God, he separated her head from her body. What kind of monster does that?
This time he completely changed his pattern, abandoning his usual stabbing and abandoning method. This is something else. This is visceral rage, calculated cruelty that makes my stomach twist. I can't help but notice the striking resemblance between the victim and me: the same oval face shape, the same shade of hair. The realization that he chose her specifically because she looks like me sends ice down my spine.
And his message landed exactly where it needed to. Clear. Unmistakable. Like a dark promise written in blood.
"Roxanne, look at me," I hear Damien whisper, but I refuse.
Because of me, that woman won't celebrate another Christmas with her family. She won't get to listen to her favorite song ever again. I stole those chances from her when I put that psychopath on her path.
"We'll find him," Damien whispers as he kisses my forehead.
The question is, how many more people have to die before that happens?
Chapter 44
Damien
Past two in the morning, I finally got Roxanne calm enough to sleep. I left her in our bed, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Her cheeks drained of all color. Eyes glassy, staring at nothing on the floor.That image lit a fuse inside me, but I choked down the rage before it could take over.
I need a clear head right now.
"What the hell do we actually know about this case?" I ask Vasili, who's been firing questions at me all night.
He drops into the armchair with a heavy sigh.
"You know what the problem is? It’s been twenty years, Damien. People can't remember what they had for lunch yesterday, and you expect them to recall something from two decades ago." He rubs his temples. "Even when they do remember, the stories don't line up. Based on the statements we've gotten, you'd think half a dozen people were in that house."
"Roxanne's always said she heard one voice," I say, my jaw tight.
"That's what doesn't add up. If she only heard one voice, why do the testimonies suggest multiple people were there?"
Good question. A dark possibility starts taking shape in my mind, one that would explain why nothing about this case makes sense.
Chapter 45
Roxy
Three days since the "gift" arrived, and three sleepless nights filled with nightmares. Everywhere I look, I see those brunette strands from the woman who was sacrificed just to send me a message. I've barely been able to keep anything down, but at least today my coffee doesn't taste like metal and my stomach has stopped protesting after my blood sugar nearly flatlined.
I came into the office today to discuss an auction we're organizing for an art gallery in New York, and while I'm staring at the presentation I need to prepare, Yuri walks in with a mug of tea—jasmine, most likely.
"I told you to take another week of medical leave. If you hurt that hand again, just know insurance won't cover a damn thing," I say, but I smile when the scent of jasmine reaches me.
"Do you have any idea what it's like living at home with my mom, who thinks my PlayStation is going to fry my brain and constantly reminds me I don't have a girlfriend at twenty-five because I still watch anime?" he asks, exhaling hard.
"No, I guess I don't. But I still think you should stay home until you're one hundred percent recovered," I say firmly.
"Roxy, sometimes physical health has to take a back seat to mental health."
I can't help the laugh that escapes, and when I look at him, he's grinning.
"I already confirmed the band that's playing at the auction before the first round," he tells me, pulling out his phone to go over questions about the event.
For a few minutes, I forget about the chaos and blood that have invaded my life. But of course the Universe notices I've taken a breath, because that's when I see my father in the hallway.
It's the first time he's come to my workplace. The first time he's visited me since I left for college, actually, so I brace myself for what I assume will be a conversation full of fireworks. Especially after the scene I made in the kitchen with Damien.
