“She was seen at your house two weeks before she disappeared,” he adds. “You were one of the very few people who had any contact with her in the time leading up to her disappearance. She’s turned into a missing person case. Everything that transpired between her and another person is my fucking business now!”

  I raise my hand in defense, hoping to calm the fucker down.

  “No reason to lose your shit,” I say in a calm voice. “She came by a few times because she wanted to talk to an old friend—”

  “An old friend.” Christopher spits the words like an insult, huffing in disgust. “Yeah, right.”

  We exchange a look that’s heavy with distrust and a history that is nothing but a pile of disdain. He’s hated me for almost ten years now, and I can’t even blame him for it. Because it’s true that I took something away from him

  Or rather, someone.

  Her.

  I glare at him. “She wanted counsel.”

  “From a psychic?”

  I hate it when people call me that. It makes it sound as if I make my money performing show acts on a stage in Las Vegas. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “You know I can’t disclose anything that falls under doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “You’re not a real fucking doctor, Jayson. And you know that things change when there’s a police investigation underway.”

  His grimace is laced with loathing as he shakes his head at me. “Why are you being such an asshole? You know you’re not making yourself look good here?”

  “I didn’t come here to brush up on our special friendship, Christopher,” I snarl at him. “But I can tell you this: you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I last saw her more than two weeks before her disappearance, and I wish there was anything I could tell you that would help us find her.”

  I grimace, overplaying the strain on my face. “I don’t even want to think about it. That she could...”

  “Could what?” Christopher probes, leaning in closer as his eyebrows furrow with impatient concern. “That she could what, Jayson?”

  I glance at him with a dark expression, trying my best to convey ominous premonition. “That she could be his next victim.”

  Christopher jerks back, his nostrils flaring as he takes a sharp inhale.

  “His next victim?” he asks, seemingly ignorant, even though I’m sure he knows exactly who I’m talking about.

  “The Bridgewater murderer.”

  He locks me down with an angry stare, looking as if he wants to say something, but he refrains from doing so. I can see his mind working, crunching thoughts and dissolving them into nothing before he voices them toward me. It would be easy to be intimidated by the way he looks at me, suspicion seemingly rising in his gaze as he contemplates.

  Or is it something else? He’s hiding something from me, no doubt about that. But it’s part of his job to keep information to himself. Still, I can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head right now.

  “Aren’t you working on that case as well?” I want to know. “You can’t tell me that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind? She would fit the pattern...”

  It’s always best to speak in such situations, to disrupt whatever train of thought the opponent is following, to ask questions. It’s human nature to feel inclined to respond to a question, no matter whether it’s about spilling the truthful answer or not.

  But respond, we must.

  “You know I can’t tell you anything about that,” he hisses, his eyes flaring with hot hatred. “Let’s just get your statement done. I have better things to do than deal with your attitude today.”

  I shrug. “Yes, of course.”

  He groans, turning around to his computer, casting me a quick glance from the side before he adds, “And don’t pull any tricks on me. If you even try to—”

  “I have no reason to, Christopher,” I cut him off. “Because I have nothing to hide.”

  Chapter 37

  J

  I’m worked up and strained when I get back up to the house, even though I haven’t heard a single word from Malia. There’s no reason to believe that anything went wrong during my time of absence, but leaving Petal unattended like this preyed on my mind.

  It’s shortly after noon when I park in the driveway up to my mansion, greeted by the balmy Indian Summer sun as I jump out the car. Malia is nowhere to be found, not on the deck facing the sea, and nowhere inside on the first floor. She’s told to stay away from the second floor unless she’s ordered to bring her friend something to eat. Outside those duties, she’s to stay on the first floor, preferably inside, or on the third floor right beneath the roof, where she has her own bedroom, away from mine and Petal’s, but still close enough to be there when needed.

  Not being met with her questioning face upon entering the house surprises me, as I thought she’d be anxious to hear how my meeting with Christopher went. She’s probably upstairs taking a nap, as she often does during this time of day.

  Nonetheless, my heart is racing with concern when I check the display downstairs, just a small screen right next to the door, disguised as what could be an intercom for the main entrance, but if one knows to push the right buttons, the screen comes alive with the only image I need to see right now.

  Her. My Petal.

  She’s curled up on her bed, hidden beneath the sheets, with only her long ash-blonde waves peeking out from under the covers. Everything seems in order and calm, just as it should be. But the sight of her is still peculiar. I’ve never witnessed her sleeping during this time of day. It’s about an hour before Malia is sent to bring her lunch, and she’s usually wide awake during that time, strolling through her room or climbing up on the bench that she’s pushed below one of the windows. I’ve seen her stand on it, balancing on a small tower of cushions, as she stretches as high as possible, often closing her eyes as she appears to take in deep breaths of air. I never addressed it, because I don’t want her to refrain from doing such things. It’s too much fun to watch her, wondering what might be going through her pretty head as she makes her way around the princess chamber I’ve built for her.

