49. Noah - December
FORTY-NINE
Noah - December
THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED - TAYLOR SWIFT
The towering concrete prison loomed ahead, cold and uninviting under the pale winter sky. It had been a couple of weeks since everything came crashing down—weeks filled with sleepless nights, healing wounds, and trying to piece our lives back together.
I glanced at Dorian in the passenger seat as I pulled into the lot and killed the engine. His leg was stretched out in front of him, crutches resting awkwardly against the door. The bulky brace encasing his thigh was a stark reminder of just how close we’d come to losing everything.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked.
“I have to do this,” I said, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
Dorian frowned, his hand reaching out to brush against mine. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
I turned toward him, offering a small smile. “I know. But right now, I need you to stay here.”
“What? No, Noah, I can?—”
“Dorian,” I interrupted gently, my tone firm but affectionate. “Your leg. I’m not letting you hurt yourself walking in there when you don’t have to. Stay here. I’ve got this.”
He exhaled sharply, clearly not thrilled about the idea, but he didn’t argue. “Fine. But if you’re not out in thirty minutes, I’m coming in, crutches and all.”
“Fine, you stubborn ass,” I said, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple before sliding out of the car.
The cold air nipped at my face as I approached the looming prison entrance. My legs felt heavier with each step, the reality of what I was about to do pressing down on me.
Inside, the sterile halls echoed with the sharp clink of keys and distant murmurs. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, amplifying the tension that had been building since the moment we left Woodstone.
At the far end of the hallway stood my father, his back turned as if he were lost in thought.
“Dad?” I called out, my voice wavering between surprise and disbelief.
He turned slowly, his face lighting up in recognition. “Noah.”
Before I could say another word, he closed the distance between us, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sank into the familiar comfort of his arms, but unease lingered at the edge of my thoughts.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling back to meet his gaze. We have only exchanged a few calls and texts over the last couple of weeks.
Something I couldn’t read crossed his face. “You said you were coming today. I wanted to be here when you did and see John too. Get some closure.”
I nodded. For a moment, silence hung between us.
“Just be careful,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper. “I know you’re strong, but John… he’s not the person you knew anymore. I’ll be here when you get out.”
“Okay,” I replied, the words barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat as I prepared to confront the past and find my way toward a new future.
After going through a security checkpoint, I stepped into the visitation room, and a chill ran down my spine. The starkness of the surroundings, cold metal, harsh lighting, and the oppressive silence heightened my anxiety.
John sat behind the glass, his posture relaxed yet predatory, a sickly smile creeping across his face as he watched me approach. I felt my stomach twist at the sight of him—he looked almost too comfortable here, as if he belonged.
As if he didn’t kill those women or put Gracie in danger. As if he didn’t shoot multiple security guards, Ellie, and Dorian. The second our eyes locked, his lips curled into a smug grin, and my stomach churned.
“Hello, Noah,” he said, dripping with false charm. I picked up the phone, forcing myself to speak.
“Cut the shit, John. I’m not here for pleasantries.”
He chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “Feisty. What’s the matter? You look a little shaken.”
“Enough,” I snapped. “You’ve hurt too many people. I’m here to understand why.”
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a predatory glint. “You want to know why? I thought you were smart. At least everything is going according to plan.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, confusion swirling in my mind. He chuckled, a sound that made my skin crawl.
“Well, guess there’s no time like the present, so I’ll get right to it.” He chuckled. “You know how your dad had that—what was it—that shitty ex-wife? He was always complaining about her, wishing she’d get what she deserved in the divorce because she ended up taking him for half of what he was worth.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, and I could feel a sickening sense of dread creeping in.
“What does that have to do with any of this?” I pressed. He leaned in closer, a gleam of something dark in his eyes.
“It’s a long story, Noah. I’ve been waiting to tell you, so shut up and listen.” He paused, waiting for my response, but I said nothing. “I thought I’d do him a favor. I was young, still in college, and we”—he gestured to me—“weren’t talking at the time. He wouldn’t stop complaining about her, so I went over to her house to scare her a little. Just give her a piece of my mind, convince her to give back all the shit she got in the divorce… But things… escalated quickly.”
My heart raced as I braced myself for what was coming. “What did you do?”
