Page 47 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats

The anchor goes on to talk about the men, but something about them is bothering me. I can’t quite place what it is. It’s true that some serial killers go after people who look the same, so I’m not surprised all the men are similar. Blond hair, fair skin, shit brown eyes… But it’s not them being similar that is throwing me off. It’s that they lookfamiliar. But I don’t know any of them. I get up and move closer to the TV, something itching at the base of my skull, telling me to look closer. That I’m missing something.

“Atty?”

I get a better look at the men’s faces, really taking them in.

Blond hair, brown eyes…

I scan my memory as I take a good, hard look at each of the men.

Boston area. Blond hair. Brown eyes.

It hits me, and I stumble back like the TV’s zapped me.

Thomas.

They all look like Thomas, my foster father. The first man Violet ever killed.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. The room around me spins, and I close my eyes to calm down. “Violet.”

“Violet?” I blink a few times, trying to clear the fuzzy vision. Lilah comes into view, standing beside me. “You think she did this?”

We haven’t talked about Violet much, but Lilah has enough of an understanding. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“I think so.”

“Why do you think that?”

My attention goes back to the TV, and I get another quick glance at the men before the photos disappear and Samantha’s face takes up the screen again.

“They all look like our foster father.”

“You think she’s killing men who look like him?” Lilah asks in awe.

“That’s how it looks,” I say.

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I go to the couch to sit down before I fall down. “I have no idea, but… I need to know if this is her. If she’s doing this, something is wrong.”

“Atty, you shouldn’t get involved.”

I look over at her, frowning. A strange sense of defensiveness blooms in my chest. “If she’s in trouble, I need to help her.”

“Unless you’re a really good fucking lawyer, you aren’t going to help her. Maybe it’s not even her.”

Narrowing my eyes, I look back at the TV. That darkness is swirling in my chest, threatening to take over and unleash. I close my eyes, take a moment to breathe and push it away.

Lilah is right.

“This isn’t your problem,” Lilah says softly, and that sets me off.

I get to my feet, jabbing my finger toward the TV. “This is Violet. She’s spiraling and she’s going to get caught if she doesn’t calm the fuck down,” I growl.

Lilah’s face is pained, and she gives me a sad smile. She takes my hand, holding my gaze.

“Atty, I’m not mad that you’re worried about her; I’m just worried about you.” I don’t say anything to her as I fight my internal battle. Things are going so well. I don’t want to give into the other side of me and go missing for days. I want to stay here, where I consciously remember Lilah. But I haven’t been this angry in a long time, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m not sure I can fight this battle against the darkness and win. “How can we find out if it’s her?” Lilah’s voice is soft, calm. It’s something that used to enrage me when I was younger, but coming from Lilah? It’s like Kryptonite to my darkness because it’s easier to fight when I hear her.

I think about her question, running my hand over my head and looking around the room as I try to figure it out. Nothing in here is helpful. Not the stiff furniture or the overpriced paintings. Not the plush rugs or coffered ceiling. This house is useless. Meaningless. Just a shell to hide away in. Nothing in here means anything. Nothing but…

---