I stepped closer, trying to keep my voice steady. “Where’s Angela? Where is she? She was working hard to get the Whisper’s Creek restoration project funded, but you were diverting those funds—to your salary, to the Gibraltar Institute. What about your friendship with Doctor Tuttle? What was going on with Colton Kilhouser? You have a lot to answer for. I know you’re connected to all of this. All of the lies and the secrets in this town—it all leads back to you.”
His smile twisted while he sent a message on his phone. “I’m the one in charge, Lenny. I decide what’s best for this town. I don’t haveto answer to anyone. Not you. Not Angela. Not that fool—Tuttle. You’ll see.”
My heart pounded with rage in my chest. “Do you have anything to do with Angela going missing? Don’t lie to me, you piece of shit,” I snarled.
His eyes flashed with anger. “No. I do not. I’d watch your tone, if I were you.”
I pulled out the small blade I’d been carrying—steady in my hand. “This is for Angela.”
Then his phone buzzed loudly. I glanced down, heart pounding. “You don’t want to do this, son. Castillo will be here any minute. We can talk about this, in a mature manner—no one needs to get hurt. I can give you what you want, and you can give me what I want.”
I breathed in short, hard bursts of air. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Your silence, Lenny. We can’t have this town delving into chaos. All the rumors about Clara and what may or may not have happened need to be put to rest. I must remain mayor of this town, it’s for the best. Trust me.” He stuck out his hand calmly. “I know you won’t do anything to me, it’d be suicide—face it. Only reason this place hasn’t been swarmed with officers is because they’re out trying to find this Xmas Day Butcher. I have every man and woman on the job. I am committed to keeping this town safe, for everyone.”
I scoffed. “I can’t believe you.”
He laughed at me, like I was nothing, like I was a cobweb collecting dust in the corner of his office. “Believe it, Lenny. I know I’ll be able to count on you when it comes to what I asked you to do—regardingGeorge and Clara. It’s for the best.” He smiled, thinking that he was going to get exactly what he wanted.
No way.
Panic surged through me, but it was too late. I had to finish what I had set out to do. There was no going back.
Every muscle tensed up in my body as I lunged—sticking the knife in his left eye, a volley of terror screamed out of him. Blood poured all over my hands as I twisted and sank it deeper into his skull—ensuring he would die.
I kept it there as he gasped and choked for breath. A few seconds later, he went limp as his right eye rolled back. I yanked the knife out of his socket and made my escape by opening the window to his office and jumping out, nearly blowing out both of my knees.
I used the adrenaline that was coursing through my legs before it dissipated—aiming for the forest so that no one would see me or the blood stained all over me.
I ran as fast as I could, disappearing into the darkness.
CHAPTER 23
DECEMBER 23RD
Detective Castillo had texted me: “Call me when you can.”
I replied with a “thumbs up emoji.” I had no intention of responding to her.
I found a gift box on the front door of my house as my watch struck midnight. I couldn’t stay long at all. I grabbed it and ran back into the forest, like a wild animal—streaked with blood after killing its prey.
I found a spot in the snow and collapsed—exhausted both physically and mentally from everything that had happened. I had killed George, Joseph, and Mayor Hamonte. I had become a monster.
I stared at my blood-soaked hands and shuddered.
What have you done to me?
I tore open the gift box and found the red envelope, tearing it open. It said:CLUE #12: “You’re almost there, release the pain you’ve been forced to bear. Find the truth of them all, all of my pretty little dolls.”
Inside the box were photos and official documents that were spilled out like evidence of a cover-up: victims posed beside painted dolls, a female officer’s old photo, and a younger me with Lincoln, my brother, grinning like we owned the world. Old police records, stamped: “CONFIDENTIAL.”
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The records explained how Colton Kilhouser had killed my family: Peter, Maria and Lincoln Frost. He had been admitted into the Gibraltar Institute and “died” due to an accident. The files were signed by Detective Castillo and stamped by Councilman Hamonte.
It explained how Doctor Thomas T. Tuttle orchestrated Colton Kilhouser’s death to use him and mold him into a killer for his own nefarious purposes: to kill his rivals, critics, medical professionals, and journalists who had spoken out against him and his research methods.
Colton had “died”, but only to the public. In the institute, he was still alive, being used and manipulated by Doctor Tuttle. After so many years, the truth had been unveiled. All the pieces were fitting together.
Doctor Tuttle molded Colton into theDollhouse Killer.