  Today, she’s sleeping instead. Maybe she isn’t feeling well?

  I take two steps at once as I make my way upstairs, marching toward her room at a fast pace, only hesitating for her benefit as I hammer in the numeral combination to unlock the door to her bedroom. I open the door just a little, letting a moment pass to give her a chance to obey my omnipresent command.

  On her knees. Palms up. Head down.

  That’s exactly how I find her, kneeling on the carpet next to the bed. Her hair is as ruffled as the sheets she just peeled herself out of, and one of the straps of her white gown has slid down her shoulder, almost exposing her left breast entirely. Just a few days ago, she would have hurried to fix it, worried about being exposed in front of me. But she no longer seems to care, not after I’ve not only seen everything, but pretty much taken everything from her, too.

  Everything but...

  I step closer, reveling in the way her body quivers as I approach her. It’s hard to tell whether she fears me more or less than she did on the first day, but her apprehension is apparent in every breath she takes.

  “Good girl.”

  My praise is met with silence, but she moves when I place my hand at the back of her head, jerking away from my touch at first, before she seemingly recovers herself and lets it happen.

  “You were sleeping,” I say, beckoning her to look up at me with a gentle pull on the hair at the back of her head. “Why so tired?”

  She doesn’t respond, but when she tilts her head back to follow my demanding gesture, the answer is written all across her face. Puffy eyes, colored in red and framed with a thin crust of salt above rosy cheeks, and lips so dry the skin is shelling.

  She’s been crying. A lot.

  But why? Why now? I have barely touched her during the last two days, keeping my distance to give her room to adjust to the new situation and the things that transpired after I brought her up here. Today was meant to be different. After getting my meeting with Christopher out of the way, I knew I’d be ready for the next step—and so would she.

  But looking at her now, I might have other things to deal with first.

  “Petal, is anything wrong?” I ask in a low voice, getting down on my knees to be on the same eye level with her. “Did anything happen?”

  She looks at me through sore and caked eyes, her lips trembling as she tries to grasp a response that seems hard to come to her. It must have been days since I’ve last seen her this troubled, this stirred up. It’s almost as if she knew about the commotion her disappearance has caused, about the painful meeting I just had to endure, and about the forces that are out there in raging fit, moving heaven and hell to find her.

  But she can’t know. She can’t possibly know anything.

  “Talk to me,” I urge her, placing my right hand on her shoulder with a tight squeeze that makes her grimace. “Tell me what’s wrong, Petal. Did you have another vision? A dream?”

  Her eyes are glassy, a watery layer shimmering above the deep green of her iris as she’s tearing up.

  “We are close to the sea, aren’t we,” she utters, catching me off guard with a statement as random as that.

  “I think I could hear it when we were walking up here. And I can smell it, through there.”

  She points toward the window, the one that she spends so much time at, balancing on her pillow tower on top of the bench.

  “You were careless,” she whispers. “There’s a little crack in the boards. Tiny, really. You can’t even see it. But you can see the sun through there. You can tell whether it’s day or night. And you can smell the fresh air that comes through it. I can smell it, the salt, the sea. The ocean must be very close.”

  Her eyes rest longingly on the boarded-up window as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

  “You won’t even tell me that, will you?” she probes. “Whether I’m right. Whether we really are close to the shore.”

  Her gaze is painfully intense when she turns back to look at me, an apathetic expression on her pretty face. She looks tired and sad, just like she did that time when I first saw her again after all those years, in her father’s flower shop.

  Hopeless. Fatigued. Empty.

  I never wanted to see her like that again. I fucking swore to never let this happen to her again.

  “Yes, we are,” I say, and her face lights up in an instant. “You’re right, Petal. We are close to the sea, very close indeed. That’s why you can smell it even through that tiny crack at your window.”

  She smiles, suggesting a nod. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me that.”

  For a moment, I worry that she may pose follow-up questions that I shouldn’t answer. It was so easy to put a smile on her face; it would be hard to resist doing it again, simply by answering one of her many questions.

  She’s so beautiful when her face beams up like that, even when it’s just a reserved smile like the one she’s displaying now.

  I want to see more of it. I want to see her elated again, relaxed and happy for once.

  And I know just what to do to achieve that.

  Chapter 38

  Petal

  He is not a bad man.

  I keep telling myself that when his lips find mine, claiming me with another kiss that I never consented to.

  Or maybe I did? I didn’t shy away, I didn’t try to fend him off or phrase any vocal protest when he pulled me closer, wrapping his arm around my upper body and lifting me up on my feet while our lips are closely connected in another intimate moment. I don’t squirm or sway away when he uses his other arm to gather my legs, carrying me as if I was weightless while my arms drape around his neck on instinct.

  He is not a bad man.

