The tyrant is bent on getting me out of sorts. He gets off on seeing me helpless, defenceless, and completely at his mercy.

Not that he has any.

He’s sadistic to a fault.

And you enjoy every second of it. Hell, you’re looking forward to tonight like you’ve never looked forward to anything before.

I shoo that intrusive voice away and release a breath when I finally arrive at my flat.

Paul called to tell me I had another package. Since I was already late, I texted Layla to carry on with the morning factory meeting without me and fill me in later.

I can’t miss any chance to know more about Alicia. I snooped through all the books in her room and even the library. She often circled and underlined words in red. Sometimes, she scribbled words like:

I wish you didn’t save me.

The worst thing you can do to a life is suffocate it.

A crime is a secret.

Bury them all.

The more I read, the deeper the hole between me and Alicia grows. I’m starting to doubt if I even knew my sister.

It’s like an entirely different being possessed her hand and scribbled those words.

Maybe it’s like with Dad. I thought I knew him, but…

I shut the door on that thought as I step into my building and smile at Paul, who’s watching TV with Shelby. My neighbour doesn’t even acknowledge me. It’s Paul who strikes up a conversation, asking how I’ve been.

He reaches behind the counter. “There was a man who came to ask about you the other day.”

My muscles tense. It must be the solicitor. “Did he mention his name?”

“No. He left when I told him you don’t live here anymore.”

Phew.

Shelby raises the volume of the TV and my relieved breath catches. A news anchor appears, his expression serious and it’s for a very good reason.

The man who’s sitting across from him in a grey room is the main character in my nightmares. The one who digs graves and suffocates people with duct tape.

Maxim Griffin.

The most notorious serial killer in the UK’s recent history.

My father.

The news anchor’s serious tone drifts from the TV. “Today, we’re having an exclusive interview with Maxim Griffin. It’s the first time in eleven years that he has willingly chosen to talk. What happens when a killer breaks his silence?”

The camera zooms out to focus on Dad. He’s sitting casually on a chair, wearing a black jacket and khaki trousers, appearing serene. His beard is trimmed, but he’s still the same — broad, tall. Handsome. Looking like every woman’s dream makes him so scary.

It’s why they fell at his feet.

When his suave voice sounds, his Yorkshire accent barely there, I almost topple over from the force of it on my nerves. “I chose to be silent, thinking I was protecting my daughter. But now, I realise she needs to be brought to justice, too.”

I stumble and nearly fall backwards.

No.

No, no, no.

“Miss Harper?”

I gasp as Paul touches my shoulder. My heart jumps in and out of synch as if it’s about to leap out of my throat.

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

I need to get out of here.

Not just the building, but out. Out.

I snatch the package out of Paul’s hand and fly out of the place where Maxim’s voice rings out, where he’s haunting and coming after me. My heart is hammering and my breathing is bursting out.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I feel the world closing in on me with its ghostly hands and meaty fingers.

It’s like that time all over again.

A body slams into me and I pause. My lips part when I meet her eyes. Those bright green ones. Sarah. I’ve never forgotten her name. The way she looks is different now. She’s not confused, crying, or begging me to bring back her mother.

She’s just like them.

She wants me to pay.

“I knew it was you. Give me my mother back! Give me my life back!” She slaps me across the face so hard, I reel from the shock of it. I don’t move, though. I don’t even protect myself. If I stay still, if I let them beat me, they’ll eventually get it out of their system and leave me alone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Your apology can’t give me back what I lost.” Slap. Scratch. Claw. “Murderer! Murderer!”

“I’m so sorry. I’m s-so sorry.” A sob tears out of my throat as I chant the words over and over again. Not that it will make them stop, but it’s the only thing I know to say to them.

My lips burn. I taste the metallic tinge of blood. But I stay in place as she takes out her anger and bitterness on me.

My physical pain is nothing compared to what she and the others have been through.

When Sarah seems spent, she slumps to the ground, bawling, sobbing, and falling apart. I try to clutch her shoulder, pull her up — something to offer a small amount of comfort — but she shoves me away. I fall backwards, my hands and hip taking the sting.

My palms burn and blood seeps from the skin, but it doesn’t matter. This type of pain doesn’t matter.

I stumble to my feet, ignoring the dirt on my clothes. All I care about is the small box between my fingers.

She glares up at me, her gaze full of tears and her expression haunted, distraught.

Just like back then.

That’s what it looks like to steal a little girl’s innocence when she’s just ten. To steal her only support and the only person she had by no fault of her own.

“I hope you die like Mum did.”

I step backwards, my lips trembling. I keep walking like that, not wanting to give her my back. Being hit on the head in the past has taught me to never give them my back.

Being stabbed in the ribs has taught me that, too.

I keep watching my surroundings in case someone else has figured out where I live.

Now, they’ll come for me.

Now, they won’t leave me alone.

Run.

Run.

By the time I reach my car, I’m a mess. My cheeks and palms and even my neck sting. My lips won’t quit bleeding. My heart aches and I feel like breaking apart.

I rummage through my bag and snatch my phone. Jonathan. I have to call Jonathan.

I hate that my first thought is of him, but a sense of safety envelops me like a warm blanket in winter when I think of him.

His phone is off. My fingers tremble as I let it fall to my lap. He’s probably in a meeting.