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Are you really surprised, Trish?
“What do you mean? She? What?”
“It’s a long story, Trish, but it’s not your fault. The Strangler… she’s trying to hurt me.”
She flinched. There was a flicker of denial in her eyes before it vanished.
“Hurt you?” Her voice shook, and I had a feeling this wasn’t an act, not this time. If she was indeed Patty, she believed she was actually freeing me from the people who weighed me down. Not hurting me.
“She can give all the excuses in the world for what she’s doing, but it’s all a lie. She hates me. She hates that I’ve survived when she didn’t. Then I found a way to dig myself out of the grave, while she is rotting. She blames me for it.”
I stared.
Her fists curled.
Her jaw clenched.
She was good, but I caught that brief flash of anger before she could hide it.
“She pretends to be a savior, but really, really she’s just a pathetic, pathetic fool.” I smiled. Trish’s breath hitched. “Don’t you worry, I won’t let that foolish girl destroy things that are so important to me. I won’t let her hurt you or Irene or Ryden.” I placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
“I hope you find her.”
Bitch.
“Oh, I will.”
“But the person who took me… that’s not a woman.”
“You know Logan, right? Logan Jones was one of her accomplices. More like her scapegoat. The man who took you, he must be someone like Logan.”
She pressed her trembling fingers under her eyes. All her movements were so calculated.
How had I missed it? I had trusted her fear; I had trusted her pain.
“Can you please stay inside for a while?” I said with a concerned sigh. “She has escalated this game, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crosshairs.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll be careful.”
“Please, Trish, stay safe,” Enzo said. “We can’t lose you too.”
“Go to the house and lock the door, Trish. Keep it locked,” I said. “Open it only for Enzo and me.”
She stiffened.
“I will.” She turned away from us, moving toward Enzo’s house.
I didn’t have a doubt anymore, but if I had, it was gone then.
“It’s her,” I said, staring at the flower hanging in her braid. It was so close to falling, but it held. “It’s definitely her.”
“Without a smidgen of doubt?” he asked, watching her disappear into the trees.
“That…” I pointed at the dried flower stuck in her hair. “That is crepe myrtle.”
“That dead flower? That’s your proof?”
“That’s Ryden’s signal.”
