Page 165 of The Darkest Chase

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes, even though they’re dry.

“Yeah. Brian was like that. He was my life and I’d like to think I was his, too. We were so ridiculous together, but it was great. I miss him.” Her eyes sparkle with memories. “He used to call me ‘Ariana Blondie.’ You know, like the singer?” With a snort, she tweaks a strand of her wispy blonde hair and glances at me. “Anyway, yeah, I might have a few you can try. I’ll write them down to make it easier, okay? And you can call me if none of them work and I’ll try to think of something else.”

I nod. “Thanks, Miss Lewis. That would help a lot.”

She just stands there for a moment, though, staring at the camera like it’s this talisman of grief.

“Any chance I can have it? When you’re done with it, I mean,” she asks.

“After we’re done with the reports, absolutely,” I say. “Once it’s no longer considered evidence, I’ll see if we can have the camera and any other belongings released to you, or to his next of kin. No doubt his family would want you to have it.”

“Thank you, Officer Ainsley,” she murmurs. “You’ve been great. And I’m really grateful for how kind you’ve been.”

Kind?

You’ve got the wrong guy, I want to say.

Then again, it’s not my place to deny the feelings of a grieving woman.

She jerks away then, moving on halting steps to rummage around in the kitchen drawer until she comes up with a notepad and pen and starts scribbling things down.

It’s silent in the suite except for the scratch of her pen on paper.

Talia glances up at me, but I can’t read what she’s saying.

I feel like I’m goddamned Pinocchio turning back into a wooden boy, forgetting all the things I thought I’d learned about being human in situations like this.

It’s the expectation of it, these two women looking at me like I’m something more than I am.

All I want them to see is the monster.

The man who’s only here to kill Xavier Arrendell, and they’re just a means to an end.

You don’t mean that, idiot.

It’s like I’m fighting with something inside myself. Like the monster has taken on a different face, a different will, and it wants to take me over and make me cruel, cold, remind me of my purpose.

Jet’s face flashes in my mind, accusing and wagging a finger.

What’s the matter, little Mikey? So busy chasing pussy you forgot I’m dead?

That’s right, my dude.

I’m dead ’cause you couldn’t stand up against Dad, so I had to do it for you.

I’m fucking dead, and you’re over here getting your freak on with some girl who only likes you ’cause you’re her kinky little albino doughnut.

Her pet freak.

And it looks like you let yourself be tamed.

No, goddammit.

That’s not Jet’s voice, even if it’s Jet’s corpse leering at me in my imagination. He has the same black button eyes as the crow in the closet.

That voice, that’s our father’s.

That ugly slurring voice I hated so much, constantly mocking and cruel.

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