John’s face twisted into a grimace of nostalgia. “She wouldn’t listen to logic. She wouldn’t understand how wrong she was. So, she may have accidentally fallen down the stairs.” He smiled as if recalling a fond memory, and I felt bile rise in my throat.
“John…” I whispered. His name felt foreign, disgusting even, on my tongue.
For a moment, I caught a glimpse of something raw beneath his facade. “In my shock, I realized... hmm. I liked it,” he admitted, a strange satisfaction creeping into his tone. “Seeing her dead made me happy. It reminded me of my mother. They were both so similar—both nurses, both in roles meant to care for others, yet unable to care for their own families.”
I shook my head, disbelief washing over me.
“Well, wouldn’t you know it. That was exactly ten years ago… just a few weeks ago, I’d gone to your dad, not knowing what to do. Rick told me what to do. I told him I didn’t mean to kill her… even if I liked it, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t go to the police because, in the end, her being dead benefited him. He didn’t want to be under a microscope being the bitter ex-husband, either. But then I kept thinking about it—about how I wanted to see someone else like them dead.”
His gaze sharpened, and I knew he was savoring this moment. He held onto this, waiting for someone to listen. And as much as I didn’t want to give him that, I needed to know. I needed to know how this all tied to me.
“He didn’t see me as a threat, and I let him think that, but I needed to kill more. I needed to see them dead.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as his words sank in. “That is insane.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He paused then continued his story. “So, then I became this—what do they call me?” He turned to the guard behind them, as if he would answer. “Oh yeah, the Marketplace Murderer.” He let out a sinister chuckle. “It’s easy to find them there, you know. They’re always trying to sell their expensive shit online to make a dime. It was easy to lure them in.” He looked up at the ceiling, pressing his hands together in a praying motion that made me sick.
“Thank the lord for social media. I found someone, watched them closely, and if they weren’t taking care of their own family, I knew they were the one. They’d be so focused on pretending to care for others, but couldn’t even give a damn about the people closest to them. I’d get them to meet with me, thinking they were getting off on selling some overpriced piece of shit, and then… well, you know the rest. I did that. Whenever you wouldn’t go with me at least. Whenever you were there, I didn’t need to. You kept me sane. For years, learning how to cover my tracks, making sure I was always strategic about where and how I did it.
“Then last year, my mother comes to me after years of pretending I didn’t exist, and suddenly decides she needs my help. She’s lost her job, her status, and all she can think to do is come crawling back, asking me to find her another rich husband,” he said, a scoff escaping his mouth. His tone shifted, mocking her. “ I need you, John. I need your help finding someone for me, she told me. After years of silence, she just expected me to fix everything for her. That’s where it all went wrong.” I stared at him, my heart racing as the pieces fell into place.
“What did you do?”
“I had to kill her, obviously,” he said, his tone unnervingly casual, as if confessing to nothing more than an overdue chore. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way, though. I wasn’t on my game. She surprised me, so it got messy. Sloppy, really. I forgot how damn organized she always was with her calendar, and my name was right there. Can you believe that? She had it right there in her schedule, bold as day. And me? I wasn’t ready. No time to prepare. But you”—his gaze sharpened, the edge of frustration creeping in—“you had to ruin everything.
“I planned it all to happen in Woodstone, down to the last second. The countdown, the ten-year mark of my first kill—midnight. Not to kill you, but to make you suffer. It would’ve been poetic. But no, you had to run off to that stupid pop concert. Do you know how inconvenient that was? Do you have any idea what it’s like to improvise in a stadium? Sneaking in a weapon isn’t even the hard part—fake a maintenance uniform a week in advance, flash a badge, and you’re golden. But still, it wasn’t what I wanted. You threw a wrench into my plans, Noah. And now here we are.”
I wanted to scream, to run away from this monster, but I was frozen in place, trapped by the horror of his revelations.
“You’re telling me you killed your mother because she wanted money?”
“I killed her because she was awful. She shipped me off to some boarding school when I was just a kid, so she didn’t have to deal with me. Whenever I came home, she was always too busy with work or her current husband to even notice I was there. Every summer, I’d come back to find a new dad. She never learned her fucking lesson, so I had to teach her.”
The room went silent.
