“What happened to these people?” I ask. “Why them?”

  “It wasn't about them. Not really. I'll be the first to admit most of these people did absolutely nothing to justify what happened to them. Unfortunately, sacrifices sometimes have to be made, and after a lifetime of sacrifice, it was time for me to be the one who benefitted. I deserve memories of a good family. I wanted stories to tell and things to laugh about. So, I set out to create them for myself. I found people who reminded me of my family members at different ages, or what I wished they would look like. Then I brought them here and created the memories I always wanted. I told you once that archery was my thing. Along with that came preserving animals. I don't do either one of them anymore, but I was able to use those skills to preserve these people as much as I could. This way, I can keep them. They can be my family, and I can share these memories with them.”

  I'm somewhere between my heart breaking and passing out. Jake is settling down, sliding into the calm complacency I want him to be in so I can convince him to open the door. But there's still more for me to know. If I have to be down here, I need to get every bit of information out of him I possibly can.

  “What about your father's bones? Why did you dig up his body and hide them at his best friend's house?” I ask.

  “I didn't want to keep my father's body. He was the worst of the memories I had as a child. I wanted to completely obliterate him and replace them with others. So, that's what I did. I found men who exemplified everything I would have wanted in a father and put them in his place. But that didn't fully release me from everything he put me through. There were others who still needed to answer for what they had done. Including Cole Barnes. He really was my father's best friend. They were friends nearly their entire lives. He did my family a lot of harm. What little harmony we may have ever had, he was at the heart of destroying it. My father discovered he had been having an affair with my mother, and it put him completely over the edge. My father took it all out on me. He needed to pay for what he did. I dug up my father and put the bones with Barnes to remind him of what he did to give him a little bit of hell, knowing it was all catching up with him. I wanted him to fear being arrested. Going to prison. If you hadn't interfered, I was going to make sure there was much more he went through. He deserves every bit of it.”

  It's clear to me now why Jake was ostracized from his family. Why his father despised him, and his mother wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't his father's child. He was the product of his mother's affair with her husband's best friend. Every moment of Jake's life was a reminder of her betrayal and the further breakdown of their family.

  A feeling deep in my gut pulls me away from the door and closer to the center of the room.

  “Jake?” He turns to face me, and I look toward the only scene that doesn't make sense to me. He walks toward the young woman cradling the baby in the rocking chair. “Who is she?”

  “What could have been. My wife. Melanie was so much more beautiful, but this woman had a laugh that sounded so much like hers I couldn't resist her.” His voice grows emotional as he strokes his fingertips down along the side of the woman's face. “My wife was everything to me. When I found her, it was like my life finally started. I woke up. The world was new and wonderful. It didn't matter how my father acted or what was going on with anyone else. If I got to see her, it made everything better. I knew her a week when I knew I wanted to marry her. We were high school sweethearts. We got married the day she turned eighteen. It was the happiest day of my life. I know everyone says that about their wedding day, but it was true. I saw my future. I saw a life ahead of me. She was going to be the start of the family I never had and so desperately wanted to give to my own children.”

  “But she got hit by a drunk driver,” I say.

  Jake shakes his head. “No. In a way, I suppose that's true, but that's not what happened.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I already crafted the type of life I wanted, the world I imagined, and the family I wanted to be in. I told you the stories I told myself a thousand times. I was almost starting to truly believe it. So, I told you a story about her, too.”

  “What really happened to her, Jake?”

  “My father.” The breath catches in my throat, and I swallow it down painfully. Jake looks at me with hardened eyes, and tears slide unchecked down his cheeks. “He was obsessed with her. He wanted her from the second he met her, and I did everything I could to protect her. Everything. But he went after her. It was like everything else in his life; it didn't matter who he hurt or what he had to do. If he wanted something, he was going to get it, and that included my wife. We were married three months when he showed up at our house and smashed me over the head with his gun. He tried to rape her while I was on the ground. I attacked him and told her to run. Melanie escaped, but he hit me again and got away from me. Before I could stop him, he got in the car and went after her. He ran her down in the middle of the road.”

  “Jake, I'm so sorry.”

  Despite all I see around me, the pain and sympathy are real.

  “She was my hope for my future. My dream. She had just found out she was pregnant with our first baby. And he took it all away from me. He had to be punished. I could have ripped him limb from limb with my bare hands in that very moment, but it wouldn't have done me any good. It would have been satisfying right then, but it would also have meant living out the rest of my life in prison. My father would have won. He always saw me as a failure and a disappointment, a representation of everything wrong in his life, and it probably would have amused him from beyond the grave to see me put away. So, I bided my time. I didn't tell the police what I knew about Melanie's death. I wanted my own justice. For the next several months, I slowly tormented my father, making him believe at any moment he would be arrested. Replacing his alcohol with colored water and extracts, so he slipped into delirium. I tortured him. When the time was right, I started to slowly poison him. I didn't want his death to be dramatic and cause a lot of attention. Something slow, painful, and horrific that could be explained away as a sick old man who destroyed his body was perfect. When he did, I got everything he had, everything he never wanted to be mine. I buried him close to Melanie so I could always turn my back on my father when I went to visit my wife, and for all eternity, he would have to relive what he had done.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “So, your father was actually the first person you murdered,” I point out. “Not that man from the bar.”

