Page 121 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

I heard it whispered to me on a street corner when some random, nameless stranger tried to snatch my purse. I felt it curl around my insides and tickle a craving, tempting me to act on the deranged threats I slung at him.

That guy saw it in my eyes. That’s why he ran away.

Alex saw it in my DNA. That’s why he chose me.

And when Alex confessed as much last night, whatever frail but hopeful thread I’d clung to of returning to my former self unraveled, plunging me below the deepest level of vulnerability.

Even if Alex could accomplish the impossible and return me to who I was, I was broken before.

Only an insight afforded by my new emotional awareness could reveal this raw truth.

So I clung to him in the darkness of the shower instead, trying to fill a void that’s always been inside me. And for the faintest moment, I think I did, or maybe this is the first lie I’ve told myself.

Whatever the reason, the fact remains: I’m dangerous.

Whether it’s due to Alex’s procedure or not is irrelevant. I’ve hurt people. I killed a man. If I didn’t force myself to leave Alex sleeping in his bed, when he rolled over and looked at me, when he kissed me again…

I would kill with him.

I would be lost with him.

Taking a fortifying breath, I stand before the entrance to the police station. I’ve passed this building every day on my way to the martial arts studio. I’ve stood outside and watched people enter and leave, waiting for the moment I was brave enough to take a step forward.

Last night, I knew I had to confess, and I knew it had to be today. Before Alex has the chance to frame Brewster, or makes the grave mistake of double-crossing Grayson.

I also knew walking out of his apartment with the murder weapon wasn’t going to be easy.

My only choice was to make Alex believe I was committed to his scheme, to him. I needed him to trust me, utterly, implicitly. And…I can’t continue lying to myself. It wasn’t all an act.

I’ve battled my confusing array of emotions for Alex too long, and I was so weak, wanting one night to lose myself to these overwhelming feelings and passion, to experience a connection with him and know it’s real—before I end us.

But that’s even more reason to be standing here now.

The greater danger lies not with me, but in the two of us together.

The morning air is hazy and dense, sticking to me like a thick film, the secret I’ve been carrying around a callused layer I need to shed. Once I walk through these doors, I’m not coming back out. I’ll be detained. Read my rights. Put in a holding cell. I’ve never been arrested before. I’ve always found ways to skirt authorities.

This will be a whole new experience.

Targeting Alex in this manner is drastic and self-sabotaging. But truthfully, it’s killing two birds with one large river stone. I’ll be reprimanded for my crime, and Alex will be stopped.

He said I’m a justice dealer, and justice will be served.

Confessing to Ericson’s murder is not even about the guilt—I had rules, limits. Even as a psychopath, I had a moral fucking compass.

I inhale a steadying breath laced with car exhaust and sidewalk garbage as I take a step forward, and my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Halted, I give in to the nagging compulsion to check my phone.

A text message from my mother:

I’ve retained a lawyer for you. Call me.

My hackles raise, and a nauseous sensation hollows out my stomach. I move to the side of the building and call her.

She answers in a lighthearted tone as if she doesn’t see my name on her screen. “Vanessa Vaughn.”

I release an impatient breath. “What are you talking about?”

I can hear her audible exhale over the line. “Blakely, please. Lower your voice. It’s been taken care of. That’s all you need to know.” She pitches her voice an octave higher, like she’s simply making an appointment at a day spa. “I expect you for brunch today.”

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