I blink several times, staring down at the note, wondering if it's just a figment of my imagination. But I know it's not, because Dread stares down at it, too.
“B-but what if he killed the person beforehand, flew here, and had Lionel drop them off to make it seem like the copycat was still in California but actually wasn’t?”
He doesn’t answer for a few beats, the silence weighted. “You definitely have the mind of an investigator and know what questions to ask,” he says with a hint of pride, though it’s followed by a sad chuckle.
My frown deepens, confused. “Officer Hillcrest provided us with his body cam footage,” Barry begins on a heavy, frustrated exhale. “Footage with a clear date and time stamp of Hillcrest visiting Lionel’s home at the same exact time the remains were left outside the police station. They timed it all perfectly. The evidence is indisputable. It’s physically impossible for either Lionel or the copycat to be in Colorado already. Lionel can’t fly without prior approval and wouldn’t be stupid enough to try without it, so even if the copycat got a direct flight and no delays, it’s… it’s just not possible, honey.”
I sputter for a moment while I try to organize my thoughts.
“I don't…” I trail off, my heart picking up speed as a sickening feeling weighs in my gut. “I don't understand. If it's not Lionel or the copycat, who the fuck threw this at Dread's window? It haseyeballsin it, Barry. Potentially Mindy’s eyeballs! Whoever took her is either trying to set me up or is taunting me.”
I bite my lip just as it begins to tremble.
God, all of this is just so…fucked up.And I'm so fuckingtired. Of all of it.
Why can't everyone just leave me the fuck alone?
“I’m going to call the sergeant at the Hollow Canyon police department and arrange for them to pick up the evidence from you,” he says. “For all we know, they’re not even real, and someone is messing with you.”
My mouth opens then closes, having not considered that. I glanced inside the box long enough to see what was in it—the blood, the color of the irises—before snapping it shut. They looked real, but Dread has proven once before that just because body parts look that way doesn’t mean they are…
My heart drops like a stone in a well.
“It could still be Roxi,” I assert, suddenly feeling like there’s a crater in my stomach.
“We will be questioning her,” Barry assures. “If those eyeballsare real, and she doesn’t have an alibi for her whereabouts, that will make her a viable suspect.”
I let out a breath, finding some sort of comfort in at least that much, and mumble, “Okay.”
However, Barry groans, as if he’s about to say or ask something he doesn’t want to. “Rev, are you sure it's not?—”
A muffled voice from Barry’s end cuts off his question, and after a few beats of heavy silence, he lets out a weighted exhale.
“What?” I ask, alarm strengthening my voice.
“I asked Hillcrest to reconfirm if Lionel is home just in case, and he is. So we know it's not Lionel or the copycat definitively.”
I frown. There’s something prodding at the back of my mind, insisting I question that.
“I want to talk to him myself.”
The demand is out of my mouth before it has the chance to become a thought.
From my peripheral, Dread’s stare snaps up to me, but I keep my eyes pointedly diverted. Barry’s silent for an extra beat, his surprise palpable through the phone.
“W-who, sweetheart?”
“The parole officer. Officer Hillcrest.”
Again, another moment of stunned silence passes. “You want to speak to his parole officer?”
His question is hesitant, almost like he can’t believe I’d ask something like that.
My hands tremble, but my resolve is steady. “Yes.”
Barry stutters for a second, then says, “Okay. I will ask him to call you.”
“Thank you.”