“So, I went to your dad again,” he continued, his voice taking on a gleeful tone. “For the first time, I told him the situation—who I was, what I had done, assuming he would have my back, but he didn’t. Instead of being grateful, he was upset and berated me.”
I shook my head, disbelief mingling with anger. “I don’t understand. My dad?”
“Yeah, your precious daddy,” he sneered, his lips curling into a twisted grin. “So, I had to change my plan. I had to sacrifice myself,” he replied, a chilling casualness in his tone. “I left you clues along the way, killing while I still could. It was all part of the game. I knew I had been caught and cornered, but I wanted to stall, to make your life as painful as possible. All leading to me here, confessing everything to make sure your dad pays, and you do too. The more madness I created, the more I drew your attention, the attention of the FBI. I wanted to extend this out as long as I could—make you suffer while I waited for your dad to come to his senses. He might think he’s clever, but deep down, he was as complicit as I was. If I ended up in handcuffs, he would too. That was the beauty of it.”
Tears blurred my vision as the weight of his words crashed down on me. “You’re insane,” I whispered, feeling hollow inside.
“This is your fault. It’s your dad’s fault. If I had never met you, none of this would have happened. If your dad hadn’t covered up for me, I wouldn’t have lived this life. If you had only gone with me, all of this could’ve been prevented. What better way to hurt you both than to take him down? The only person holding your little family together. You can’t escape this.”
“I can and I will. You turned my love into fear and my reality into a nightmare. But you don’t get to dictate my future ever again.”
I took a step closer to the glass, a rush of adrenaline flooding through me.
“You think you can drag my father into this mess, that you can place the blame for your actions on him? Whether he’s at fault or not. I refuse to let your twisted fucking games dictate my life anymore. This isn’t about you and your sick obsession and mommy issues. It’s about my life, my choices, and the people I love. I won’t allow you to destroy that anymore.”
With every word, I felt the weight lift off my shoulders, a sense of clarity emerging from the chaos.
“I’ve fought too hard to reclaim my life and find happiness, and I won’t let you tear it down. I control my story, my life. Not you .”
I walked away from the visitation room, each step lighter than the last. I finally faced John, confronting the monster he had become—maybe the monster he always was, hidden behind the facade he put on.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, closing my eyes.
I stepped out into the lobby, the door closing behind me with a heavy thud, and everything that just transpired settled in.
John was behind me now—locked away, both literally and in my mind. But as much as I wanted to believe this was the end, I couldn’t shake the lingering unease that clung to me like a shadow.
Closure.
That’s what I’d come here for.
I finally stood up to him, faced the monster who nearly destroyed me. I spoke the words I’d needed to say for so long, told him that he no longer controlled my life.
And yet, as I walked down the hall, my mind kept circling back to what he’d revealed. The dark secrets about my father, the things I never saw coming.
My dad.
The thought twisted in my chest, tighter than I expected. I spent my life looking up to him, trusting him.
While my relationship wasn’t the best with my parents, it was always my mom I struggled to connect with, not him.
He was the one who was supposed to protect me, to shield me from the worst of the world. But apparently, he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d been part of it, complicit from the very start of John’s crimes. Not just a bystander, but someone who’d covered up a murder.
Someone who allowed this to happen, hoping it would all go away, hoping he could contain it. I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to scream, to cry, to let out all the hurt and betrayal that was lodged deep in my heart.
But as much as I wanted to be angry with him, there was something else. Something more complicated. I couldn’t deny the hurt, the betrayal.
Did my mom know? Or was this secret kept from her too?
He’d made terrible decisions, choices that changed the course of so many lives, including mine. But I refused to believe he was a monster.
Not like John.
Not the man that taught me to ride a bike, secretly supported my career when my mother hadn’t, and helped heal my first broken heart when I was only thirteen, thinking it was the end of the world.
And that was the hardest part to understand.
I wanted to scream at him for what he’d done, for letting this spiral out of control.
But another part of me, the part that always saw him as my protector, couldn’t quite let go of the fact that he hadn’t done it out of malice.
He was afraid. Afraid of losing everything he had built, afraid of the scrutiny that would come with being tied to a murder.
I only hoped that in his mind, he thought he was containing the damage, holding it at bay, but even with that, it didn’t make it right.
As I continued down the corridor, I tried to remind myself that this—this moment—was the closure I needed, even if it brought on more questions.