“Idid it, Mom. Erik’s face is all over the news. He’s a wanted serial killer. Of course, they don’t know he’s already dead. The case is so big, even the FBI got involved. Apparently, he killed more than those twenty-four women I found videos of. The news reporter said this morning that the police suspect the victim count is over thirty because the DNA they found in the storage unit matched missing cases from neighboring towns as well. There’s no way the Order can spin or bury this. Even with Grayson’s connections,” I say as I arrange the peonies near the tombstone.
My next exhale is liberating, as if the bricks of guilt pressing down on my lungs since that night at Sin have finally vanished.If someone asked me if I would go through everything again—even the assault—to get the chance to kill Erik and expose his crimes, I would say yes with a hundred percent certainty. That motherfucker deserved to die. I wish it was slower, though. More painful. I would take weeks to carve vengeance into his body like he carved into the innocent flesh of his victims.
“Anyway, I brought the journal again. I thought maybe I could read some more pages today.”
Steeling my spine, I try to ignore the fucked-up sonar in my head that’s alerting me it has found new bodies to add to the count. Apparently, a few more people have died since I’ve last been here. Great. Love that I know that. There’s more, though—I also have the sudden urge to lay my palms flat on the ground and call out to them.
And here I was, thinking my life couldn’t get any weirder.
I flip through the pages filled with smudged ink until I find a later entry. It stands out because the letters are wobbly and crooked, not caused by the water damage, but as if she wrote them in a frenzy.
I don’t even know where to start. Today changed everything. Everything. I am beyond livid. MY WHOLE LIFE IS A LIE. They lied to me from the day I was born. I can’t believe it. But at the same time, I can because it explains why I’ve always felt as though I don’t belong. Turns out, every single day I mourned something I couldn’t quite grasp wasn’t a delusion, but my soul longing for a different existence.
Still, I’ve let my mother control every aspect of my life. She pushed me into becoming a hellseeker even though I never wanted to. I feel so cheated, so betrayed.
How could they do this?
They’re not even my real parents.
My mind can’t comprehend the lengths they went to sustain this vile lie. I’ve seen the photos of “my mother” when she was presumably pregnant with me. Was she wearing a fake baby bump? She had to be, right?
Jesus.
At least my father feels guilty about it. That’s how I found out; I overheard them fighting earlier—about me. My father thought it’s time they told me the truth: that my rare blood condition isn’t even real, but something she made up so she could treat me like her own personal lab rat.
Then my mother shouted, “Are you going to tell her she isn’t our daughter, too? Huh? If you’re so keen on sharing, Frank, then why don’t you spill the whole fucking truth? That she’s nothing more than the fae we experimented on since she was an embryo—our Eve. Make sure to also add that we mutated her genes to transform her into the perfect warrior. Is your precious little Ellie still going to love you when you tell her all this?!?”
My mother stormed out of the house, and my father followed her. While I…I was nothing more than a statue facing my bedroom door. They didn’t know I was home and could overhear everything. I had a bridesmaid dress appointment today, but the seamstress had called earlier to cancel because she couldn’t find a nanny.
My brain can’t even compute what I’ve just read. What in the? How? The rest of that day’s entry is all smudged, incomprehensible. So, I flip quickly with trembling fingers to the next portion of legible text, because I might have gotten the explanation for everything—my mother was never a lightborn,but a mutated fae. I can’t stop wondering what experiments they could have done on her so she could pass as a lightborn. But most importantly, why would they do something like this?
Owen died today.
There…I said it.
I hoped that writing it down would lessen the blow. That it would somehow help ease this suffocating guilt I’ve been choking on since his blood slipped between my fingers—because it’s my fault.
Mine.
That same day I discovered my whole life was nothing more than a lie, a hoard of draconic ravengers attacked Ashville. All available hellseekers were called to fight them off. We lured them into the old beer factory at the edge of town, but I was still shell-shocked, reeling in the aftermath of the bomb my mother dropped on my life only a few hours earlier.
Too distracted to be of any use in a demon fight, I didn’t even notice the ravenger that came at me with startling speed. Owen pushed me out of the way at the last second. It all happened so fast. The ravenger slashed his entire torso to ribbons right in front of my eyes. Luckily, I came to my senses and cut off the demon’s head.
I tried to staunch the bleeding. I really did. But there was so much of it…His last words were “I love you” not addressed to my sister—who was out of her mind, her wails ripping me to shreds as she kneeled beside me—but to me.
Tomorrow is the funeral, and Josephine won’t even cast a glance my way. Any hope I had at a reconciliation between us is shot to pieces. Just like my life. I’ll always be the person who took away thelove of her life.
I can’t blame her, though, because I don’t know what I would do if I were in her shoes. I wished that after she married Owen and finally had him, as she always wanted, we could move past our differences. She always said that I’m the golden child, “perfect little Ellie” who could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes.
I can’t help but wonder if she knew about the experiments, or if we’re even real sisters. And if that, coupled with Owen’s crush on me, has led to the rift between us.
I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway, since I’ll be leaving soon. When rummaging through my mother’s safe—the one she thinks no one knows about—hidden under the painting in her office, I found an address. I think it’s the secret lab they use to conduct their experiments. Tomorrow, I’m going to sneak in. After I discover who I really am, I’m never looking back.
There’s nothing for me here anymore.
I flip the pages with an edge of desperation. However, this was the last legible entry. Fuck. Blood pounding in my ears, I push up and run at lightning speed toward the exit, jumping in the cab idling at the curb. I need to talk to my aunt. She’s got to have answers.
22