  He smiles. “I guess you're right. I just don't think of killing my father as murder. I prefer to think of it as I carried out his execution. But it was that first death that taught me I was capable of killing. I was good at it and could use it to get what I wanted. I didn't think about that for a long time after, but the night I saw that man in the bar, it all came back to me. Killing him was as natural as breathing.” He looks at me with an expression of treacherous tenderness in his eyes. “You could have been my future, Emma. You are the only person who has gotten my attention since my wife. You could have given me the life I wanted. But then I found out who you really are.”

  My stomach sinks.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You know exactly what I mean, Emma Griffin. It wasn't hard to figure out you are more than just someone looking for a new start to her life. I can understand a fascination with crime, but I saw something in you, something I've never seen in anyone. Other than me.”

  “I'm nothing like you,” I say.

  “Oh, but you are. You know exactly what you want. You go after it, no matter who's standing in your way. And when you think you know what's right, you will do anything to stand up for it. You protect what matters to you, and you fight fiercely against anything that may threaten it. You are exactly like me,” he says. “But you're also like everyone else. You're a liar, pretending to be someone you're not. And you were catching on to me. It wouldn't be long until you realized your theory was unraveling, and everything was leading you right to me.”

  “I came here to find you because I was worried about you,” I tell him.

  “I know you did,” he whispers, walking up to me and putting his hand on the back of my head. He pulls me close and kisses me in the middle of the forehead. “I know.”

  With one swift punch to his gut, I send him to the ground and jump down on him with my knee direct in the center of his chest. I incapacitate him long enough for me to reach into his pocket and take out the key to the door. Another stomp in the middle of his stomach keeps him down. I spin on my heel, running to the door to unlock it.

  He's already back on his feet as I wrench the door open and run up the stairs. I don’t even risk looking back as I scramble up, hoping beyond anything that the door slams shut on him. But I hear him grunt and his hand catch it before it does. I silently curse my luck and lunge for the top of the stairs.

  He's pulled the wardrobe almost back into place. I have to squeeze myself through the gap. I don't have time to reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, so I run blindly through the dark, dank basement in the direction I hope will lead me to the steps. I can hear him behind me, getting closer as he screams my name.

  “Emma!”

  It echoes around the walls, doubling back on itself.

  “Emma!”

  Finally, my feet hit the bottom step, and I trip forward, landing on my face on the rough, unfinished wood. I scramble up the stairs on my hands and knees, finally pulling myself up when I get to the door. Outside, the sun has set, and the house is filled with gloom and shadows. Jake’s footsteps have gotten even closer. I feel his hand clutch the back of my shirt. Whipping around, I smash my forearm into his face, sending him tumbling back over an armchair.

  Bursting out of the house, I run for the woods. His footsteps fall heavy on the wooden steps leading down from the porch. I hope for the darkness to conceal me, for the moonlight to not betray me. Once in the trees, I try to find the path with the least branches, trying to keep my feet quiet. I know now it was him following me in the woods that night. He pursued me almost silently, watching me as I moved along this very path and then back toward the cabin. He knows how I navigate the trees. He knows how I move about these woods.

  Abandoning the path, I head in the opposite direction, kind of hoping it brings me somewhere I can find help or at least a place where I can hide until daylight. Exhausted and out of breath, I drop down behind a fallen tree. Pressing my back to the damp bark, I struggle to fill my lungs with air without making noise. I stay there as long as I can spare before standing up.

  As soon as I turn around, something hits me in the side of the head.

  I come out of a groggy stupor, being dragged across the ground. I writhe and fight to get my feet under me. I try to stand. I scream, but it's useless.

  No one is anywhere around here. No one will hear me. Just like no one heard Cristela. No one heard any of them.

  Jake says nothing as he pulls me back through the woods. He has me in a tight, complicated grip that keeps me from getting loose. My back aches from the angle it's bent at as he drags me, but when I loosen up completely, I feel like I'm choking.

  Finally, we're back to the house, and he pulls me up to my feet but doesn't release me. I'm standing with my back to him, my arms twisted around behind me. He tucks one hand around the front of my throat and kisses my cheek.

  “You're not going anywhere, Emma. Like I said, you could have been my future. We could have had such an incredible life together. If you had only just done what you were supposed to do.”

  “If you already knew who I am, why did you let it go this far? Why didn't you just confront me before? Why did you keep going with this ridiculous plan?”

