She looked at him, something Jimmy didn’t know what to call snagging in her expression briefly before she gave a slight smile. “I’m not.” She looked back at the picture of her daughters again. “I should have put myself and my girls first far sooner. In every other case, I always did. I made excuses for Vaughn, but I shouldn’t have because it’s true what they say, Detective,” she murmured, almost as though to herself. She looked at him, something burning in her eyes despite her neutral expression. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Before
Josie was sick. She knew she was and yet was unsure what was wrong with her. An infection maybe? Please let it be slight. Please, she prayed. She’d heard somewhere—she had no earthly idea where—that infection was one of the leading causes of death among new mothers until the invention of antibiotics. She couldn’t die here now. She couldn’t die and leave Caleb alone.
Her baby lay next to her on the dirty mattress, the quilt wrapped around them. She’d used the last of the baby wipes Marshall had left behind so many months ago, and a few fast food napkins to clean herself and Caleb as much as possible after the birth. She’d had to save some of the napkins though to lay under Caleb, as she had no diapers.
Josie was hot, too hot, and so incredibly thirsty. She needed more water than the thin trickle that rolled down the wall now and again. She needed far more than she’d needed during her pregnancy. Breastfeeding was making her desperate with thirst. She knew she needed the water to make enough milk.
With each tug of Caleb’s hungry mouth, her uterus contracted painfully, causing a small gush of blood. Then again, her definition of pain had taken on new meaning since she’d endured an unmedicated birth while shackled to a wall.
She was so incredibly weary, thirsty, uncomfortable, terrified, and . . . ravenous. She was out of food. She eyed the rotting placenta that she’d pushed as far from her mattress as she could. Maybe she should have eaten some. But it was too late now. The temporary organ was rotting. It smelled like putrid flesh.
It’d been a week since Caleb was born, and three days since she’d eaten the last measly quarter of a hamburger and six cold fries.
She gazed at her son, her heart constricting as a tear escaped her eye. If her milk dried up, would she watch the small life she’d brought into the world against all odds and loved with her whole being, fade slowly away in her arms? Her imaginings alone caused pressure to build in her chest, and grief so profound it felt as though it physically rolled over her. Crushing.
Her eyes opened and she froze. Footsteps. She heard footsteps. She pulled herself into a sitting position, her breath coming rapidly.
Marshall opened the door and drew back slightly. “God, it s-stinks in here.” But then he froze where he stood when he saw what Josie held in her arms. He walked slowly to where she sat, one arm holding the baby, the quilt tucked up to his neck, her other hand chained.
Is giving birth easy?
Why yes. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back.
The thought rose unbidden in her mind, and she had the insane urge to howl with wild laughter until her mind cracked and she floated away on a peaceful sea of delirium. But madness would take her from her child. No, she wouldn’t go there. Not willingly.
Marshall’s movements seemed different as he made his way to her, squatting next to the mattress. He pulled the quilt back and she saw that his hand was trembling. It struck her. He’s afraid? Is he afraid or . . . what is he? “What is it?” His voice sounded strange too. Josie sat up taller.
“A boy. It’s a boy. He’s your son. And he’s perfect.” She licked her lips. “I need water. And I’m sick. I’m sick, and I think I’m getting worse, I—”
“What’s his n-name?”
“His name?” Something in Josie didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to give this monster the gift of knowing her precious boy’s name. But she also needed Marshall to see him as human, to feel for him, to let him go. Let them go.
“Caleb. His name is Caleb.”
Marshall continued to look at the baby, something in his hazel eyes she couldn’t read. Curiosity? Fear. She saw his throat move beneath the mask as he swallowed. He reached out to touch him, and Josie’s instinct was to draw her baby toward her, away from the devil who’d fathered him, but she didn’t. She held her breath and remained unmoving. But before Marshall’s hand made contact with Caleb’s cheek, he drew back, standing swiftly.
“Please let us go. Please.” Josie began to cry. “We’ll both die here. Is that what you want? He’s your son. Please.”
“Shut up,” he barked, backing up. “Shut up. I thought you might already be dead. I thought today you’d be dead.”
Josie shook her head. “I’m not. We’re not. But we will be soon. Please, please—”
Marshall turned and walked out the door, tossing a bag of food and a bottle of water to Josie before slamming the door. Her hope plummeted and she cried out his name loudly, beseeching once and then again. She heard his footsteps ascend the stairs quickly as though he were running away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Josie heard Zach on the porch talking on his phone, heard the creak of the old wood as he paced back and forth. Who was he talking to? Jimmy most likely. Talking through this case that now personally involved her.
Could Professor Vaughn Merrick be the copycat? The question Zach had asked Josie the night before repeated in her head and she still didn’t have an answer. Anyth
ing was possible, but the question had honestly shocked her. She’d been intimate with the man, but she had such hazy memories of who he’d really been as a person. She supposed it was because she hadn’t ever really known. Perhaps she hadn’t even really cared, though at the time she’d thought she did. She’d put her own ideals on him, never looking deep enough to consider that he wasn’t able or interested to meet them. Yes, she’d made so many mistakes all in a desperate attempt to finally win the love she’d been denied by her parents. And yet always choosing men who were incapable of loving her. What a warped merry-go-round she’d climbed upon.
All that aside, was Vaughn committing the heinous copycat killings? And if so, why?