Page 77 of He Sees You

His hand goes to his gun. Not drawing it, but the threat is clear. "Jake's dead?"

"Yes."

"You killed him."

"I stopped him from raping your daughter. The force required was... significant."

"Show me your hands."

I hold them out.

Some bruising on the knuckles, Jake's blood still faintly visible under the nails despite my quick wash.

Sterling sees it all, cataloging evidence with eyes that have been doing this for thirty years.

"Sheriff," one of the deputies says quietly. "You need to see this."

We follow him inside, up to Celeste's bedroom.

The smell hits first—blood, bodily fluids, death.

Then the visual.

Jake's mutilated corpse, the grotesque unicorn horn of his own anatomy, the artistic precision of the violence.

"Jesus Christ," one of the deputies says, then runs for the bathroom to vomit.

Sterling stares at the scene, his face cycling through emotions.

Horror. Recognition. Understanding.

He's seen my work before, even if he couldn't prove it was mine.

This has my signature all over it.

The theatrical positioning, the symbolic mutilation, the way the blood has been allowed to pool in specific patterns.

"You," he says quietly. "This was you. Not just Jake—all of them."

"I don't know what you mean."

He spins, grabs me by the shirt, slams me against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. "The deer skulls. The mutilation. Roy Dunham. The women. This is your work."

"Your deputy broke into your home. Attempted to rape your daughter. I stopped him."

"You butchered him. This isn't self-defense, it's?—"

"It's what he deserved." I meet his eyes calmly. "How many women filed complaints against Jake that you dismissed? How many victims did you ignore because he was your deputy, your friend?"

Sterling's grip loosens slightly. "You don't know?—"

"Sarah, seventeen years old. You convinced her to drop charges. Melanie Hughes, a dispatcher in your department. Transferred rather than investigated. Rebecca Martinez, domestic violence victim. Jake propositioned her and you buried her complaint."

Each name hits him like a slap to the face.

His hands fall away from my shirt.

"You protected him," I continue quietly. "For years, you protected apredator. And tonight, he came for your daughter. If I hadn't been here?—"