A guard barked a warning, and he pulled back from the glass, but his attention never wavered from me.
My grip tightened on the note cards, and I willed my fingers not to tremble. He wanted a reaction, that was clear. I couldn’t give him one. I couldn’t indulge in whatever the hell this man was trying to do. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take the bait.
“Why do you think people are so eager to believe you did it?”
His expression darkened. He didn’t quite look angry…more annoyed. Frustrated. “People are sheep. They follow where they are led. It’s easy.”
“So you think people are unintelligent? That they can’t think for themselves?”
His lips lifted into something more like a sneer than a smile. “I think people are prey animals. They do what they think is safe. They follow the herd so they won’t be singled out. They don’t want to be seen.” Something like excitement sparked in his eyes. “Like you, for example. You don’t like being seen, do you?”
My brow knitted with confusion. I didn’t want to engage in any tangents, but I also wanted to understand.
“I make a living showing my face to hundreds of thousands of people. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of being seen.” My tone was matter-of-fact, trying to not let my emotions slip in.
“But that’s not the same, is it?” he murmured. “You show them what you want them to see. A polished version. Edited. Scripted. That’s not being seen, Skye. That’s being in control.”
It felt as though he’d punched me through the glass. The truth in his statement was like hitting a tuning fork on a raw nerve. My fingers curled tighter around the cards, the paper bending under the pressure.
“Why did you ask for this interview?” I said, thankful that my voice didn’t quiver.
His gaze felt like it was burrowing right into me. Dissecting me, layer by layer. I wouldn’t react, but inside I was squirming.
He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue quickly over his teeth in a way that had my skin crawling. “Maybe I wanted to see a pretty face for once.”
Bile burned the back of my throat. “I’m a little old for your taste, aren’t I?” I took the jab before I could stop myself. “You’re more into the college-aged girls, right?”
Tension stiffened his shoulders. His lips pressed into a tight line. When he spoke, his voice was lower and clipped. “You think you have me all figured out, right? I’m the predator. The bad guy. The subject of your little documentary.” He gave a soft, bitter laugh. “I just feel bad for the victims.”
I didn’t know he was capable of feeling anything. “Do you?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. If you think about it, they’ll never get justice, will they?” His brows rose. “Either the state convicts an innocent man, or I’m exonerated. The families will never get answers they have been looking for and…” He looked away.
I waited. I didn’t flinch. I almost didn’t breathe. “And what?” I prodded.
His gaze slid back to mine, dead and cold as steel. “And who’s to say there aren’t more of them out there? Ones who’ve never been found. No names. No faces. Just people who seemed to disappear into the void, never to be heard about again.”
My entire body went still—except my heart. It raged against my ribs, making them ache. My mouth went dry as I looked down at my cards, trying to orient myself and get away from that dark stare that seemed to see too much.
Again, it felt like he knew something he shouldn’t. A sheen of sweat broke out on my skin and I prayed he didn’t notice.
Focus.
My note cards were useless. I could barely even comprehend the words I had written down. He’d brought us here, and now I had to take advantage of it.
When I finally forced myself to look back up at him, some of the deadness had left his eyes. There was a flicker of curiosity there.
“Do you think there’s a lot of those?” I asked, my voice thick and slightly hoarse. I internally winced. “Victims who have never been found?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”
I clenched my jaw. “Hypothetically, if there was a woman who had been found in rural Ohio near a known dumping ground for a serial killer… Say she was slightly older than the usual victims and killed earlier than said serial killer’s known active date…do you think she was a victim of his? Or merely a coincidence?”
His eyes widened a fraction. For the first time, he shifted his weight on the metal chair, rolling his neck from one shoulder to the other. “Hypothetically…” he said quietly. “What would this woman have looked like?”
I didn’t want to, but reluctantly I described my mother.
He pulled in a deep breath through his nose. “Well, it sounds like she looked a lot like you…” His expression flashed. “Which means she must’ve been a pretty little thing. I could see why she would’ve been targeted by—a monster.”
