My eyes burn as another tear trails down my cheek.
“Are you fuc—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl, and I can picture him running a hand through his thick, black-and-gray hair.
I sniffle, only for a hiccup to escape. “They looked like the same color eyes as Mindy’s, Barry,” I say, my voice cracking.
His voice is far away, having clearly dropped his phone from his ear as he bellows, “FUCK!”
Then, something large crashes in the background. I close my eyes, hating how deeply this is affecting Barry, too. It’s why Brenda gets on him so much about his blood pressure, because some days, she and I fear the stress from working the Locksmithand copycat cases just might kill him.
A few more moments pass before I hear an angry exhale through his nose, indicating the phone’s back to his ear.
“Barry, your blood pressure,” I remind softly.
“Yeah, I know, honey, I know,” he mutters. I stay quiet as he takes a few deep breaths, though I get the feeling he’s wearing a hole into the floor from pacing. “I-it’s just… I can confirm it's not Lionel who threw it. Hillcrest did a drop-by just an hour ago and confirmed him home.”
I’m not even surprised by the news. It's exactly what I expected at this point, though it doesn't frustrate me any less.
“It has to be Roxi,” I mumble.
There's no question Lionel has a partner; there’s only the question of whether it's the copycat helping him, or if not, then who?
But it has to be…right?
If the copycat was born solely to further validate Lionel’s innocence in the first place, why wouldn't they also be used to stalk and harass mewhile he keeps his hands clean and continues to maintain his innocent façade?
Barry is silent for a moment. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “Who else would help him? She's probably the copycat.”
Again, Barry’s response is delayed, which has my heart dropping before he even gets the words out.
“Sweetheart… It can't be the copycat.”
My eyes snap to Dread's, my lips parting in shock, prompting him to silently mouth, “What?”
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to ensure no one is lingering in the hallway then pull the phone away from my ear and hit the speaker button.
“What do you mean it can't be the copycat?” I ask slowly.
Dread’s expression falls, stone hardening his features as he stares at the phone. I'm unsure what to make of it, but Barry's voice is pulling my attention away.
“A girl was reported missing last night. Elise Bender. Her remains were discovered this morning,” he says, though caution lines his tone.
My brows knit, and my mouth flops with bewilderment, speechless.
“W-what?”
Barry releases a heavy exhale, as if he doesn't want to say whatever's next. “The copycat left her remains in a trash bag outside of the police department's door about two hours ago.”
Dread’s stare flies up to meet mine, just as stunned as I am.
“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he's saying. “How do you know for sure it's the copycat who left them? And aren't there cameras?”
“Yes, but they were wearing a hood and what looked like a ski mask, as well as all-black, nondescript clothing. He walked on and off the property, so no vehicle, and there are no other cameras that caught him or his car.” He lets out another heavy, tired sigh as he continues, “As for the remains, I’ve already inspected them.”
Them, because the remains are never whole.
“They're exactly like the copycat's. Same consistency with the cuts. Exactly like all the other victims when Lionel was in prison.”
