He scoffs, "So you were right."
I follow shortly behind him, "Not sure how, but yeah, I was."
"I think it's that shit I was saying. Even though your mind doesn't remember, you're still you. You still know that girl like she's an extension of yourself. You slice and prep like we've done a million times back when we didn't have the staff to do it. I didn't even tell you what shape we cut them into, but your hands knew."
I sigh heavily, weighed down by the truth in his words and the implications. It makes me wonder what other things could come back like muscle memory if I let them. How easy it might be to kill someone if the need arose.
"What did he look like?" he asks.
"She said he wasn't very tall. She towered over him. Dark hair. Blue eyes. No other really defining details," I tell him. "Thatcould describe anyone. Cop or no. You know how fucking easy it is to get a fake badge and uniform now."
He nods slowly, thoughtfully before responding, "I know you're still stuck in limbo about what kind of man you are, if it's who you were ten years ago, or who you were a few months ago. But I can tell you right now, only one of those men would be capable of figuring out who dared to threaten your girl." Setting the container on the downstairs bar top, he sits in the seat in front of it, spinning to face me. "You were never abadman, Cormac, even at your worst. Just a violent one. It's not a bad thing to be just what you are. You need to stop being afraid ofBás Dorchaand start being afraid of what might happen if you can't find him."
I know he's right.
But this killer living in my skin terrifies me. What if I let it out and hurt someone who doesn't deserve it?
If I go down that path, will it all play out exactly the same again? With someone nearly killing me, or maybe even succeeding?
I've been given a second chance, and for better or worse, I'm already making different choices than I did before.
I watched Brigit from afar foryearsafter she turned down the job offer. I didn't even speak to her after that. That's the most confusing part of it all. What could have changed from firing my lawyer before even offering Brigit the job, being so sure about her, and then?—
"When did it happen?" I ask suddenly.
"What?"
"Your stepdad."
His cheeks puff out as he pushes out a big breath, "I don't know. I wanna say December? Could have even been January. I know it was cold as shit. Several years ago now."
"2021?"
He shrugs, "Could be."
I would bet good money that's when it was. It all lines up too perfectly.
Met the girl of my dreams, fired my lawyer because of her, and killedsomeone, all in the span of a few months. No fucking wonder I went off the deep end and didn't continue pursuing Brigit. I was too busy spiraling into becoming a serial killer.
"Can we be done talking about that day now, Fomori?" he groans. "It's always such a fucking downer. How about we talk about the first time we successfully pulled off our first murder together?Thatwas fun."
I laugh, "Actually, I think I'm done talking aboutallof it for now. You've got a bar to open in an hour and I want to go home and?—"
"And stalk Brigit," he finishes for me.
“Right,” I laugh. “She can’t have a camera in her hallway, no shared spaces, but… I can. Should have done it before.”
He nods slowly, “I think there's an extra hidden camera back in the office so you don't need to track a new one down."
"Thanks."
After finding it, I tuck the camera into my pocket, planning to install it tonight as soon as the sun goes down.
As I walk out the front door of Mingle, before I even make it down the stairs outside, an unfamiliar voice calls my name.
Out of instinct, I look up, only to be assaulted by the bright flash of cameras in my face.
Before I can react, a handful more surround me, nearly a dozen reporters with their giant cameras and obnoxious voices, clamoring for my attention, calling me both by my legal name and the one they've given me.
