Page 16 of Breaker

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I know her.”

Surge’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. “Who is it?”

With a shaking hand, I pointed to a photograph near the center of the table. The girl stared back at me, her once vibrant eyes now lifeless and dull. “It’s… it’s Rebecca. Rebecca Stevens. We went to school together.”

Memories flooded my mind -- shared laughter in the hallways, whispered secrets during sleepovers, dreams of a future that would never come to pass. Rebecca had been so full of life, her smile infectious and her heart kind. And now… now she was gone, reduced to nothing more than a faded photograph in a police file.

Tears blurred my vision as I traced the outline of her face with a trembling finger. “What happened to her? Why does this say she’s a Jane Doe? Did her family not even claim the body?”

Surge’s expression softened, a deep sadness etched into the lines of his face. “I don’t know what happened. No one does. I printed off every picture of girls who are either missing or have open murder investigations. Each of them match your uncle’s type. This particular girl is listed as an open murder investigation. My guess is that she hasn’t been tied to your uncle or the town because he dumped her body three counties over. But whatever the truth is, I promise you, we’ll find out. Rebecca deserves justice, and so do all the other girls in this folder. Doesn’t matter if Robert Murray killed them or if someone else did.”

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. As I stared at Rebecca’s photograph, a fierce determination took root in my heart. I owed it to her, to all of them, to uncover the truth. No matter how painful it might be, no matter how deep the darkness ran, I would not rest until I had answers.

“Do you think my uncle did this?” I asked.

“Fits what you described to Breaker. I think this is his true M.O. Which means most of these girls, if not all, were his victims. Now that we have a name for Rebecca, I’ll find a way to tip off the police without it tracing back to us. At least her family will have some closure.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the gentle hum of Surge’s laptop and the shuddering breaths that escaped my lips. Then, with a shaking hand, I reached for the next photograph in the stack, ready to face whatever horrors it might hold.

As I pulled the next photograph from the folder, a chill ran through my body. The girl in the image was younger than Rebecca, with long blonde hair and a fragile smile that hinted at a life filled with pain. Her eyes, a striking blue, seemed to stare directly into my soul, pleading for help that never came.

“Who is she?” I asked, my voice trembling as I held up the photograph for Surge to see.

He leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the image. “That’s Lily Matthews. She disappeared about six months before Rebecca. Her case went cold pretty quickly. As of now, she’s just listed as a missing person. No body has been found.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of Lily’s story settling heavily on my shoulders. “How old was she?”

“Thirteen,” Surge replied, his voice thick with emotion. “She was just a kid. They all were.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I stared at Lily’s photograph, her face forever frozen in time. I couldn’t help but wonder about the life she might have had, the dreams she never got to pursue. The thought of her final moments, alone and afraid, was almost too much to bear. Of course, that was assuming she was dead and hadn’t just run away from home.

With a shaky breath, I turned back to the folder, ready to confront the horrors that lay within. Each photograph was a testament to a life lost, a story left unfinished. And as I flipped through the photos, I silently vowed to honor their memory, to fight for the justice they deserved, no matter the cost. I’d run away, scared and unable to say anything before. Now it was time for me to set things right.

As I delved deeper into the folder, a sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. Each photograph seemed to stare back at me, the eyes of the girls haunting and accusatory. I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of guilt, knowing that I had escaped the fate that had befallen them.

Surge must have sensed my inner turmoil, for he spoke up, his voice gentle yet firm. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened to these girls. The only one at fault here is Robert Murray, or whoever killed them.”

I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze. “But why me, Surge? Why did I get to live while they…” I trailed off, the words catching in my throat.

“Survival isn’t a choice. You got a glimpse of the monster before he could strike, which allowed you to get away. That’s not something to feel guilty about, and I guarantee none of these girls would have wanted you to suffer the way they did.”

I wanted to believe him, to let his words wash away the shame that clung to me like a second skin. But the weight of the folder in my hands, the faces of the girls staring up at me, made it impossible to let go of the guilt that gnawed at my insides.

“I just can’t help but wonder,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart, “if there was something more I could have done. If I had spoken up sooner, if I had been braver…”

Surge leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he fixed me with an intense stare. “You were a victim. A child. You did what you had to do to survive, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

I swallowed hard, my vision blurring with unshed tears. “But what about them? What about Rebecca and Lily and all the others? They deserved to survive too.”

“They did,” Surge agreed, his voice heavy with emotion. “They may very well still be alive. Even if your uncle had his hands on them…”

I held up a hand to stop him. “No. If my uncle hurt them, he wouldn’t have left them alive. In my gut, I know he murdered them.”

“Then we’ll make sure their stories are told, that their lives are remembered. But you have to keep in mind that your survival is not a betrayal of their memory. It’s a testament to your strength, to your resilience.”

I let his words sink in, the knot in my chest loosening ever so slightly. I knew that the guilt would never truly leave me, that the faces of the girls would forever be etched into my memory. But for the first time since opening the folder, I felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Hope that, with Surge, Breaker and the rest of the Hades Abyss by my side, I could begin to heal, to find a way to honor the lives that had been lost, and to forgive myself.

With a shaky breath, I closed the folder, my fingers lingering on the worn edges. The sound of heavy boots against the hardwood floor pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Breaker entering the kitchen. His presence was a comforting contrast to the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the room, his rugged features softening as he took in the scene before him.

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