Page 70 of The Eleventh Hour
“I guess I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I watch him walk away, finding the outline of his Ducati parked under some trees. It roars to life, and he leaves.
Gideon wraps his arms around me, and I lean into his chest.
“Nowhere to turn. All my exits are gone. We’re going to have to play this out to the end this time. All the way to the end. People are going to die. Maybe people I love. People I care about. He’ll go after them, this Black Dahlia Killer. That’s the MO. It will be common knowledge who I am soon, and then it will be game on. But it’s not him. It’s someone else, but who knows everything?” My mutters trail off as nausea replaces it.
I pull away and lead Gideon to our spot. He sits down, and I sit in between his legs and lean back against his chest.
“The Black Dahlia Killer has to be the stalker. But it’s not Louis. No one will believe me, but it can’t be him. But whoever it is knows enough. They were in my apartment. My phone is gone and my go-bag.”
I go over the entire day and everything we learned and discovered.
“I hate that I feel sorry for him. It’s not enough that a part of me still cares about him still, but now I have empathy for him? It’s so damn twisted and gross.” I shake my head. “At least now we have an idea of how he ended up the way he did. His first kill probably was his grandfather and, by the sounds of it, I don’t blame him. But he didn’t have to keep killing, he didn’t have to choose innocent people. He turned it into a sport.”
I stop and have to calm my breathing down.
“That’s why I don’t want you to hurt them. They are really nice guys. Rafael is just the sweetest, kindest guy I’ve ever met, and Dane’s grumpy, but he’s trying hard. They just miss their brother, Terrance.”
Gideon stiffens, and his hands stop moving.
“Yes, you guessed right. Louis killed their brother. Well, I’m guessing he did. They are hurting already, G. I don’t want to see them hurt anymore, and every minute I spend with them, I care more, and he will be watching. I’m putting them in terrible danger.”
Gideon takes my hand and squeezes. He lifts both our hands to my chest, and he draws a cross.
“I don’t understand, G. You want me to stay away from them?” I ask and turn in his lap to look at him.
He shakes his head.
“You want me to be with them?”
He hesitates, and then nods. It hurts, this sudden feeling of rejection. There’s a lump in my throat, and I lick my lips and try to arrange my thoughts.
“I don’t understand. What did I do?”
He shakes his head fiercely and draws the cross on my chest again.
I spin so I’m facing him, sit up on my knees, and stare at him. “I want you. If you were real-”
He places a hand over my mouth and shakes his head.
I pull away from him and shake my head. “What is this? Are you going to vanish? Are you…breaking up with me? Is this what this is?” I can’t help the shaky, hysterical tone.
He shakes his head again, sits up, and crushes me to him.
“I’m not here…trust…them,” Gideon says, and then he vanishes for the second time that night, and though I wait, he doesn’t return.
Jax
Icross my leg over the other and stare at the psychology books. There’s a new one on the shelf. True Crime Psychology. It triggers thoughts that I have to push aside. Thoughts I’ll unpack later.
“So, the Black Dahlia Killer is back. I spoke to Eugene before he left. He said Cherise is missing. What do you think? Is Louis back, haunting your life?” Sparrow is wearing, of all colours, pale yellow today. It makes his complexion look ruddy. Not that he would care, he’s so deeply involved in his notepad and scouring my expression for truths that I doubt he looked in a mirror. And why are his fingernails so shiny? Does he get a manicure?
I sigh, trying to stifle my anger as I sink into the hated chair I should be used to. “He got her,” I confirm. There’s no use denying it with Sparrow. He will badger me until I admit it, anyway. And I don’t have the willpower today to fight him. The window shows a picture of freedom, and I wonder what Sparrow would do if I climbed up onto his expensive wooden desk, kicked the oh-so-important paperwork aside, and sailed straight through it.
“How can you be so sure?” Sparrow asks and starts making notes.
“She works with me. She’s young, healthy, and a mother who wouldn’t leave her child. Thus, he has her,” I say the words with no emotion. His pen scratching across the paper is the only sound for several seconds.