“I don’t want to come there. Just tell me,” I demand.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Sorrow coats her words.
“No!” I snap, my head cracking in two. “Just answer the question.”
“Willis…Willis and your mother.”
Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“She met him when she was too young—married too young.”
No. She’s lying.
“No! He’s Jack’s father! He stole Jack! He came for Jack!” I try to make sense of her words, of the photo.
“Your mother told him she was having a boy. It made her ill knowing all the girls he killed only for her to give him a daughter.”
“No!” Hot wet streams flood down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“But how—why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“I thought about telling you a thousand times, but you not knowing was safer. The police held this information from the public. They feared Willis would kill Jack if he found out he took the wrong child.”
I’m dying. This is what dying feels like. My insides are disintegrating. Willis was there for me that day, he just didn’t know it. I killed them—Jack’s mother and mine—just by existing.
“Lizzy…”
“My phone’s dying,” I grunt out, ending the call. Dropping back onto the bed, guilt crashes in with the power of a storm.
My heart skips when someone steps from the shadows of the corner of the room.
“How do you know that name?” the figure whispers. She steps into the light, frail, skin hanging over bone, sunken eyes an aqua blue just like Stephan’s.
“How do you know that name?” she urges, coming at me like a crazy old lady. Only she’s not that old; she’s just been beaten down by life.
“What name?” I ask, scooting up the bed, wary of her approach. She’s like a witch creeping from beneath the bed.
“Langford. Bad man. Bad, bad man.”
Pounding of my heart roars in my ears. The bedroom door flies open, and Stephan waltzes in, wearing Hades himself like a suit, his eyes stone cold.
Hands reach out for me, the woman grasping my arm. Weak, cold, fingers nip at my flesh. Stephan wraps an arm around her from behind, placing her in a headlock.
“Stephan?” I cry out as he bites the lid from a syringe, spits it across the room, and injects a needle into the woman’s neck. Fragile arms try to fight him to no avail. Her eyes flutter, arms dropping limp to her sides, and that’s when I see it. A gasp whooshes from my lips. I cover my chest with my arms to prevent my heart from bursting free. She’s missing her little finger.
Leaping from the bed, I grab a hold of her as he attempts to pull her backward.
“Who are you?” I breathe, my mind exploding with all the new information.
“She’s Natasha,” Stephan grinds out, heaving from her dead weight against him.
Natasha Presley, missing teen, victim of the Hollywell Slayer, survived her injuries…
The muscles in my legs solidify, my body frozen in utter disbelief.
“He left her with more than scars that night—a baby in her womb.”
Stumbling backward, his words whip out, striking me. Backing out the room, taking his mother with him, he says, “I know you have questions. Let me just deal with her and I’ll be back.”
The room expands, the air thick and threatening. I need air or water or to wake the hell up. My fingers splay over my chest, the thundering of my heart almost painful. Searching the room, my eyes fall on his mini-fridge. Water. I yank it open, only to realize it’s not a fridge. It’s a small freezer with a lone plastic food storage container inside.
“I wouldn’t open that,” Stephan calls out from the doorway, rubbing down his shirt to remove the creases.
“What did you inject her with?” I ask, my voice shaking. Who is this man I’ve allowed into my life? Your brother.
He takes another step into the room. It appears to shrink around him, his demeanor suddenly menacing.
“She suffers from breakdowns, delusions.” He puts a finger to his head, swirling it around in a crazy motion. “I gave her a sedative.”
My hand lingers on the box, the cold chasing a shiver up my spine, chilling my blood. He hasn’t looked away from the freezer. Why would he have a freezer in here?
“Why did you never mention who she was?” Nerves eat at my stomach. My skin tingles all over with the need to flee. The boy I called my friend looks nothing like the man before me now. There’s a change in his character, a shift to his posture, the look in his eye.
“I didn’t want you figuring things out too soon.”
This isn’t happening. Pain spreads out over my palm, my nails burrowing into the flesh. “What does that mean?” My head feels like it’s full of helium. I’m about to float away.
He takes another step toward me, so I pull the box out, holding it like a hostage victim.
He fixates on it, and tenses, his eyes glued to my hand. “Don’t make me take that from you,” he growls, and for the first time, I fear him. His jaw flexes, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Lizzy…” My name is a warning, terrifyingly pungent on his tongue. Without thinking, I rip off the lid, my body flinching back when he roars, “Nooo!” His hands are outspread, eyes wide with horror.
I drop the box like it’s made of hot coal, each finger hitting the floor in slow motion.
Dink, dink, dink…
Vomit races up my throat, spilling from my mouth, splattering at my feet. “It’s you!” I cry out, retching. A calm appears to wash over him. He closes his eyes for a fleeting moment, then walks to where the horrors litter his bedroom floor. Kneeling down, he collects his trophies like it’s an overturned jewelry box, not human flesh.
“Why? Why!” I scream, my soul wanting to tear through my skin and flee the carcass holding me hostage.
“To draw out our father—at first.” He shrugs. Our father. “Then, I have to admit, I got a taste for the kill.” He stands, tucking the
