Page 89 of He Sees You

Celeste takes hers without question, but Juliette holds hers up to the firelight, examining the amber liquid.

"He used to drink this while watching," she says quietly. "Patricia would play piano and he'd sit in his chair with his whiskey and just... watch."

"I know."

"Of course you do. You watched him watching." She takes a sip, grimaces. "It tastes like him. Like expensive cruelty."

Celeste looks between us, reading the subtext. "How long have you known? About what Cain did to them?"

"Since the night it happened." Juliette doesn't look at either of us, just stares into the fire. "I was supposed to be at Emma's house for a sleepover, but I came back. Forgot my retainer—stupid thing to die over, isn't it? A piece of plastic to keep my teeth straight."

I remember that night differently.

Remember making sure she was gone, safe, away from what I had to do.

But she came back.

She always came back when she wasn't supposed to.

"The house was so quiet," Juliette continues, her voice distant. "That should have been my first warning. It was never quiet when they were awake. Always Patricia's piano or Richard's television or...othersounds." She drinks deeply. "I went to my room through the back door, grabbed my retainer, and was about to leave when I saw you through the window."

"You never said?—"

"What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Cain, saw you murdering our parents last night, pass the orange juice?'" She laughs, bitter. "I saw you sealing the windows. Watched you tampering with the heating system. Saw you sit outside their bedroom window as the screaming started. And I went back to Emma's and said nothing. Played board games and painted our nails while our parents died."

"Juliette—"

"I've never thanked you." She looks at me now, eyes dry but infinite. "Twenty years and I've never actually said thank you for killing them."

"You don't need to?—"

"Yes, I do. Because what you did that night saved me. Not just from them, but from what I might have become if they'dlived." She turns to Celeste. "He tells you he's a monster, doesn't he? That he's dangerous, corrupted, broken?"

Celeste nods.

"He's wrong. He's the closest thing to a hero I've ever known. He just uses different methods than the stories approve of."

"You sent me here," Celeste says suddenly. "You knew what would happen."

Juliette smiles, sharp and knowing. "I've been watching you both for years. My brilliant author writing about darkness she'd never touched. My brilliant brother living in isolation because no one could understand what he was. You needed each other."

"You've been playing matchmaker with a serial killer?"

"I've been saving you both from lives of magnificent loneliness." She stands, moves to the window. "Do you know how many manuscripts I've read from you, Celeste? Not just the published ones, but every draft, every deleted scene, every margin note? You've been writing about Cain since before you knew he existed. Every antihero, every dangerous love interest—they were all shadows of him."

"And you've been feeding him information about me."

"Little breadcrumbs. Mentions of your favorite books, your schedule, your relationship disasters." She turns back to us. "I'm not sorry. Look at you both now. Alive in ways you never were before."

"We killed Jake," Celeste says bluntly. "I held the knife."

"Do you know what he said to me at last year's Christmas party? The one at the town lodge? I'd come to visit Cain for the holidays, and figured I needed to experience small-town Christmas. Jake cornered me by the coat closet and said I looked just like Celeste, but more 'accessible.' Said maybe he should give me a try since you were too proud to fuck a real man."

My hands clench. If Jake weren't already dead, I'd kill him again, slower.

"I knew then he was dangerous," Juliette continues. "So, when Cain asked about you, I made sure he knew Jake was a threat. Made sure he knew you were coming home. I set the board, and you both played your parts perfectly."

She reaches into her designer bag, pulls out a folder. "But we have a problem. Several, actually."