  “There was a part of me that still hoped so much it could happen. You might suspect me and were catching on to me, but if I could prove it was LaRoche like you had believed all along, all that would go away. Just like with every other lie you lived before it was me, you could put it behind you. If I could prove to you that you were right all along, and someone else was responsible, I could keep you, and we could have such a beautiful life. But you came here. You didn't come here looking for me because you thought I was still alive out of some miracle. You came here looking for me because you knew. I was not convincing you of anything else.”

  “I told you. I came because I was worried about you.”

  “Please don't lie to me, Emma. It's going to make it so much harder for me to come up with a beautiful memory of us if those are the last words I hear from you.”

  “A memory?”

  “Yes. I'll create a wonderful memory for us to have. I just don't know what it will be yet. I think that we should enjoy some special bonding time together first. I want to get to know you a little better before I really decide what to create with you. Come on. There's something I want to show you.”

  Jake forces me up the steps and into one of the rooms on the top floor of the farmhouse. Unlike the other rooms, this one looks well maintained and taken care of. Like it's been used regularly for years. It's clean and is furnished with modern furniture, candles strewn across the top of the windowsill and the surface of the table. Heavy drape hanging from the window and elaborate bedding accentuates a massive bed in the middle of the room.

  “This is my room,” he says. “It was my parents’ room when I was growing up. Which, of course, means it was my mother's room most of the time. We were never allowed in here. And now it's mine. Do you like it?”

  I don't answer him, and he shuts the door, locking it. He moves around the room, lighting all the candles like he's trying to create a romantic atmosphere for us. He tells me to make myself comfortable, and I choose one of the overstuffed chairs positioned across from the bed.

  I sit there for the next few hours, listening to Jake tell me actual stories of his childhood. Time stretches forever. My panic rises as he replaces each of the lies he’s told me with a real recollection. Actual glimpse into what he dealt with. He starts by pacing around the room, then sits across from me, almost close enough that our knees touch. Every so often, he gestures, and I jump, and he reaches forward to touch my leg and soothe me.

  After a while, he suddenly jumps up and goes to the bureau, pulling out a bottle of liquor. He doesn't sit down in between drinks, and soon he's slurring, his movements slowed. The more he drinks, the more animated his stories become, and the deeper he delves into the horrors he experienced.

  Finally, the bottle is almost empty, and it seems so is he. Jake's head falls back against the chair, and his eyes droop, then close. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, hoping beyond hope that he is actually unconscious. When I'm finally assured, I stand and cross the room as quickly as I can.

  I get to the door and try the handle before I remember he locked it. I tiptoe back to the chairs, trying to reach into his pocket and pull out the key. He starts and grabs my wrist, glaring at me with reddened eyes filled with fury.

  “Maybe I don't actually have time to get to know you,” he growls at me. “You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?”

  I don't have any more time to waste. I have to do something, or I won't survive to get out of here. I'm not going to be able to get through the door, which means there's only one option left. I need something to distract him and get him to release me. I compulsively grab the bottle of liquor from the floor and splash what's left across the heavy curtains hanging on the window just beside the chairs. His hand loosens from my wrist in a startled response to my move. I take advantage of the opportunity and lunge for the candles on a nearby table. I toss them onto the curtains, and they immediately ignite.

  Flames eat through the tapestries in a matter of seconds and crawl up to the ceiling and walls. Flecks of paint from the ceiling and droplets of fire come down, igniting the bed. Within just a few breaths, the room fills with thick, acrid smoke.

  I can barely see through the red and orange. Jake is screaming, stumbling for the curtain to try to pull the fragments down. I dart toward him, shoving him with both hands. His body smashes through the glass and drops through the window. The air from outside creates a backdraft, and the flames roar around me. Pain licks up my back. I have only a fraction of a second to climb through the window. Outside is a steeply pitched roof. Digging my feet down onto the shingles, I move sideways as fast as I can, headed for the flat roof over the front porch.

  Suddenly Jake's head appears out of the side of the roof. He caught himself when I pushed him, and now he scrambles back up onto the roof to confront me. He runs toward me, and we clash, clutching at each other. The struggle quickly brings us down. I feel the burn of melted tar on my skin and a scrape of the gutter on my back as we both tumble off the roof and onto the ground. Our eyes lock on one another as we fall, and then everything goes dark.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I don’t know how long passes before I wake up. The lights are so bright I cringe, and somewhere around me, a voice hisses at someone to turn the lights down.

  I know that voice. It's Bellamy.

  It takes a few seconds for me to process the beeps, sharp smells, and cold air. When I do, I realize I'm in a hospital bed. Everything hurts. My entire body aches, and it feels like if I lift my head up off the pillow, it might split in half. But at least I still have a body to hurt. At least I'm still alive to feel that pain.

  I stop myself for a long moment. Am I dead? Is this the light flashing before my eyes before it’s snuffed out? My mind is a fog. I don’t know what’s going on.

  Bellamy takes my hand. The fog clears. And when I finally get my eyes all the way open, I see her smiling down at me. Tracks of tears mark her makeup, but she's still beautiful.