Page 110 of Choices

“And that man is the one responsible for all these missing girls?” I ask, nausea stirring in my stomach.

Heavy pounding against my skull makes it hard to absorb all the new information they’re feeding me. After cleaning up in theshower room behind door number three, Rogue brought me to Monster’s bedroom. It’s not really a bedroom, though. More of a shell or cell. There’s nothing but a bed and a dresser. It has plain white walls and a thin window that’s too high up to even open. The entire back wall is like something out of a detective movie. He’s turned it into an evidence board, string stretching across a map with pins in various locations. Images of men and women sit in rows of five on the left and right sides. Some have crosses drawn across their face in red or black pen.

“Before I found out who was guilty of murdering Harley,” Rogue starts, then pauses. The muscles in her neck flex and her eye twitches at the mention of her sister. Swallowing, she continues. “Callan and Monster were trying to find out who could have been responsible.”

My gaze shifts to Monster. His feet are braced apart, hands clasped in front of him, gaze focused on the wall.

“They believed signs pointed toward a serial killer, Edward Jarvis.”

A shiver ghosts through me.

You hear the term serial killer and know of all the notorious ones throughout history, but to hear Rogue say Callan thought Harley was murdered by one and see their wall of missing girls is haunting. It’s too close.

I’ve never really thought of them as real living beings. They’ve always been the boogeymen under the bed. But they’re not mythical. They’re real. The man tied to the metal table was real.

My world just got smaller and scarier.

“So, they hunted the hunters,” she says proudly.

My heart beats like a war drum. The tremor in my hands is back with force. I know my brother is fearless, but to actively look for serial killers?

One by one, narrowing the search, until Tyler’s confession.

“So, Callan knows about this?” I ask.

They look at each other, and Monster grunts. Squaring his shoulder, he mumbles something I can’t make out under his breath.

“No, he doesn’t know we continued after everything went down with Tyler.”

“Why haven’t you told him?” My brow puckers. If he was the one to start all this, it doesn’t make sense to hide it from him.

“Because he would restrict how involved I can get, and I’d just go at it alone.”

“And end up on the table,” Monster growls, scratching his cheek through his beard.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She rolls her eyes and turns to the wall. “We narrowed all these cases down to one perpetrator. All the girls are of similar circumstances: they’re runaways or hardly have any family or come from poor backgrounds and end up dancing or on the streets.”

“They look alike,” I state, wrapping my arms around my body, needing comfort.

“He has a type,” Monster confirms. “Most serial killers do.”

The fictional killer who was obsessed with his own mother springs to mind, and I shudder. Wasn’t he based on a true killer who made skin furniture?

“Knowing this sicko is out there and not doing anything about it after seeing these girls who all resemble Harley in some way…I couldn’t do it, Kit.”

“How do you know he’s a killer, though? Maybe the girls are being kept or sold. Sex trafficking is out of control right now.”

Monster crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the wall. “Sex trafficking has always been a big business. You just hear more about it now because of everyone’s access to the internet, social media, and live stream airing. It’s the same with pedophiles. People just didn’t speak out back when we were kids.Now, it’s encouraged. We have movements. One in three people will experience a sexual assault in their lifetime. One in three.” He uses his fingers for emphasis, or because he thinks I can’t do the math. “There are three of us in this room right now. Let that sink in.”

It’s sunk and stained forever on my brain. Our eyes bounce between each other, all wondering or knowing if one of us has suffered that cruelty.

“There’s no cure for their sickness, and they shouldn’t be allowed to walk the earth. I’m no saint, but there are lines even monsters like me won’t cross.” His face twists with disgust.

“And we know they’re being murdered because some of the missing victims’ remains have been found,” Rogue adds, her chest falling, sorrow spilling into her eyes.

My stomach drops to the ground. “What are the police doing about it?” I ask. There are so many images. How is this not on the news or trending on social media?

Pushing off the wall, Monster looks over the images, “The intel from my source says not much. They’re chasing their tails. The problem is, when victims from different towns go missing in new towns, no one knows them and they can go unreported. And police rarely share information, so a pattern can go undetected for years.”

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