I hated the way things had unfolded, but if there was a chance I could still keep Shay in my life—no matter how small, no matter how damaged that version of “us” might be—I would take it.
No matter what lines I had to cross or how much she might hate me for it.
Shay had been right about one thing, though. I didn’t have that much time left.
People would start to talk soon, ask questions. She’d miss too much work. Her partner would notice her absence, would start retracing her steps, would eventually find the connection leading back to me. I’d bought myself maybe another week before everything came crashing down.
A few more days to figure out what to do.
There was something my father used to say, back when I was young enough to still listen to him.We become what we fear most, boy. You’ll understand that someday.
I didn’t want to be like him. I’d spent my entire life trying to be anything but the man who’d terrorized my mother and sister, who’d ruled through fear and violence, who’d caged the people he claimed to love and called it protection.
I had lied to Shay. Not about my mother or sister or what had happened to them—that story had been true, painfully so. But I’d lied about the beginning. About how I’d started down this path.
The first man I killed was my father.
It had been survival, pure and simple.
He wanted to kill me. I got to him first.
I’d grabbed the kitchen knife—the same kind of knife Shay had reached for, though I tried not to think about that parallel—and I’d buried it in his chest before he could get to me.
Then I’d stabbed myself in the stomach while I waited for the ambulance to arrive. Made it look like he’d attacked me, like I’d fought back in self-defense. Which was technically true, just not in the sequence the police believed.
I had looked at my mother and sister as the blood pooled around me on the kitchen floor, trying to memorize their faces, afraid that I’d forget them. Afraid that the darkness I’d felt rising inside me as I watched my father die would consume everything good I’d ever known.
It had taken years, but that fear had proven prophetic.
“Mr. Hayes?” Julia’s voice pulled me back to the present. “You seem far away.”
I blinked, focusing on her concerned face. She’d stoppedwalking, and was studying me with an intensity that reminded me uncomfortably of myself at that age. Always watching, always analyzing.
What would her grandmother think if she knew what I was really teaching her?
Of choosing victims and executing them without leaving evidence. Of becoming something inhuman.
I felt somewhat responsible for this young girl standing in front of me. I’d taken her father away. It made sense that she’d look to me to fill that void, to give her a new purpose and direction.
“Is this… is it about Detective Sawyer?”
I sometimes forgot that Julia had been watching me for years without my knowledge. She probably knew more about me than I’d ever willingly share.
“There might be something I need you to do for me,” I said.
Julia nodded, her expression shifting to something more focused. “Anything. You know that. What do you need me to do?”
We started walking again, moving deeper into the park where the trees grew thicker and the chance of being overheard diminished. The sun was sinking lower now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
The loyalty should have warmed me. Instead, it made me feel cold all the way through. Because I knew what I was doing—corrupting her further, drawing her deeper into my darkness, ensuring that even if she managed to build a normal life, there would always be this thread connecting her to something terrible.
But I was desperate. And desperate men did terrible things.
“Thank you, Julia,” I quietly said.
My father’s voice echoed in my head, smug and knowing even after all these years.
We become what we fear most, boy.
