Page 120 of The Catalyst

My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at the open road, the sun’s orange teasing the edge of the horizon.

It all makes sense now. She’s special to him. That’s why he looked remorseful when he realized who she was.

She matters to him and very few people do that.

It’s no secret that Oliver doesn’t give a shit about anyone, but my dad once told me about a study he read on psychopaths. The study found that the majority of psychopaths have a singular person they use as an anchor, their connection to their humanity. They’d do anything to protect or keep their person close to them.

For Oliver, I thought I was that person, but maybe it’s her.

“You’re in love with her,” I ask, but he doesn’t say a single word.

He doesn’t have to. I know the truth, and he won’t deny it. Heisin love with her, but that raises the question: Where does that leave me? If she decides she wants him back, does that mean he’ll just forget I exist and live happily ever after with the girl that got away?

I don’t think I’ve ever felt true jealousy or envy until this moment.

* * *

I holdthe flashlight in my hand as I pull down the Ghostface mask Oliver handed me, and we rush for the front door of the fucking police station.

This is so stupid, but if there is one thing Oliver doesn’t do, it’s explain any more than he thinks he should.

Based on the sign next to the front door, the police station is closed and won’t be open for two hours. Years ago, the police station was open all night and all day, but with the town’s population getting increasingly smaller, so did the funding. The need for cops at night is slim to none in this area.

Nothing bad happens in a small town, or so I used to think.

“We have five minutes until the cops check on the break-in. Come on,” Oliver mutters as he slips his tools into the lock on the front door. It only takes him ten seconds before the door opens, and we’re inside.

“I’ve been here before,” I say as I point the flashlight around us, following behind him as he looks around the space, trying to find…something. Why are we even here?

Seems he’s now in the mood for conversation. That’s a welcome change.

“So did you know Aimee and her mom? You lived in the same town.” He really likes to fill in the blanks before he has half the words in the sentence.

“No. I mean, she looked familiar. Just because I lived in a small town doesn’t mean I knew everyone who lived here. I must’ve recognized her from the diner or one of the stores in town, maybe even the church,” I assess, but he steps forward.

“Yeah, right. Aimee wouldn’t go to church, and neither would her mother.”

“Then explain why the address of my mom’s church was on Aimee’s driver’s license,” I sass him, and he stalls, staring at me like he can’t believe what I just said.

“What?”

“Her driver’s license. The address,” I talk slowly so he can grasp my words before rolling my eyes.

The brilliance of what Aimee did is quite stunning. While still living with her mother and piece of shit stepfather, she did a change of address and probably included the post office with the change.

Since moving to Grove Hill, I’ve had to drive out to Hempstead a few times because our change of address with the post office didn’t affect everything, so some of our mail from Grove Hill has been redirected to Hempstead occasionally. The change of address to the church is pure genius. There’s no possibility of her mail from Grove Hill–when she gets settled, of course–going back to the house of horrors.

“Her family is living at a church?” He cocks a brow in disbelief.

“Of course not. We don’t have time for this. You said we have five minutes, right? Why are we here?”

He nods before looking around. “I need the files to find where the house is,” he admits, and I nod.

“I volunteered here when I was fourteen. I know where to find them.”

CHAPTER 46

BETH

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