Page 24 of Wicked Riddles & Bitter Heartbeats (Till Death Do Us Part #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

Atticus

I have five names and addresses burned into my brain.

They’re the five people I will kill to gain my brother’s attention.

I’ve used Lilah’s plan as a base, but I had to change it slightly.

I focused on streets around his area that start with those letters, rather than the specific ones she pointed out.

Otherwise, I’m not sure he’d notice. Local police don’t deal with murders like this, and so the only way he will notice is if there is something worth noticing.

Being close to home, a place that is supposed to be safe, is something worth noticing.

Over breakfast this morning, Lilah dug through the pedophile database to choose the victims. Boston has a shit ton of pedophiles, which is disgusting, but not one on every street we need. However, she was able to find less than upstanding citizens, which we both found acceptable.

I don’t care who I kill. Lilah’s the one with the conscience, and since I care about her, I’ll do as she pleases.

Lilah will come with me and is well aware that she needs to listen to everything I say.

I don’t foresee it being a problem, as it hasn’t been before, but having someone come along for this is new and so it makes me even a little nervous.

I still worry that my dark side will do something to her, but she assures me she can handle it. I’m still not so sure.

“Atty!” she calls from the living room, and the tone of her voice has me moving quickly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask once I’m in the room.

I find her on the couch, sitting on the edge, staring at the TV.

"—mystery is unfolding in the Boston area as the FBI steps in to investigate a string of brutal murders. With no witnesses and no known suspects, authorities are racing against time to find answers. Officials say the killings appear to be connected, but so far, the case remains a puzzle. Here is Ian, who is on scene of the most recent murder.”

I sit beside Lilah on the couch as the screen changes to a man outside in front of a dark house. Yellow crime scene tape flutters in the wind, and the house sits quiet, the police long gone. The only light comes from the streetlights around him, and whatever lighting the camera crew has.

“Yes, thank you, Samantha. I’m here in Somerville at the location of the most recent heinous crime. State police now have the help of the FBI as they claim to have a serial killer on their hands. Authorities are asking for everyone’s help to stop this killer before they strike again.”

“And they have no leads, is that correct, Ian?” the anchor, Samantha, asks. Her face takes up the small picture-in-picture at the top left of the screen.

There’s a brief pause before Ian nods and says, “That is correct, Samantha. There are no leads at this time. Police are combing through evidence and databases, but from what we’re told, there has been no DNA left behind and no cameras in the vicinity.”

“How do the police know these murders are all related?” Samantha asks.

“That is a great question, Samantha, and one we were asking ourselves as well. Earlier in the day, we were able to speak with a few of the police on scene. Take a look at what we got.”

The screen changes to a clip of when it’s day time, the house still taped off in the background. The same reporter is there, only this time he’s standing next to a Boston PD officer.

“We hear there is word of a serial killer,” Ian says. “Can you speak on that?”

“Unfortunately, we have found evidence that leads us to believe one person is responsible for multiple murders in our city.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“I’m not at liberty to say at this time, but we can confidently report that this person is targeting men between the ages of thirty-five and fifty. There are no other links between victims at this time.”

He moves to walk away, and Ian steps after him. “Officer, if I could just—”

The officer holds his hand up, shaking his head as he walks away.

The clip ends and we go back to Ian now.

“It seems the police aren’t releasing everything they’ve found, Samantha, which isn’t uncommon. Not giving all information helps them weed out fake confessions and prank calls regarding the case.”

“Well, thank you for your work, Ian. If you take a look at the screen now, you will see photos of the victims.”

Eight photos pop up on the screen.

“All of these men are in Boston and surrounding areas, going as far as Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and Providence, Rhode Island.”

The anchor goes on to talk about the men, but something about them is bothering me.

I can’t quite place what it is. It’s true that some serial killers go after people who look the same, so I’m not surprised all the men are similar.

Blond hair, fair skin, shit brown eyes… But it’s not them being similar that is throwing me off.

It’s that they look familiar . But I don’t know any of them.

I get up and move closer to the TV, something itching at the base of my skull, telling me to look closer. That I’m missing something.

“Atty?”

I get a better look at the men’s faces, really taking them in.

Blond hair, brown eyes…

I scan my memory as I take a good, hard look at each of the men.

Boston area. Blond hair. Brown eyes.

It hits me, and I stumble back like the TV’s zapped me.

Thomas.

They all look like Thomas, my foster father. The first man Violet ever killed.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, running my hand through my hair. The room around me spins, and I close my eyes to calm down. “Violet.”

“Violet?” I blink a few times, trying to clear the fuzzy vision. Lilah comes into view, standing beside me. “You think she did this?”

We haven’t talked about Violet much, but Lilah has enough of an understanding. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“I think so.”

“Why do you think that?”

My attention goes back to the TV, and I get another quick glance at the men before the photos disappear and Samantha’s face takes up the screen again.

“They all look like our foster father.”

“You think she’s killing men who look like him?” Lilah asks in awe.

“That’s how it looks,” I say.

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I go to the couch to sit down before I fall down. “I have no idea, but… I need to know if this is her. If she’s doing this, something is wrong.”

“Atty, you shouldn’t get involved.”

I look over at her, frowning. A strange sense of defensiveness blooms in my chest. “If she’s in trouble, I need to help her.”

“Unless you’re a really good fucking lawyer, you aren’t going to help her. Maybe it’s not even her.”

Narrowing my eyes, I look back at the TV. That darkness is swirling in my chest, threatening to take over and unleash. I close my eyes, take a moment to breathe and push it away.

Lilah is right.

“This isn’t your problem,” Lilah says softly, and that sets me off.

I get to my feet, jabbing my finger toward the TV. “This is Violet. She’s spiraling and she’s going to get caught if she doesn’t calm the fuck down,” I growl.

Lilah’s face is pained, and she gives me a sad smile. She takes my hand, holding my gaze.

“Atty, I’m not mad that you’re worried about her; I’m just worried about you.

” I don’t say anything to her as I fight my internal battle.

Things are going so well. I don’t want to give into the other side of me and go missing for days.

I want to stay here, where I consciously remember Lilah.

But I haven’t been this angry in a long time, and I don’t know how to deal with it.

I’m not sure I can fight this battle against the darkness and win.

“How can we find out if it’s her?” Lilah’s voice is soft, calm.

It’s something that used to enrage me when I was younger, but coming from Lilah?

It’s like Kryptonite to my darkness because it’s easier to fight when I hear her.

I think about her question, running my hand over my head and looking around the room as I try to figure it out.

Nothing in here is helpful. Not the stiff furniture or the overpriced paintings.

Not the plush rugs or coffered ceiling. This house is useless.

Meaningless. Just a shell to hide away in.

Nothing in here means anything. Nothing but…

My gaze falls back to Lilah, her bright eyes shining.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I pull her to me, holding her tightly.

“I need to see the crime scene.”

Lilah takes a slow, full breath. “Okay, then let’s go.”

“You’re not coming,” I tell her, not letting her go.

She pushes away from me, pinning me with a glare that would have normal grown men cowering.

“I am going,” she says sharply.

I purse my lips, holding her stare. She isn’t giving in and it’s not worth the fight. Besides, her going doesn’t make a difference.

“Fine, but you’re staying in the car.”

I turn on my heel and storm out of the room, hearing her mutter under her breath, “That’s what you think.”

Lilah may be concerned about me, but I know what this is. I’m going to prove it, and then I am going to help Violet. And then… I’m going to ask her why the fuck she left me all those years ago without even a look back over her shoulder.