“Ay Dios mio.” Grandma shook her head. “So Snyder isn’t coming back?”
“Well. . . there is that silver lining. We don’t have an evil ghost haunting and killing people on the property.” I handed the camera back to Detective White. “You told me that some of these women committed suicide, right?”
“Yes. At least three of the five. Another one was diagnosed with cancer.”
“Which meant she could’ve known she was dying and decided to kill herself,” I guessed. “So that gives us four people who may have been willing to commit suicide. They were artists who hung around Hex, which means they’re probably not fully sane and have an abnormal dedication to the creation of art.”
Detective White nodded. “I do remember one of the three recent victims attempted suicide long ago. While she hung by her neck, she tried to paint everything she saw. That’s an abnormal dedication for sure.”
I rubbed my eyes. “This is too much for me. We need a list of the remaining artists that Hex has here. Grandma, could you call Reece? She would know where everything is. Knowing her, she has all the names memorized. Once we get these people, we need to find them and make sure there is a sort of suicide watch on them. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“There’s no need to call Reece. I know who they all are. Since everyone else left I made it my job to know everyone’s name who stayed. Hex has them all on the second level of the east wing. There’s only seventeen of them left.”
“Grandma, have the servants round them all up and keep them in the sitting area below. Nobody else is killing themselves on our property.”
“We should have people guarding all the areas where Hex has cameras,” Detective White offered. “Plus, it is anywhere there are cameras. The last three suicides happened inside the house and ended in your office.”
“Yeah.” I clenched my hands into fists. “I’ll have to remember to thank Hex for that.”
“Now that we may have an idea of what your brother is planning, do you think you can anticipate his next moves?” Detective White asked.
“I would be a fool to say a confident yes, but I could try. I’ll just need time to think about this.”
“In the meantime, I’m having the penis in the jar analyzed to see who it could belong too.”
Grandma and I exchanged glances.
“What?” The detective looked at both of us.
Grandma handled it before I had to. “It is probably Hex’s penis. He’s always saying he’s cursed by it.”
“Why did he think he was cursed?”
Grandma and I shrugged.
“Let’s start with rounding everyone up and questioning them.” I walked away from the damn model that had played a part in the most horrific thing my brother had ever done in his life.
Why would you allow them to die, and right here around us all? Did you know I would find the first girl? Did you even care, or was it just the art to you, the creation process that fueled your madness?
And it was madness, all of it. Part of me hoped I was wrong with my guess, that Hex wasn’t a part of this, but deep inside I knew I was either correct or very close. Hex and his damn suicidal artists were involved in stirring up our lives, wasting the police’s time, and shoving the fear of God into everyone on the property. And what was it all for, art?
What the hell was his muse? Death, heartache, or chaos? If one more person dies, I’m done with him.
It hurt to even think the last statement. It killed me to have that thought in my heart, but the urge to leave him thrummed through me all the same. Guilt pulsed through my veins, but I knocked it all away. How many years had I spent, trying to make up for what my mother and stepfather had done to him? How much of my energy did I exhaust in these years so that I can forgive myself for leaving Hex by himself with that mad pair?
If you’re behind this, Hex, then we’re even. I owe you nothing else.
It took thirty minutes to gather Hex’s remaining artists and only one minute to realize that five women were missing. With tight-lipped, neutral expressions, they held hands with each other as if they were hippies who were part of a peaceful movement to eradicate discrimination. They all wore black boots, jogging pants, and huge watches on their wrists. When I looked at the surface of the watches, I saw that none of them had hands to tell the time. How symbolic. Time doesn’t matter to you all. None of them met my gaze, none dared. Perhaps they noticed the rage on my face or the dare in my eyes for one of them to say the wrong thing. I longed to punch the men and scream at the women.