Page 2 of Beautiful Prey

Now with my undergrad finished, I was headed into my masters. That same year, Emery was transferred to St. Agnes—a facility on a small island just off the mainland. A short enough distance for a bridge to get across with security at both points.

This was my moment. I had studied criminal psychology for four years, learned everything I could about the man who slaughtered my family. Which was hardly anything at all.

Because Emery’s past was so secretive, he might as well not exist. The only thing that grounded him in reality was the small evidence of his childhood, wrought with abuse and foster care. And a dead sister.

But I was determined to know more. And when I had gotten everything I could, I would tell him who I really was and what he had done. And that he had failed to get us all. That I had survived him.

My determined spirit had lasted all the way past the bridge crossing and the gate. But now, that courage was starting to wane.

What if he didn’t talk? What if he knew who I was right away, even with an alias? What if looking at him brought all the nightmares back, and I cracked right in front of him, panic attack and all?

No, I’d waited too long for this opportunity. And it was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, I took a pill bottle from the cup holder between the seats, popping a Xanax. I shut off the car, pulled up the hood of my coat, then opened the door, yanking my bag over one shoulder.

The facility being huge was an understatement. The west and east wings were visible with the central tower between them—a brick giant covered in moss and dead vines, with iron barred windows. Above, the yellow clock ticked, like a creepy eye, watching.

With light, hurried steps, I walked to a set of large doors with brass lionhead knockers on each side.

In the glow of the orange light hanging overhead, I yanked one side open and then let the door slam shut behind me.

The air felt stale and chilly with a subtle order of bleach. The lights above cast a sickly yellowish hue as they buzzed and flickered above me. Two men sat at a security desk nearthe entrance. I must have caught them in the middle of a joke because they were laughing. When they saw me, they quieted.

“Eve Layne?” one man asked. He was larger and bulkier compared to the other.

“That’s right.”

He leaned into a drawer below the desk while his companion went to the phone and dialed in an extension.

“I need you to fill these out for our records.” He placed the papers on the desk along with a pen.

Thunder boomed, making my feet vibrate, as I took the pen and signed my initials on the lines indicated. The red ink was like signing my soul away in blood.

He took the form just as his companion hung up the phone.

“She’s good to go,” he said.

“Great, you can hang up your raincoat here,” instructed the man with my form.

I set my bag on the desk, then slipped off my coat and handed it over. The bigger guy looked me up and down, from my pinned-up hair, down to my blouse and skirt, finally taking in my black heels. He cleared his throat and turned toward the double doors behind him.

I might look fine on the outside, but on the inside, I could feel that scared little girl clawing up my throat, wanting to run, and it took all my will to push her down.

He unlocked the door and gestured for me to follow.

On the other end, we came into the main hall. It looked like something out of an old mansion—gray-green marble floors, a wide staircase leading to the second floor with a balcony around the edge. Tilting my head, I saw the glass roof, and the sky light up again and again. Where portraits once hung, there were now signs. Where lanterns must have once lit the room, now, there were ugly yellow lights. Only one portrait hung on the wall and it was of a woman with piercing black eyes and red lips. What Iassumed had once been the owner of the estate. I imagined she probably haunted the place.

“Keep close,” the man called out, moving up the stairs. I hurried to join him. “So, you're from State, huh?” he asked. “My niece goes there.”

“That’s right.”

He turned his head to eye me. “Are you doing your thesis on this guy?”

“I am.”

He continued climbing, shaking his head. “You picked a hell of a subject. You know about this guy, right? The things he did.”

My throat tightened. “Yeah, I know.”

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