  He is not the devil I thought him to be. He didn’t kidnap me, and he didn’t do anything against my will. He never lied, he never betrayed, and he will most likely never hurt me in a way that could leave me destroyed beyond repair.

  He is not a bad man.

  But I may be the most rotten person on the planet.

  I’m the person I should be afraid of. Not him.

  I’m the one with the depraved mind, the sick and twisted psycho who causes havoc on other people’s lives, his included. I’m the one responsible for all of this.

  I asked for this.

  The girl in the video told me. She looked me in the eyes, speaking in a clear voice and concise sentences, not wasting a single breath.

  The girl in the video was me. She was wearing the exact same gown I woke up in, her face bright and her hair freshly brushed. It was me, not long before I was put to sleep.

  It was me before my mind was erased. The person staring back at me on that small display, telling me that everything was okay, that I could trust him and that I wasn’t going through anything that I wasn’t capable of handling—that person had the answers to all the questions I’ve been asking ever since I woke up.

  But during the few seconds I was allowed to listen to her, she only shared a handful of them, shedding light on the most important issue only.

  “You’re safe,” she said. “You are exactly where you want to be. You are experiencing exactly what you asked for. You signed a deal with him, because you needed him. He is helping you.”

  He is helping you.

  But with what? What is he helping me with? And why didn’t she tell me anything else? My real name? My story? Her words may have helped to get rid of the very profound fear for my life. I have not been robbed and locked away like a random kidnapping victim. Nothing about this is random.

  “You can trust him,” she said.

  She, the person who is me.

  At first, I didn’t want to believe any of it. I looked for signs that would weaken her credibility, drugs, a gun to her head, some kind of other force that may have been used to mess with her. But the girl in the video was sane and in full possession of her mental faculties. She was stern and empathetic, eager to bring across an important message to her future self.

  Because she knew what was coming. She had a pretty good idea about the situation she would find herself in. That’s why she recorded that message.

  She was trying to calm her future self, without ruining the effect of whatever it was she decided to put herself through.

  By only giving me half the answers I seek, she still leaves me surrounded by a heavy cloud of mystery. And that’s exactly what she wanted for me.

  To feel safe, while still being ignorant to what exactly brought me here.

  She wanted me to take joy in this twisted ordeal.

  And since she knows more about myself than I do right now, I decide to take her video message as a word of advice.

  I will try to make the most of this strange situation.

  But I won’t stop asking. I won’t stop wondering. I won’t stop trying to gather all the pieces of this scattered puzzle that is my life now.

  And I won’t be silenced by pain or threats—only by kisses. Kisses like the one we’re sharing now. It tastes sweeter than any before, sugared by my decision to listen to my past self and to trust him.

  He is not a bad man.

  But he is a strange man, deranged and unique. No ordinary man would do such things. No ordinary man would sign a deal with a girl like me. No ordinary man would even be capable of pulling off such a contract.

  I float in this man’s embrace, entranced by the way our tongues intertwine and his strong hands dig into my skin as he carries me across the room.

  I thought he’d carry me back to the bed and spread me on top of the soft mattress like he did before, playing my body like a musical instrument to evoke sounds from me that may sound like music to him.

  But he’s taking me somewhere else. Somewhere we’ve never been before.

  Chapter 39

  J

  Just a clear and simple answer for once. Was that really all she needed? Was that all it took to appease her and make her soft in my arms?

  She has never responded to me like she does now, so affectionate and mellow. It’s not just that she doesn’t fight me off. She doesn’t simply let this happen—she seems to welcome it. I can feel her hand at the back of my neck, the tips of her fingers grazing down my spine and sending hot prickles through my body.

  Her behavior stands in stark contrast to the way she looked when I first walked in. She looked so broken then, so lost, almost as bereft as she did when she first woke up. Her face only lit up when I started talking to her, when all I did was give a simple answer to a mundane question.

  Maybe it was that. Or maybe she takes solace in knowing that she’s close to the sea. Or it’s not the fact itself, but just the realization that her assumption was correct. Maybe that’s what lifted her spirits like this.

  I shouldn’t question it. I should enjoy her fondness of my approach.

  I should take advantage of it.

  Today could be the day. The day I will finally have her in the way we both want it.

  She opens her eyes, casting a curious look to the side when she realizes that I’m not taking her where she expected me to. We’re approaching the door to the connected room that will scare her. Her demeanor might change as soon as we step inside, leaving the plush paradise she’s allowed to reside in right now and exchanging it with something far more intimidating.

  She may argue and struggle, but it would be too late.

  Her body tenses in my arms as she watches me open the door. It’s a simple lock, one of the few doors that can be opened the old-fashioned way, with a key. I’m always carrying it with me, attached to the belt I wear when I come to see her. It makes me feel like a prison ward, especially now as I trouble myself with opening the door without having to let go of her. She makes it easier by clinging on to my neck, seemingly seeking comfort by pressing herself closely against my chest.