In other circumstances, I would have wondered why this strange woman wanted to help me, but I won’t look a gift horse in its mouth.
All she mentions is good.
But only one thing sticks to me from all this.
I now know for a fact that I’m not a murderer.
And that’s the moment I burst into tears that shake me to my core.
Unsub
The game is interesting to play only when all the players are engaged and everyone knows about it; otherwise, what’s the point?
All this hiding in the shadows and killing people that someone else was blamed for started to feel… lonely. Just like those times in the boarding school when I had to play chess alone, and the mean kids always knocked them down, ruining my progress.
Putting Phoenix Hale behind bars seemed like such a fun idea four years ago, mainly to see if I could get away with it, and the fact that Zachary King was overwhelmed in the agony of my creation was the icing on the top.
I almost got off on his suffering, since the fucking asshole humiliated me in front of everyone without a care in the world for the consequences his decision brought to my life.
He deserved everything I’ve done to him; his wife was no angel either, always on his fucking side.
Come to think of it… the only innocent one in this story is Phoenix, but then who said innocence is a virtue? If you are not careful enough, someone might take advantage of your naivety.
Everything changed though.
It became too boring, and I hate how every magazine still remembers what she did. They dedicate headlines to her or focus on that fucking ex-husband of hers who recently got engaged to one of King’s sisters.
I guess mutual grief connected them both, although according to the newspapers, they fell in love in Paris on a business trip, since Sebastian Hale is the King empire’s head lawyer.
All the anger from the attention she kept on getting finally boiled up, and I snapped, killing several women in a row, but I didn’t even suspect how much of a high I would get.
The world has to know it’s me who does it all; they have to talk about me, fucking appreciate me.
The world won’t be like them.
I gave them everything… all the love… all my dreams… all I had… and what did I get in return?
The world will soon know my name, but not before I play one last game with my Phoenix, the only person who was kind to me. The only person who saw the real me and accepted me without any reservations.
She was my first victim for a reason.
I intend to make her my last too, but this time around, no one will stay alive.
After all, the hunter and the prey are inseparable.
Chapter Six
“Being wrong is not a sin.
Admitting you were wrong is not a sin.
Staying blind to the truth and focusing only on your anger is a sin.
A sin for which I will pay for the rest of my life.
Unless I find the land where sinners atone.”
Zachary
Zachary
Resting my arm on the window, I gaze at the nightlife of Rome, and for the hundredth time, I’m in awe of this city.
Bright lights, statues, and rich history that has seen everything from revolutions to parades. People of high taste, fashion, and bravery. They built an empire once, and Rome still has all the cracks in its ancient buildings to tell of it.
I can get lost here for hours, strolling through the narrow paths and studying people who are always open for attention and conversations, even if you don’t feel like it. Not to mention the delicious food.
In short, Italy holds a special place in my heart, always giving me peace to sort out my mind—even in the pit of my despair.
My second home.
But not tonight.
I gulp greedily from the whiskey bottle as the burning liquid spreads through me. I sway a little, reminding me that it’s my second bottle, and it’s a wonder I can still stand or function.
But no matter how much I want to get wasted, I can’t, and isn’t that ironic?
My mind keeps swirling with the information that Lydia sent me and has been hiding from me for months now.
My father and his family thought I wasn’t emotionally stable enough to handle the truth. Even Zeke listened to them, and he’ll pay for it. Part of his salary plus some privileges I’ve given him will be gone too.
Hollow laughter ricochets around the walls as I drink one more time and wipe my mouth when the liquor spills onto my chin.
For the first time, the fucking family decided to show their fake love for me and protected me from the only truth that mattered in my life.
Looking directly at my reflection in the window, I say, “This is not the end. I will find you, whoever the fuck you are.”
And for that, I’ll need Phoenix Hale. Isn’t she this guy’s favorite victim if everything started with her?
As if I haven’t ruined her life already.
But we are connected in a way she doesn’t understand. In a way I thought she’d never know. Just the knowledge gave me satisfaction, allowing me to rarely rest at night when the thoughts of her suffering lullabied me to sleep.
However, this all changes now.
I will find Angelica’s killer and make him pay for everything he has done to both women.
I will avenge the woman I loved and give freedom to the one woman I promised to hate till the day I die.
And at some point, I will have to give her back what I took away from her.
Even if it kills me.
Chapter Seven
“Freedom.
One word that means the world.
Only those who lost it can truly appreciate it.”
Phoenix
New York, New York
Phoenix, 7 years old
Picking up a piece of chalk, I go to the middle of the playground where the silver concrete shines brightly under the sun and giggle.
Only because Ms. Thomson—I can never call her mother, despite what she says—told me it will be raining today, and in this, I have to keep my ass home.
Her exact words.
Thankfully, she doesn’t know about the backdoor in the basement where there’s a little opening for the dogs. I can still fit through it.
Maybe that’s why everyone around me calls me small and bony, not that I care.
It’s a crime to sit at home on such a beautiful day!
Besides, I couldn’t listen anymore to Ms. Thomson screaming at all seven kids as she cooked dinner, muttering that we should be grateful for the crumbs we put in our mouths.
Even if she feeds us only once a day.
I shake my head from these thoughts, because when you are on the playground, Ms. Thomson doesn’t exist. I place the tip of the red chalk on the concrete, ready to draw a sun, when I see a boy run onto the playground right toward the swing and sit on it heavily, sending the sand under his feet flying and then kicking it for good measure too.
He breathes heavily, and his face is red, so either he ran for a long time or he is very angry. Ms. Thomson gets red whenever we piss her off, as she calls it, and she grabs the belt hanging in the hallway, chasing us around with it.
Or both.
I notice his blue jeans and white shirt along with shiny leather shoes, so he must be very rich—at least, that’s what Ms. Thomson says.