Page 194 of Brainwashed

Felix’s voice pops into my head.Take it. This is your chance.

Snatching the envelope, I dart out of the house without giving it a single lingering glance. I hop into my rental car, and I drive to the airport.

The entire ride to Hartsfield-Jackson, I considered my next move. And a lot of it felt like a fog.

For how slow time can often move, the moments leading up to this one passed in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if I was moving instinctually. On autopilot, doing what I always knew I should have done, but couldn’t bring myself to make it happen.

I suppose this was inevitable. It just took a little push from my favorite serial killer to get here. To realize that the answer was in front of me all along.

My taxi pulls along the curb in front of the house, and I glance out the window.

This is it. 8213 West Summerdale Avenue.

I pay the driver and get out, taking a quiet moment to stare at the residence. Really, it’s just a house. There’s nothing prophetic about it, no screams coming from inside or ravens circling it in the sky. In fact, it’s a million times more normal looking than the place I’ve been living for the past two months. Which just goes to show how bullshit appearances are.

Stephen looks normal. So does Felix…

My lips quirk at the thought of my preppy lunatic, forcing my feet to move, bringing me up the walkway to the front door. Sucking in a long breath, I prepare myself as I ring the doorbell.

Shifting my weight anxiously, I wait for many heavy seconds, wondering if I should press it again. There’s a car in the driveway, which means someone’s definitely here. I just hope it’s him and not a clueless wife or something.

But then I hear movement from behind the door. And it cracks open, revealing a face I haven’t seen in twenty-three years.

“Hello, Stephen,” I say calmly, though the adrenaline is racking my limbs. “Long time no see.”

He gives me a peculiar look at first, as if he’s not quite recognizing me, since it’s been so long. The last time he saw me, I was fourteen. Just developing, barely on the cusp of becoming a man. Shorter hair, less muscle. No tattoos. And he was in his early thirties, looking pretty much exactly the same as he does now. Only now he’s visibly older, face a bit weathered, some more lines and gray at his temples. But it’s still clearly him.

The man who probably would have killed me if he’d only tied the rope tighter.

I see the moment when it dawns on him who’s standing on his front steps. His eyes widen, and he gets this sort of horrified look in his eyes, though he’s actively trying to cover it up. He glances behind me quickly and I chuckle.

“There are no camera crews or anything here.” I grin. “Just me.”

“What do you want, Lemuel?” he mutters. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again…”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” I rumble and nod behind him. “May I come in?” He looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, I add, “I just want to talk. I think you owe me that.”

Regarding me warily, he finally lets out a breath and moves aside, allowing me to walk past him. The inside of his house is what you’d expect from a secret monster. Neat. Organized. Sparsely decorated. He has some art on the walls that he probably doesn’t even care for. But it’sthe image.

I wander over to a shelf to observe a few framed pictures. I don’t recognize anyone in them.

“So… what did you want to talk about?” he asks hesitantly. “I don’t have long. I’m expecting someone.”

My lips curl. “No, you aren’t. You just want me to think you’ll have backup in case I try something…”

His jaw tenses visibly, but he doesn’t argue.

Taking a seat with a sigh on a leather chair, I pull the envelope I stole from my parents’ house out of my pocket. “I know you’ve been in contact with my parents. I know they’ve been sending you money, and I’m sure Gramp has, too… They’ve been funding your life for years.” My eyes move around the room. “They bought you this house, didn’t they?”

I witness him swallow, but he stays quiet.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “You aren’t even a productive member of society, Stephen. Do you work? Do you doanything? Other than raping young boys, I mean. Because let’s face it… There’s no way you gave that up.”

His lips part, hatred flashing in his eyes. But still, he says nothing.

“After all, you got away scot-free… So whywouldn’tyou just keep going, right?”

“No,” he finally grunts. “You’re wrong. After you—” His voice cuts out so he doesn’t have to say the words. Fury sprouts like a seedling inside me. “I went to Belleview. I got help. They cured me!”