant at the Hollow Canyon police department and arrange for them to pick up the evidence from you,” he says. “For all we know, they’re not even real, and someone is messing with you.”
My mouth opens then closes, having not considered that. I glanced inside the box long enough to see what was in it—the blood, the color of the irises—before snapping it shut. They looked real, but Dread has proven once before that just because body parts look that way doesn’t mean they are…
My heart drops like a stone in a well.
“It could still be Roxi,” I assert, suddenly feeling like there’s a crater in my stomach.
“We will be questioning her,” Barry assures. “If those eyeballs are real, and she doesn’t have an alibi for her whereabouts, that will make her a viable suspect.”
I let out a breath, finding some sort of comfort in at least that much, and mumble, “Okay.”
However, Barry groans, as if he’s about to say or ask something he doesn’t want to. “Rev, are you sure it's not—”
A muffled voice from Barry’s end cuts off his question, and after a few beats of heavy silence, he lets out a weighted exhale.
“What?” I ask, alarm strengthening my voice.
“I asked Hillcrest to reconfirm if Lionel is home just in case, and he is. So we know it's not Lionel or the copycat definitively.”
I frown. There’s something prodding at the back of my mind, insisting I question that.
“I want to talk to him myself.”
The demand is out of my mouth before it has the chance to become a thought.
From my peripheral, Dread’s stare snaps up to me, but I keep my eyes pointedly diverted. Barry’s silent for an extra beat, his surprise palpable through the phone.
“W-who, sweetheart?”
“The parole officer. Officer Hillcrest.”
Again, another moment of stunned silence passes. “You want to speak to his parole officer?”
His question is hesitant, almost like he can’t believe I’d ask something like that.
My hands tremble, but my resolve is steady. “Yes.”
Barry stutters for a second, then says, “Okay. I will ask him to call you.”
“Thank you.”
Then, I do something I never do. I hang up.
My heart pounds, adrenaline circulating through my system, but my brain is struggling to understand my body’s reactions. I don’t know why I suddenly felt so uncomfortable staying on the phone with Barry, only that I did.
“Why do you want to talk to him?” Dread’s voice jars me out of my thoughts. I look up at him, my mouth hanging open as I try to process what he even asked.
I jut out my bottom lip while I think of how to respond. But that’s the problem—I can’t think. At least not properly. So, I settle with the only answer I can give him right now.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip, but I might as well be dragging sandpaper across a dry sponge.
“Something about this entire situation feels so fucking off,” I say, the volume of my voice rising.
“None of this makes sense, and I— Someone could be lying, okay? I-I don’t know who, but I just feel like someone is lying. ”
My heart pounds as the words stutter from my mouth, like my body wants to physically stop them. There are very limited options on who could be lying to me, and that’s why it feels so wrong to say.
Dread studies me closely, giving nothing away and only making me more uncomfortable with my thoughts.
“Do you think Barry is?” he asks after a few tense moments.
I shake my head, except not as an answer, but to reject his question entirely.
“I don’t know,” I say again, my voice quiet and subdued once more.
He looks like he’s trying to get a read on me while I avoid his stare at all costs, even going as far as to stare at the floor. I know what he wants—for me to assure him I don’t think he’s lying.
But I can’t.
So, for several minutes, we wait in thick, unnerving silence.
By the time my phone buzzes, an unknown number displayed across my screen, I’m ready to crawl outside of my own skin.
I quickly answer the call, grateful for the reprieve from the tension. “Hello?”
This time, I don't put it on speaker, yet another inexplicable feeling poking at me to keep this conversation to myself, something Dread seems to notice when he cocks his brow at me after I nervously glance his way.
“Ms. Adams.” The voice is deeper and mature, yet smooth and friendly. “My name is Officer Nathan Hillcrest. I’m your father’s parole officer.”
Sweat blooms across my entire body, and it feels as if my blood sugar has suddenly dropped into the pits of hell. My hand flies to my North Star necklace, zipping the pendant back and forth on the chain, seeking comfort in it despite this odd, foreign feeling clinging to my nerves.
“Hi.”
That’s all I can manage.
“Special Agent Jones reached out and asked me to call you. I’m not fully briefed on the matter, other than Lionel being suspected of crossing state lines without approval.”
“Yes.” The word comes out as a hoarse croak, so I clear my throat and restart.
“Sorry, yes. I, uh, have received some threatening… gifts… where I’m addressed as Angel, and no one knew about that nickname except him and my mom.
He’s the only one who ever called me that.
But, uhm, anyway, I just received another one today.
It’s uh… It’s a black box with a note and two eyeballs inside of it.
I-I don’t know whose it is, but only Lionel could’ve sent me this note, or someone working with Lionel, at least.”
By the time I'm finished, my tone has become demanding, like he holds all the answers.
“Okay, okay,” Nate says, his voice gentle. “Let’s see if we can figure this out together, then, yeah?”
I nervously lick my lips again and nod. “Okay.”
“So, let’s start with Lionel’s location.
When I do random drop-bys, California requires I wear a body cam to ensure my safety and your father’s.
They’re all recorded with time stamps and dates, which means if you need to see for yourself Lionel's home, I can provide you with that evidence, and I’m happy to do so.
” His voice is even and assuring as he speaks. “Is that something you’d want?”
It’s pretty much the same explanation Barry provided, but for some reason, it doesn’t make me feel better.
“I— Maybe?”
Truthfully, the thought of seeing Lionel, even through video, makes my skin crawl and my stomach twist with nausea.