But I suppose they felt they didn’t have to when the copycat murderer popped up, further cementing me as the boy who put away the wrong man.
It drove me fuckinginsanewatching them feel so validated. Even to this day, I can’t put into words what that did to me—knowing what I saw and fighting tooth and nail to get people to believe me, only for a fucking copycat to further make me look like a liar.
Special Agents Barry Jones and Jeff Lakes publicly insisted they are two different murderers, but it didn’t matter, to the D’Amours or the world. The investigators lost their credibility, and everyone made uptheir minds—Kellan Sharpe is a fuckingliar.
How Barry can stand to have a close relationship with Reverie and treat her as his daughter, I’ll never understand. They keep their relationship out of the public eye, so they don’t know I’m aware of it. I suspect he’s forgiven her because she was so young and went along with whatever Regina wanted, and I could understand that, too.
However, to this day, Reverie still refuses to acknowledge Lionel as the real Locksmith, just like she refuses to acknowledge his victims or their families.
She’s never even acknowledged what her family did to me, and that, more than anything, is what enrages me.
As kids,Iwas the one who lost everything, yet it washerwho got everything.
After Lionel went to prison, she and Regina lived with the public sympathizing over her father’s wrongful imprisonment while lavishing them with food, gifts, and unwavering support. After the copycat emerged, they went on TV for several interviews, boasting that they were right—I put away the wrong man. All the while, I sat alone in a cold, dark house, listening to the soft sounds of my grandmother weeping, and eating the bland hot dogs and ramen noodles her abysmal social security check barely afforded. I was ridiculed and bullied endlessly, both online and in school. People vandalized my home, sent death threats, and spread awful rumors about my mother and me.
Katherine Sharpe stopped being a victim of the Locksmith and became the woman who failed as a mother.
Reverie was the poor girl without her daddy.
I was the evil boy who put him away.
But Reverie will eventually get her father back.
My mom willnevercome home.
And Ihateher for that.
However, at Hollow Canyon, the roles have finally reversed. Whether or not the students here believe me doesn’t even matter. They’re too starstruck to call me a liar, and they condemn Reverie simply because I do. I’m sure, deep down, many of them still believe Lionel to be innocent, but they’ll never say, and I don’t care to be believed anymore.
I just want her to suffer.
“T-they’re all t-t-t-oo sc-scared of-f yo-you,” she stutters, slipping her knees out from under her coat and attempting to get to her feet. Sheloses her balance, falling onto her knees with athump.
Embarrassing.
A chuckle bubbles from my throat, and she flicks a nasty glare my way, then tries again. This time, she’s barely successful—only for her to take a single step and lose her balance again. Her limbs are numb, and I’ll grow old by the time she manages to make it halfway to the door, give up, and stay there until she croaks.
I stand, and though my teeth are on the verge of chattering, I let my rage warm my blood. I whistle a low tune, watching her struggle to her feet a third time, only to fall once again.
“You’re pathetic,” I tell her, a grin curling one side of my lips when she spits an insult over her shoulder.
No fucking idea what she said, but I can’t imagine it was that creative, anyway.
After a few more attempts, I grow bored and trail after her. Before she can wrangle up the energy to try again, I scoop her into my arms. It takes effort not to think about how she feels tucked into my elbows. If I do, I’ll want to drop her, and despite how amusing that’d be, I’m tired as shit, and the cold has officially begun to hurt my face.
Her muscles tense, her struggles weak as she wriggles in my hold. “L-l-let m-me g-go!” she screeches, planking her body.
Growling, I tuck her further into my chest, wishing I didn’t enjoy torturing her so much and could just let her die out here.
I should carry her up to her dorm and leave her there, but I’m not confident she can bring herself back from the edge of death. So, unless I want a goddamn murder charge on my hands, I need to ensure she doesn’t croak.
Between my exhaustion, having to get up early, her tiny-ass twin bed, and the mess Rogue and Severen created in her dorm earlier, I have no desire to stay in her room until she warms up.
Which means she’s coming back with me instead.
“You’ll sooner die before you make it to your room, and I have better things to do than answer questions about your untimely death.”
“A-a-asshole,” she snarls, her fist thumping against my chest. I grin, and she hisses from the impact against her numb skin.
