Page 104 of From Hell

“All it means is that he’s my stalker. It doesn’t mean he’s the person that…”

I can’t say it out loud.

“It shouldn’t be any different.”

“He knows what I am. He knows what I’ve done. But all he’s done is help me.”

“Has he helped you? Or has he made it worse? The police know about the murders now. Yes, he cleaned the evidence, but it’s only a matter of time before they connect the dots.”

I bite my lower lip. She’s right.

She sighs down the phone. “You need closure, I get it. You let him in. That’s probably part of his sick, twisted plan. It’s okay to want to ask him why, but do it so that he can’t hurt you. We’re here if you need us.”

After Nola hangs up, I stare out the window, watching patients coming and going for their routine checkups and nurses wheeling patients on their daily rounds like everything is normal. If Jaxon is the monster I’ve been searching for this entire time, he’s right here.

I just need to kill him.

But every time I think of doing so, grief burrows under my skin, bruising my insides and splitting me open like a ripe peach.

I wait until the pain passes and then drive to his house.

All is quiet when I open the door and step inside Jaxon’s home. I open the door to his office using the keys I stole from his work. I’m not prepared for the mess inside. Papers are strewn across the floor. There are holes in the walls where someone has punched them. The chair is overturned, and the computer is on the floor. A nasty-looking whip with several tails lies innocently on the desk beside a towel caked in dried blood.

Beside the mess on the floor, in the hearth, is the ash of charred logs and remnants of burned letters. Only scraps remain, partial words obscured by the blackened edges. I pick one out of the ash and read the fragment.

hing you bloom,

Soon, little bird.

It’s the same paper he leaves me. The same words are on the page. I don’t know when, but he went to my house, stole the letters, burned them, and burned my cottage down.

Jaxon is the Ripper.

I don’t know how long I stare at the burnt letters for an afternoon shadow to crawl across the floor I’m curled up on, knees tucked into my chest, but it must be hours. My cheeks are damp, and there’s an ache in my chest that hurts when I breathe. I know I should get up. Leave. But I can’t.

Someone knocks at the door.

A few minutes later, my phone trills. I dig it out of my pocket and glance at the screen. It’s Unknown.Jaxon. I haven’t yet taken the liberty of updating his name in my contacts. It didn’t seem right that he should have a permanent space in my digital world, and now I would never…can you imagine holding up my phone and saying,Oh wait, my killer is calling. I need to take this.

A strangled laugh escapes me. Fuck, I’m losing it. The door bangs again, and then my phone goes off.

Trembling, I snatch it up and answer it. “You bastard,” I hiss.

“Charming. May I come in?”

“How could you?” My voice breaks with a sob. I’m alternating between intense rage and sadness so quickly that I can’t quite keep up with my emotions as they tumble through me, a storm surging and falling, destroying everything in its path.

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? Are you sure about that?” I stagger to my feet, clutching the gun. “There’s a fire here with the remains of the letters you sent me. You stalked me, you harassed me, you tried to kill me. How am I overreacting?”

“Let me in, and I’ll explain.”

I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No, no. You don’t tell me what to do. You lost that right when you slit my fucking throat.”

He snorts. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be in pieces by now.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” I sneer back and hang up. The phone immediately rings again, so I silence it.