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I lean in closer. “Olivia, I honestly believe this could solve our problem. Isn’t that exciting?”
I started out as a nerdy app developer, but then had massive success when two of my apps created a storm in Silicon Valley and my business and reputation flourished. It marked the beginning of a very lucrative tech career, enabling me to shape a public persona while keeping my private life—and Olivia’s—well-protected. Now, I hold the last piece of the puzzle, I hope, resulting from years of dedication.
I long to see the light return to Olivia’s eyes, to ask her something and hear her reply. “This strategy uses AI and machine learning to map your neural pathways. It will help us pinpoint what you need for recovery. I’m really excited about this.”
Olivia stares at the water, and I cover my frustration with a smile and grab her hand. “It’s a lot to understand, but I think we’re getting close to perfecting it. I know it’s going to help Olivia.” Thanks to my meeting with Justin Storm, I’m closer than ever to making my dream a reality. “What’s the first thing you’ll do?”
Her expression stays blank.
Nothing.
“I’ll bet you want to go shopping. Maybe go somewhere nice for dinner?” I laugh again. “Maybe a vacation somewhere exotic?” I grip her hand tighter, willing her to give me something. Anything.
But I get nothing.
It's not her fault, and I don't direct any of my anger toward her. None of it. But I’m angry as fuck. I grip her hand tighter, and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t gasp in shock, or cry out in pain.
I release her hand, and I unlock the brakes on her chair, forcing myself to calm down before I start to push her back to her room again. That blank stare that permeates her blue eyes, the same shade as our mom’s, is the one thing I can’t forgive. She’s alive and breathing, but she’s not living. Her eyes are devoid of life, stolen from her. Taken without permission.
Nothing will ever make that right.
But I take small measures to make it so I can live a little easier with it. “We’ll be ready to start the first test next month. Isn’t that exciting?” I stop and lean down in front of Olivia, desperate to see a hint of something in her eyes. “Don’t you want to be able to communicate?”
Her gaze meets mine, but it’s as blank as ever. In fact, it’s so blank that I wonder if the psychological damage she suffered is so deep and so profound that I’ve been fooling myself about her chances of improving.
“I wish I could tell you more, Olivia.” I look away, fix my gaze on the vast ocean as it sparkles under the blazing sun. I could tell her what I’ve been up to, tell her about all the ways I’m avenging her trauma since it’s clear she can’t hear me and won’t respond.
I can, yet I don’t.
That’s just for me, even though every strike of my blade, every moment of torture I inflict, is ultimately for her. Just because I enjoy the terror I instill in my victims doesn’t mean I don’t give it purpose. I do.
Olivia is my purpose.
Even with all of that, all these years of research and development, tens of millions of dollars in equipment, experts, patents and the rest. All of it is to bring my sister, my only family, back to me.
And it might all be for nothing.
“No,” I say to myself. It’s not for nothing. I’ll never stop trying. Not fucking ever. I turn back to Olivia. She’s staring at me now, and I know it’s my mind seeing a question in her eyes when there is none there.
“Do you want more art supplies for Chelsie? It looks like you’re becoming quite the art collector.” There’s nothing I won’t do for her, nothing at all.
Even kill.
My shoulders relax as I think about Tristan Dupont and the pain he felt as life faded from his eyes and the blood drained from his body. That makes me feel a little better.
This new brain-computer interface is going to be a game changer for Olivia and so many like her around the world. It’s going to take the tech industry by storm, and when it does, my name, Damien Wolfe, will be the one attached to it.
The world will recognize that I’m the one who invented this innovation. They’ll applaud me, laud my achievements, and maybe even shower me with humanitarian awards.
Yet through it all, they’ll remain oblivious to my true self and the genuine cost of my success.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Damien
I sit in my dimly lit living room in front of my monitor displaying my favorite subject, Detective Francesca DeMarco. Fresh from her shower, she captivates me, moving around her room, blissfully unaware of my watchful gaze.
I can’t tear my eyes away; her skin rosy pink from the hot water, and her hair hidden beneath a shower cap.
