Page 91 of Beautiful Prey

I didn’t respond right away. I only stared at him, entranced in a way one might be by a large predator, knowing any wrong move could cost me my life.

I licked my lips. “Sometime after. When you mentioned being drugged and abused. I started putting the pieces together.”

“And before that…what were your intentions for coming to St. Agnes? Coming to see me?”

I lowered my eyes. I told him the truth even if it hurt. “It was to do the thesis on you... to meet the man who killed my family, and…”

He waited. I took a breath and looked him in the eye.

“To hurt you. I wanted to get close to make you think you’d made a friend, to make you think someone cared. I wanted toget all the information I could from you then I was going to tell you who I was and how you had hurt me. How you ruined me. I wanted to look you in the eyes and tell you how you had failed, how you’d missed me that night, and that you’d never have me, you’d never get your chance at finishing your sadistic game. I wanted to curse you and tell you how pathetic you were, how cruel and worthless, and—”

I covered my mouth as if to stifle the word vomit and my emotions. He was still as death before me, his left hand clutched tight, but almost like he was holding on to something for dear life.

I dropped my now shaking hand from my mouth, then continued, “I wanted to see the pain in your eyes, on your face. I didn’t expect you to soften to me so quickly, or for your eyes to light up whenever I walked through the door. Or…” I lifted the journal, gripping it with both hands. “Or to become your obsession. I didn’t expect you to open up to me, to reveal things that would haunt me forever. I didn’t think that your game was revenge. I didn’t think you were a victim too.”

I dared to take a step closer even as my instincts said to move away, to run. “I figured out the truth about everything and it broke me even more. After that, I changed my mind.”

His sharp eyes almost appeared to glow in the dark. “Because of what you now know?”

I nodded. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. But then you found out anyway.”

He turned from me, walking around the projector. “And the medicine? Was that because you felt sorry for me too?” he asked.

“No, it wasn’t because I felt sorry. In the end, I really wanted to help you. I was told if you didn’t take it, they would transfer you away, and I didn’t want that.”

He made a sound that might have been laughter. “Didn’t want me to suffer more.”

“Didn't want you to leave St. Agnes.”

A mixture of hope and disbelief flickered in his gaze. “But then you were going to leave me anyway. You told me you weren’t coming back.”

“To save you from learning the truth.”

“The thesis…did you really mean what you said?”

“Every word.”

He turned away, lifting his mask and then tilted his head in a way as if he was listening to a voice. Dropping his hand, he bowed his head and said, “Even the part where you said you loved me?”

I didn’t respond until he looked over his shoulder at me, his glowing eyes burning.

“Yes,” I managed to whisper.

He set his fist lightly on the projector as his other hand rose to cover his ear as if he was trying to block out someone talking, then he tugged at a lock of his hair. I knew his ghosts were turning on him, maybe even trying to convince him it wasn’t true.

He moaned softly. “You're sure it wasn’t pity you felt?”

“There was pity there too. But not in place of…that.”

He seemed beside himself then. He circled me like a starving wolf. I was getting to him, upsetting his plans.

“They don’t want you to believe it,” I said. “Maybe you don’t want to either but it’s true, Emery. It’s not in your head—”

“You're in my head.” He stopped in front of me, jabbing a finger to his temple. “You're like a little bee buzzing around in there, creating a hive, trapping me with the idea of your sweet honey. But you still sting like hell.”

“I’m not trying to trick you,” I argued. “Check the date of the thesis. I finished it before you transferred, before I even knew you were free. I never expected you to read it. Ever. But I waswilling to let millions know. Is that something someone would do if they really wanted you to suffer?”

He shook his head, not because he agreed but because he was clearly still unable or unwilling to believe it. I knew his ghosts were trying everything to convince him against it. I was the enemy, I was the daughter of the man who had ruined his life, his sanity, who tortured and abused him. He’d seen the rest of my family do the same to his sister, to other kids. How could he possibly trust a single thing I said?

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