“Do you have anything worthwhile to tell me? About me or about Emily?”
Jonathan looks at me. He shakes his head.
“You want to show some remorse in hopes you’ll get into heaven?”
“No,” he answers. “There’s no such place.”
I plunge the knife into his neck and watch as he chokes on his blood. As he dies, Ryan somehow gets mixed up in his body, and he’s screaming at me. Scream-laughing. Is that even a thing? It makes me feel jittery. Unbalanced. I pull the knife out and slam it into his face. Over and over, trying to get Ryan out of Jonathan’s body.
Blood sprays me. It’s warm and sticky and tastes gross in the air. The more it lingers, the louder Ryan becomes. I slice and stab Jonathan until I’m on the floor, on my knees, trying to breathe as I imagine Ryan standing over me.
Laughing. Scolding me. Telling me how I’ve become such a shit boy since he’s died. I’d never have turned out so awful if he were still alive to keep me on track. Still here to cleanse me of my sins.
I drop my knife and cover my ears with the palms of my hands, trying to drown him out. But I can still hear his bitter laughter. I can feel him hovering around me.
When he was first dead, his presence in my mind was a comfort. But he’s become convoluted over the decade. His memory hasmorphed into something horrible. Something evil. Arguably, he was always those things.
Maybe since I’ve learned the truth of what Ryan was and what he did to me, the rosy image I had of him began to slip away, and I imagined the villain that lurked underneath. The one I was never aware enough to see.
Now I know who Ryan Johnston really is. I just want him to go away. I’d do anything to make him go away.
I get to my feet and stumble to the door. It opens, and I’m relieved to find Gracen standing there. Without thinking, I dive into his arms and press my face into his chest so I can breathe him in and drown Ryan out.
12
GRACEN
Today wasn’tthe first time I’ve watched Malin murder a cult member. It was the first time I’ve seen him talk to one, though. Usually, he’s silent. Emotionless. He doesn’t take joy in it, and he’s not disgusted by it either. It’s simply a task, and he’s indifferent.
This isn’t even the first he recognized, nor the first who’s recognized him. I’m not sure what about him prompted Malin to talk to him. But as I watch, I’m riveted to the scene in front of me.
“I’ve never seen him talk so much,” Avory says. “Ever.”
Ellory shakes his head. He looks at me. “Does he talk to you freely?”
“He talks more when we’re alone, and the more time we spend together, the more comfortable he seems to become.”
Ellory smiles and looks at his brothers. It’s the four of us—the triplets and me—with Jalon in the observation room. There arehalf a dozen cameras throughout the room Malin is using. One in each upper corner and two in different lower corners.
“Emily Roffleheiser,” Imry notes as Malin talks to us through the cameras. “Is that a name we’ve come across?”
“No,” Avory and Ellory say together.
“Do you remember all the names you’ve read?” I ask.
The three of them nod.
“In this case, yes,” Avory says. “Not in any other instance.”
“To be fair, we haven’t been looking for victims,” Imry says. “We’ve only been looking for those in charge. Those who are using their religion as an excuse to hurt people.”
“That’s the best thing we can do for the victims—past and present,” Ellory says. “Kill one predator at a time so they can’t hurt anyone again.”
Malin looks away from Jonathan Clark, stares at the wall, and then turns back again with a heavy exhale. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“He’s never asked to know how Johnston got hold of him, either,” Ellory says, frowning. “We looked briefly once we were home, and he was away from that world, but our preliminary investigation turned up very little. When we explained this, he appeared indifferent, so we stopped looking.”
“I can’t decide if he’s asking because he saw the opportunity or if he’s asking because he actually wants to know,” Avory says.
