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Jane Giante claims she was in the shower when the struggle began, but she heard a "scuffle" and went to check it out. That is when she claims to have witnessed Ms. Monroe with the knife in her hand and that she stood there yelling, "Claire, stop" until her husband instructed her to call 911.
Ms. Monroe and Mr. Giante both denied being the aggressor. Both sustained superficial injuries. I explained that Ms. Monroe would be removed from the home, and The Giante's said they didn't wish to press charges. Current procedure dictates the removal and separation of the aggressor from the victim. Mrs. Giante attempted to solicit a bribe from me in exchange for deleting the report. I was uncomfortable leaving the three of them in the home together, but I didn't have enough evidence to facilitate any arrests. I handcuffed Ms. Monroe and took her to Walsh County Police Department, where Officer Annalise Rickers and I again asked what happened. Ms. Monroe's story was consistent with her first account.
The other children in the care of the Giante’s corroborated the family’s claims that no abuse has occurred in the home.
Officer Rickers kept watch of Ms. Monroe throughout the night and returned her to her home the next morning at 09:23. No charges have been formally filed against either party, but the state representative for Miss Monroe was notified of the disturbance.
I blink, trying to process the information, and then read the whole thing again.
Attempted murder?
There is no mention of anything that looks like murder. Even the officer who took the report clearly hadn't thought it was an attempt on this man's life. I scroll down a bit and see another report. I skim this one, looking for any sign that Claire had done anything other than defend herself against someone who was supposed to protect her. But there’s nothing incriminating... just a hauntingly similar report. Beneath it are the photos that the officer's report had referenced. The girl in the photo is unmistakably Claire, and yet if I didn’t know that, I may think it’s someone else entirely.
Those eyes that have been haunting me the last week stare out at me, just as empty as they were when I broke her down into a confession. Her face is sharper in the photo than it is now, like she didn't eat enough. Dark circles under her eyes make the bruises on her neck seem all the more vivid, and the handprint emblazoned across her cheek and lip looks as if they’d just happened before the shutter clicked. She looks like a different person... someone who Claire would want to bury once she'd escaped the darkness.
I close the case files and open my browser, searching up the Walsh County Public Records. I type the name Eric Giante into the text box, and before I've even blinked, a long list of offenses appears. I skim through them, finding every indiscretion Jack mentioned and then some. The last one was exactly what Claire had claimed.
I open the link, but there’s no report attached. Just the charge and the date.
I click out of the browser and stare blankly at my phone for a moment before deciding to call Dimitri.
"Hello?"
"I have a new task for you," I tell him without offering any kind of formalities. "It's your number one priority."
"Tell me what you need," Dimitri says without any hint of hesitation.
"There's a man I want dead." I swallow the bile at the back of my throat. "No, I need him dead. His name's Eric Giante of Walsh County."
Dimitri shuffles some stuff around, clicks a few keys on a keyboard, and after a minute, he says, "Looks like he's out on parole. I can have it done in twenty-four hours. Any requests?"
"No. Take the jet and bring him here. I want to watch him suffer."
"Done." Dimitri sounds like he’s about to hang up, but something is weighing on me, so I blurt it out before he can drop the call.
"Dimitri? Don't tell Jovich about this."
He doesn’t have to tell me he won’t, but he does. “Of course.”
When he hangs up, I hang my heavy head, trying to figure out how to fix this before my sister finds out. I may have just broken her best friend, and I got absolutely no pleasure out of it.
I reach for the tablet that I used to watch her flit around her room this morning, but she’s not in view of the camera. At first, I think she may have left, gone to tell Rhea that her brother is an ass. But then I hear it—her soft sobs threaten to cave my chest in.
Fuck.
Chapter twenty-five
Claire
I don’t know much about hurricanes, having lived my entire life in the Northwest. I thought you could see them coming before they hit. I thought there were varying degrees of destruction.
If that’s true, Remy isn't a hurricane. He’s a tornado. His rage appeared from nowhere without warning, and he stopped at nothing until he destroyed everything that was still standing. Until he destroyed me.
Once I got away from him, I locked the door behind me and slid to the ground against it, watching the rain fog up the sliding glass window and cut occasional paths down to the balcony.
Only a few people know the truth about my 'record'. Whether he’ll admit it or not, Eric Giante is one of them. And now I can add Remy to that list.
But I saw how quickly he dropped me when I told him who Eric was. I saw the look in his eyes—pity, disgust, rage. I knew from the very first time that Eric came to my room in the night that I was damaged. I’ve known my whole life that I am. It’s why not even one of the families I spent time with ever pulled through for me. And if I wasn’t damaged before that night, I knew I was the minute his fat fingers pushed inside of me, digging into me like a pumpkin he was going to carve, scooping out all that was left of my hope for the world. But he didn’t give me a face like a jack-o-lantern—he covered my mouth and told me how stupid I was for trying to tempt him with my dresses and braids.
