I wonder, if she knew that I was talking about Lucian, would she answer differently. “How do you know if you love someone?”
She glances down at the urn in my lap and back to the road. “When you try to imagine a world without that person, and can’t, then you know it’s love.”
For a week, I’ve tried to forget about Lucian, and I can’t. I’ve tried to ignore the images of his face. The sound of his voice. The smell of his skin.
I can’t, and it physically aches to think that I may never see him again, in spite of what he says.
We arrive back at the house, where a strange car sits parked at the curb. I peer through the driver’s side window at Mr. Goodman, who waves back at me.
“What the hell is this?” Aunt Midge says beside me. “How’d he find out where I live?”
“He’s an investigator. It’s what he does.”
“Or did you tell him.”
“I didn’t.” Once the car rolls to a stop in the driveway, I climb out and hand the urn off to Aunt Midge. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“This guy gives you trouble? Scream.”
“I will.” I wait for her to hobble inside the house before making my way toward the car. “If you’re looking for the yearbook, I lost it.”
“I understand. No need to trouble yourself. I just felt that, with the information you were so willing to give, I owe you this.” He holds the envelope out toward me. “For what it’s worth.”
Staring down at the package, I hesitate a moment, before snatching it out of his hands, anxious that he might change his mind.
“I heard about your mother, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. What is it you were looking for in the yearbook?”
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
“That your mother could’ve possibly come in contact with the devil himself.”
Frowning, I stare back at him with an even stronger need to know what’s inside.
I open the envelope and slide out the document contained within. Unfolding it reveals the intake form, which looks like it was written in my mother’s handwriting. Eyes scanning down the page, I find the field I’ve searched for my whole life. The one that reveals who my father really is. The one she intentionally left blank on my birth certificate.
Sickness churns in my stomach as I stare at the name scrawled across the page there.
Patrick Boyd.
Chapter 58
Lucian
I’ve come to the understanding that everything in life comes down to a rule of threes.
For me, the rules have always been simple:
Never give into temptation
Never show your cards
Don’t fall in love
With Isa, I broke all three. At least, I’m fairly certain I did. I’ve never actually felt this kind of love before, but I figure wanting to kill anything and everything that comes within close proximity of her must count for something.
And seeing Boyd approach her at the funeral home somehow whisked up an inexplicable rage inside me. As irrational as it may sound, I could’ve easily snapped my former father-in-law’s neck like a dandelion, for being so close to her.
I stroll up to the park bench, flicking away my half-smoked cigarette, and take a seat opposite the man at the other end. Staring out over the sea, I drink in a moment of peace before the shit-storm of questions begins.
“Thank you for reaching out to me, Mr. Blackthorne.”
“I didn’t. My associate reached out to you.”
“Yes, Mr. Rand?” He clears his throat, shifting on the seat as if he’s got a bad case of hemorrhoids. The guy reminds me of a cross between a true gumshoe and the lonely IT worker who masturbates to tentacle porn, decked out in his short sleeve plaid shirt and gray chinos.
“I’m a private investigator--”
“I already know who you are, and what you’re looking for.”
“And you agreed to this meeting?”
I keep my gaze ahead, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of staring at my scars. “I have my reasons for doing so.”
“Fine. I won’t waste your time with formalities. I want to know who the members of Schadenfreude are.”
“No you don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Knowing puts you at grave risk. Consider it a favor that I keep you in the dark. By telling you, I’ll essentially place a big-ass bullseye on your back, and all that hard work you’ve put into this case? Gone.” Lips pressed to a hard line, I shake my head. “I’m not naming members.”
“Okay. Then, what is your role?”
“My role is obscure. I’m neither subscribed to their philosophies, nor bound by their laws. I’m a floating entity, tied only to them through a long lineage of loyal membership and shitty genetics.”
“You’re saying you don’t agree with them, but you follow them, anyway.”
“If that blows your skirt up, then I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
The sound of him huffing is laughable, like a toddler who’s been denied candy. Even if he has a clue what the group was about, there’s a skyscraper of an iceberg beneath the surface that’ll take him decades to chip away. “You agreed to this meeting for an exchange of information, and so far you’ve given me nothing.”
“Perhaps because that’s exactly what you’re searching for. Air. A void. The pause of an inhale. The space between one sentence and the next. Even if I gave you all the information you’re looking for, you’d never find them. They’ve spent years perfecting the art of hiding what they are.”
“Okay …” He shakes his head with a mirthless chuckle. “What’s the point of this, then?”
“I’m glad you finally asked. The real puzzle in all of this is what happens to Isa.”
“Isa? What about her? What does she have to do with Schadenfreude?”
“Or better, what doesn’t she have to do with it?” A quick glimpse at him, and I cast my gaze back toward the endless sea. “The future of this collective lies with me. When I’m gone, they have no funding. No research. No validity to their bullshit.”
“Yet, you don’t subscribe to their methods, at all.”
“Have you been paying attention, Mr. Goodman?” A sailboat sits on the edge of the horizon, nothing but a dot on the line. A point of convergence. Reference. Direction in a vast sea. The more I stare at it, the more it seems to encapsulate my thoughts. “Beyond Isa Quinn is a black void for me. A point on the horizon that I can’t see past. If you want answers, I suggest you pay close attention to her.”
A beat of silence follows, before he clears his throat. “Are you asking me to follow her?”
“I insist you follow her.”
“To what end? You haven’t given me anything valuable.”
“I have. By admitting what’s most valuable to me. But if that’s not enough, I’m willing to double whatever you’re currently being paid to be a pain in my ass.”
He snorts and rubs his forehead, as if a headache is blooming there. “Fine. You consider her valuable. Then, I’ll keep a close watch on her.”