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“You’re the reason Tany died. You fucking…”
The Sisters would admonish me if they heard me curse in God’s house, but this monster hurt those girls in God’s house, as well. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I quickly wiped it away.
“Yo-you… Ya-Yara. Help. Ca-call for—”
“That is for Tany and the other girls, Mr. Miller.”
I bent down and pushed my knife into his cock. The scream that left him would have woken up even the sleeping God. I watched in satisfaction as he finally went still.
I was running out of the chapel, my demons finally free from their tiny cages and roaring, and that was when Sister Serena saw me. I was bathed in his sinful blood, but I felt baptized.
Born in blood. Once again.
“Oh, Jesus. What did you do, Yara? Child?” Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with concern. “Oh, girl, what did you—”
I remembered my grandfather and what he did for me to give me a second chance. I had wasted the chance now, but I didn’t regret it. I was sure I would end up in prison, but I didn’t care.
“He hurt Tany. He was going to hurt the others. Tany died because I was a coward. He—” Broken words came out of me. I couldn’t stop.
“Oh, poor child. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sister Serena grabbed the knife from me and washed the blood away. From me and the knife. She hid the knife and made me sit in the pews, begging for forgiveness for the murder.
I did, even though a part of me knew God must be grateful for my service.
When everything was done, Sister Serena told me to stay quiet, and away from the murder investigation. To never say a word again to anyone. When the cops arrived, questions were met by answers from the girls like Tany.
The case was still open, but nobody bothered to close it. Robert Miller, the man who took the voice of little girls, didn’t deserve a voice.
He deserved to go the way he went. Voiceless. Cock-less.
26
I SEE YOU
YARA
Ipulled open article after article, everything I had about The Strangler. I had already memorized every line about him, every pertinent information, but what did I miss? How did he know K.Y. Wolff?
How could he have gotten so close to me and yet stayed behind the curtain, playing hide-and-seek with me? I wasn’t afraid to meet him. I was just worried he’d take me by surprise when I least expected it. I promised Irene and Katelyn.
She deserves her revenge. They both did.
“Do you know me, or are you merely intrigued by my alter-ego and her podcast?” I whispered, rubbing my eyes, trying hard to alleviate the throbbing pain that was slowly sneaking in. “Fuck you. You won’t win this game.”
The list he left was a deliberate move, something he used to make the cops chase their tails—or chase mine. It might look random, but a killer knew.
We always knew until we didn’t.
“Asshole. You didn’t leave the fucking note because you’re spiraling. You’re sending them to me. But why? Why would you do that?” Or… he was trying to get my attention.
He killed someone I loved, and it was fair that I was angry with him, but what did he have against K.Y. Wolff?
Shaking my head with a groan, I stood up. I needed air. My lungs suddenly felt too small. I pulled the door open and quickly walked out of my room, out of the familiar, stark walls of the building, which were growing smaller with each passing second.
If I found out who the letters were meant for… I could nail him and stop him for good, but the fucker was careful not to let it slip. Not one detail that would help the cops to find his woman, whoever the fuck she was.
What color is her hair?
