Page 82 of Devotion

My eyes focus through the darkness, seeing the disturbing images of torn flesh, blood red webs carved into the bodies of Damien’s victims.

Shit, he thinks these are trophies, evidence that tightens up his theory.

A deep sigh leaves me as I gather my thoughts. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have these, but—”

“It all makes sense.”

A pleading breath quivers from my lungs when he cuts me off. And as badly as I want to continue explaining myself, I’m aware this could also make me look guiltier. So, I let him speak.

“Since you were a little girl, you’ve… you’ve always had this strange fixation on death,” he says. “At first, I figured it was just curiosity. Then, after your mom passed, and the fixation became more pronounced, I made the excuse that it was just a coping mechanism. But… it was less easy explaining away your obsession with the webs.”

My lips part, and I feel my brow tense with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

He takes a breath, then his eyes slip from mine. “You used to scribble those things everywhere. On the corners of your schoolwork, in your books, on windows, if there was dust on a shelf or the mantle. Everywhere. But it’s my fault, really. You were fragile, and I knew you had a predisposition toward violence because of your mother. I just… I should’ve known better.”

My heart’s racing, and that wild look in my father’s eyes only adds to the mounting stress as another bolt of lightning flashes.

“Should’ve known better than to what, Dad?” The question leaves me harshly, but I feel the gravity of this moment. Feel that everything is about to change.

He lifts his eyes, finally meeting my gaze. “I should’ve known better than to leave you alone withhim.That monster’s son. It was only ever just an hour here and there, but… it was enough to infect you, poison your mind.”

My body slams against the back of my chair when his words knock the wind out of me. I’m searching my head for memories I no longer have access to. Memories locked behind the door in my mind that’s been sealed shut due to years of bad medical treatment. But what I do have are Damien’s words. The ones he spoke the night he was here. He made it clear that our connection ran deeper than what I’m aware of, and now, listening to my father, I think things are starting to make sense.

“Who are you talking about? I need a name,” I snap.

His eyes soften a bit as they fill with remorse. “Damien Webb.”

Another crash of thunder punctuates the moment he confirms what I already knew. Still, I needed to hear him say it.

Until now, I assumed that Damienhimselfhad been one of Dad’s patients, but now I’m seeing things in a different light.

“Who was his father? Was Maxwell’s last name Webb? The man in your book? The one on all those tapes you used to obsess over?”

I swipe an angry tear from my face and hold his gaze, waiting for an answer.

He nods, admitting the truth. “Yes. In the beginning, he’d bring his son to wait during our sessions, and I was actually the one who suggested that you two keep one another company. But that was before I knew.”

“Knew what?”

Dad shakes his head, and his eyes seem to be focused on something far, far away. “Before I knew the darkness that truly existed within Maxwell’s heart. Before I knew the things he was capable of. If I’d been aware, there’s no way in hell I ever would’ve let you anywhere nearanyone evenremotelyconnected to him.”

I’m silent, angered by the fact that I can’t remember. Angered by the fact that knowing these things might’ve shaped my actions differently over these past couple months. In the very least, I wouldn’t feel so blindsided right now.

I don’t remember Maxwell, but I’ve overheard the tapes on numerous occasions. Enough that I know of the darkness my father has just mentioned. He was Dad’s most challenging patient. Mostly because he was incredibly evasive, never quite confessing to what he’d done, never saying enough to land himself in any real trouble. And because he spoke in what were practically riddles, he was impossible to treat.

In one recording, I recall my father blowing up, ranting to Maxwell that he was beyond his help. Then, Dad asked why he was still showing up for sessions. A question to which Maxwell’s answer was simple.

“Don’t you understand, Cyrus? Darkness can’t exist without light. Therefore, by the law of nature… Ineedyou.”

“There was never enough proof of what I knew he’d done,” Dad says, bringing me back to the present. “Not enough to go to the police for assistance, anyway. But before I could get any substantial information out of him, we… we lost Mom.”

He pauses, and it’s jarring to hear him summarize such a far-reaching nightmare down to that one simple phrase.

We lost Mom.

His posture straightens, and I watch as he gathers himself before continuing.

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