I couldn’t risk that. Not for me and not for his future victims.
Instead, I typed—
Cora: Whatever, it’s your call.
Jarrod: If you’re so worried, we’ll meet somewhere else this time. How about I pick you up?
Cora: From where?
Jarrod: Your house. You do have one of those, right?
Cora: Ha ha ha. Yes, I have a house. You do realize my parents will probably be here, right?
Jarrod: Parents love me. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at eight.
I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out. Jarrod Hale at my actual house?
The world was coming to an end.
Cora: See you then.
I tossed my phone aside and stared at the ceiling.
What did it mean to murder a monster? Did that make me just as bad?
No—definitely not.
This was happening. Jarrod was taking it more seriously than I ever did, and my fantasy was becoming a reality. I took that first irreversible step and brought Jarrod into my darkness, and now we were going to tumble down the abyss together.
I was terrified and elated and I wondered if this would change anything at all.
I’d sustained myself with my hatred for that bastard for years, and with him dead, I wouldn’t have anything left.
It really was a one-way ticket for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut. My guts clenched. I was afraid—I couldn’t pretend otherwise. And still I wanted to keep going despite the tremor in my hands and the horror that sat in the base of my spine like a demon.
A knock at my door pulled me from bed. Irrationally, I thought it might be Jarrod.
Sam stood looking nervous, not meeting my eye. “Uh, this is weird, but, uh, does that offer to talk still stand?”
I felt my ice-cold innards melt, and a strange spring warmth rushed up along my prickling skin. “Come on in, little bro.”
He smiled and stepped into my room. “I’m not saying I’m depressed, but maybe things have felt really hard lately and I don’t know why.”
I patted my bed. He walked over and sat down awkwardly. God, my little brother was becoming an adult.
“Tell me about it.”
He launched into his feelings, barely able to look up, and the more he spoke, the more my jitters dissipated. As I listened to him talk about finding it hard to wake up in the morning and fighting with himself constantly, to the constant feelings of uncontrollable sadness and stupid self-hatred, I knew that watching Dr. Silver was the right thing to do.
I’d pull the trigger myself if I could.
Sam was a good person. He was outgoing and kind and a delight to the world—but Dr. Silver took something from him all those years ago and now Sam still lingered in that past trauma.
He never mentioned it, but we both knew. It was always there, unspoken.
I listened and talked with him and when he finally left my room looking slightly better, promising to clean up his own pigsty as he shuffled into the hall, I felt a renewed sense of divine righteousness.
Jarrod was place in my path for a reason. By who or what, I didn’t know, and didn’t care.
Dr. Silver was going to die for what he did to me and my brother.
I gripped the burner phone and took several long, steadying breaths, feeling more justified in my convictions with each passing moment.
9
Jarrod
I pulled up to Cora’s place and parked out front.
She had a nice little house. Red door, gray shutters, white siding. Lawn was cut, bushes were trimmed. It was tidy and organized and comfortable.
This was what I used to want.
When I was younger, I’d stare out the window of my bedroom and watch the trees blow in the breeze. I’d dream about the other houses in our area—the nice, comfortable, warm, loving little houses, so different from the one I was trapped in with my aunt and uncle. I wanted suburban perfection, or as close to perfection as I could possibly get, in contrast to the nightmare I found myself in most days.
Robyn never talked much about the abuse. She was grateful when I diverted her dad’s attention onto myself, which wasn’t all that hard, but she didn’t go into details about what all the pain did to her.
And I never asked. I wanted to try to pretend like I had something good in my life, like Robyn was still pristine, unbroken.
I was lying. I knew it. She was as fucked up as I was, though she was much better at hiding.
I gripped the steering wheel. Cora’s family seemed nice, but I knew image meant absolutely nothing.
I got out and knocked on the door. Her father answered—a skinny guy with a dark mustache and a deep frown. “Jarrod Hale?”
I nodded. “Here for Cora, sir.”
“Come inside.”
Their place was exactly what I imagined—nice. Nondescript art hung on the walls, nothing too flashy, but nothing too cheap. Their life was put in its place, with shoes on a rack, keys hanging on a peg, and all their chargers wrapped up in rubber bands. I lingered in the entryway as Cora came downstairs and frowned at her dad.