He takes a pause, his eyes darting around as the memories consume him. “Days turned into weeks, and I accepted it. I accepted that they had done something to her. That she was gone forever.”
When his eyes meet mine again, they’re sharp, filled with a coldness I’ve never seen before. “My mind spiralled after that. And I planned. I killed them. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t fucking care about the consequences. I was done. They broke me too much.”
The quiet after his confession is deafening, every unspoken word lingering between us until he continues again.
“I spent years in that asylum, kitten. Fifteen years plotting, digging, waiting for the day I could get out and finish what I started. And now I’m doing it. One by one. Every single personwho touched her, who profited from her pain—they’re going to pay.”
“Do you think she could still be alive?” I ask quietly.
His eyes flash to mine, and he pauses, thinking carefully before he finally shakes his head once, “No. She’s dead.”
I think about it, about everything he’s told me, and it makes me understand. Although I’ve always thought killing is wrong, is it when it’s against something like this?
“Why didn’t you tell the judge that this was your reason?”
He snickers before lowering his eyes, “Because they don’t want to hear my can of worms being opened, freckles. My family were involved with a system that people like judges and lawyers try to hide and protect. I don’t trust anyone. You can’t trust anyone in this life. So I lied. Said it was a black out and bided my time to get out of there to continue my warpath.”
“And what happens after? When does it end?”
“It ends when I find out what happened to her and where her body is,” my brows pinch and he carries on, “she should be buried in a field of daisies not in some grimy fucking woods somewhere or wherever the fuck they bury people they’ve used and killed.”
I reach up, brushing my fingers gently along his sharp jaw, grounding him in the present. “What if you get caught, Ty? What if…”
He just stares into my eyes, not answering right away, “Then I get caught.” He says with defiance, ready to risk it all.
The realization hits me that he’s ready to get these answers no matter what. He’s too far gone. He’s planned too heavily, he’s so wrapped up in vengeance, and his mind has been so consumedby it. Even after so many years, he’s still living trapped by what his parents did long after them being dead. And that hurts.
I lift my hand to his face, sweeping his jaw with my thumb.
“When do you get your happiness, hm? Don’t you think you’ve had enough misery.”
He stares into my eyes, but doesn’t answer, so I continue, hoping to dig somewhere deep. “Do you know what I think?” I ask and he just looks at me, ready to listen, I guess. “I don’t think you’re the person you think you are. Hell, I’m not even sure if you’re a psychopath anymore.”
His brows pinch enough for me to notice, but then he goes expressionless again.
“I’m not an expert, we’ve established that, and I don’t have the most experience, but one things for certain, Ty. You definitely feel. Much more than you think you do and above all, you fucking care. You care about your sister. You care about me. You’ll risk your life, your freedom, just to keep your special people safe.” I shake my head once, dropping my hand from his face and taking his hand.
“That’s not psychopathy. You’re just a little cracked, but cracks aren’t unfixable. You’re a little deranged, but that’s fine. You’re intelligent like a psychopath though, I’ll give you that, and… I’m kind of starting to like it.”
His eyes ease before a small smirk twitches across his lips.
…
It’s been a few days since that sacrifice—ritual thing and I’m in a haze of emotions. The rain outside pounds relentlessly against the glass, a steady beat that seems to mirror the pulse in my chest.
My arms are wrapped tightly around myself, trying to hold myself together, but it’s useless. The darkness is creeping at the edges of my thoughts, and the memory of that little boy—his cries, his terror—won’t leave me. It churns in my gut, making me feel like I might vomit.
I’m trapped in my own mind, reliving the horrors. I can’t shake it. And just as the tears start to blur my vision, I feel him behind me. Ty’s right there, his shadow cast against the window.
“I can’t stop thinking about that little boy,” I say quietly, like I’m confessing some deep sin. “I just hope he’s okay.”
Ty doesn’t respond immediately, and I don’t turn to face him.
“He’s alive if that what’s you mean.”
I spin around when he says the words and notice he’s dressed, closed off, his ski mask firmly in place.
“How do you know?” I ask, my eyes scanning him.