Page 42 of Lovely Violent Things

And Kallum understands all this. He knows how to twist and manipulate to make me question the fabric of my reality. That’s why I’m sitting on my room floor, listening to our conversation and questioning my own mind.

I reach for my case and remove the camera. I flip through the images from the ravine, numb at the sight of animal mutilation. Years of analyzing the basest depravity of human nature has desensitized a vast area of my empathy. I stop flipping when the image of Kallum crystalizes on the small screen.

While studying this case, I came across a line from Nietzsche that resonated with me: “There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.”

I don’t pretend to understand philosophy. I don’t even very much like it. But what is captured in this photo is the reason why we strive beyond our limited capacity to grasp a higher, more profound understanding of our existence.

There is a terrible depth behind Kallum’s beauty, a thick tar adhering to his soul, an agonizing darkness that stains his mind. In this blink of a moment where his truth was captured, we are the same. We are bound by our tragic suffering.

Maybe that’s all I need to understand.

“Dammit.” I tuck the camera away, then drop the phone in the box and seal the lid.

I’m falling apart.

No matter how I try to fend Kallum off, he slips right past every one of my defenses. When he looks at me, he looksintome. He sees me in a way no one else ever has, and it’s intoxicating, to really beseen.

All my memories of Jackson and I together are sealed tight, tucked away in a box like my old case files. Safely kept out of sight. Every once in a while, I’m tempted to pry the lid and take one out, but I don’t. I can’t. Because as long as he’s there, with that version of me, then it all can remain untouched, unblemished.

My life with him wasn’t perfect, but it was safe. There was love and trust and happiness.

Uncomplicated.

Until it wasn’t.

I’m not sure if I was ever really that version of myself…or, like the beauty only viewed on the surface, the truth of me was just submerged in the dark, terrible depth.

To that end, Kallum challenges me.

There is something unsettling twisting my bones, gnarling me like the eerie marsh trees whenever he’s near. The yearning to tear through his clothes and be skin-to-skin with him is a disease infecting my soul. I fear that loss of control over my mind…my body.

I glance at the broken chain lock hanging from the frame of the connecting door that opens to Kallum’s room. The one he broke when he shouldered the door open while I was dead to the world with sleep deprivation.

God, and he wants me to trust him.

How can I trust the devil who takes advantage of me at every opportunity with an evil glint in his beautiful, deceptive eyes and lethal smile. His whole persona pulls you in, disarms you, until you realize too late you’re tangled in his web.

I felt the gauzy threads ensnaring me last night as he gazed at me through the falling rain, his distressed expression so convincing as he pleaded for me to believe him.

I don’t know whether or not I’m in danger from this town—but I was in danger that first day when Kallum approached me, when he baited and ensnared me in his trap.

And I was in danger today at the ravine, when it became so effortless with him, it was as easy as breathing.

Falling for a man who I can never trust…

That is the real danger.

My phone vibrates on the desk, mercifully distracting me from my spiraling thoughts. I grab the device and note the name on the screen.

“Mr. Wheeler,” I say, my surprise at his call overriding basic etiquette. “Hello. How can I help you?”

“Miss St. James, I’m glad you answered. Have you had a chance to check your email yet?”

On reflex, I glance at my laptop. “Not yet. It’s been very hectic on the current case.”

“I’ve seen the news.” His tone is commiserating. “Look, I won’t take up much of your time, but I did want to touch base with you on the file you requested.”

Kallum’s juvenile file.

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