“Do we know who the dead woman is yet?” Hudson asked.
“I’m giving Detective McNally some time before I reach out to him.”
“Victor Hawthorne probably left information for his followers. Some asshole picked it up and is mimicking his master’s handiwork.” Godfrey tapped his fingers on the table. “You were there the longest, Kain. Do you know if he kept a bible of his evildoings?”
“I never saw anything like that, but I met him so rarely. Razor, Tony, and the guys working security would have had more access,” I said. “But I know he was obsessed with psychology, mostly Freud’s work.”
“Maybe he was hoping Freud could cure his psychosis,” Godfrey said. “I saw those books in the library.”
“I’m not sure he was looking for a cure,” I said. “A lot of Freud’s books had pages ripped out of them. I think he hated the guy. Tony told me Hawthorne loved this book calledChaosby Tom O’Neill.”
“Never heard of it,” Timber said. “What’s it about?”
“Methods of creating chaos?” Hudson asked.
Even though I had escaped Hawthorne’s confinement, I was obsessed with him. So I read the book he loved to understand the sick fucker. It was part of my therapy to learn what inspired him. But the book took me down a rabbit hole, adding more questions than answers.
I shifted in my seat. “Something like that.”
“You read it?” Godfrey asked.
“That book painted Freud as a fraud and described all the ‘chaos’ the U.S. government was creating in psychological warfare. Basically, all the sick things you see in the world—wars, pandemics, crazy weather, mass shootings, and economic crashes—are orchestrated by the elites.”
“Fucking hell,” Godfrey muttered. “Maybe he was one of them.”
“Anything is possible,” I said. “But now we’re looking at another psycho trying to outdo Hawthorne. We must stop him.”
My friends all agreed on a future date to discuss our research.
When they left, I sat in my office, browsing Google Earth for the location around Ozarrow Woods in Sturbridge, about an hour outside of Boston. No one knew Victor Hawthorne had occupied a portion of the woods with an underground complex and a dangerous maze. We’d destroyed that area yearsago. Burned most of it to the ground. It was now a popular retail area.
At the time of the retail site’s construction, I was still recovering from the ordeal. But as the years went by, questions emerged, and I didn’t believe the narrative from the authorities. How could the Falcone family, who owned and managed the Ozarrow Woods, know nothing about the horrific acts done on their property? The family wanted to conserve the woods in Massachusetts, not wanting industry to take over. They had no idea an underground complex had been there, claiming it could’ve been built before the Falcones purchased it. The previous owners were residents of Maine, but they were now deceased.
The media kept the escape and our identities hidden from the public for a few months. But even after that, there wasn’t any coverage. I was grateful for the privacy because it helped my friends and me move on. The authorities returned to scour the area but didn’t find any survivors. Hawthorne had followers all over the country. Who had risen through the ranks to take over the business?
I wished I had a list of all of Hawthorne’s associates.
Did Razor survive? He never reached out to me like he said he would. I thought of him often. He’d been my mentor, and I’d never forget how much he’d helped me during those five long years. My skin itched as though it remembered all the tattoos Razor had inked on me. I never knew his story and wished I did.
After checking in on the status of my gym renovations, I spent an hour working out. But during my post-workout shower, an urge surfaced in me, one that was annoying and irresistible. I’d never been obsessed with a woman like this. It bothered me that I couldn’t rein it in. I needed to head upstairs to my penthouse and continue my work. But I stood in the lockerroom, looked in the mirror, and lectured myself. This wasn’t the time to think about a woman, especially one who rejected me.
Never give up on what you want.
My mom’s words rang in my ears. Another odd thing happened yesterday while I was having dinner, remembering my mom. I told her about the florist, Eva, and the passionflowers. Every time I thought about that flower, her face came to mind. I’d never shared my interest in any woman with my mother until yesterday.
I never gave up, so why was I hesitant now? I slipped on my coat and drove to Happy Flowers. Walking in, I glanced around but didn’t see her. Not wanting to look like a creep, I browsed the store and bought a plant with a tag describing it as a money tree. I brought the four-foot-tall potted plant to the counter.
The sales associate smiled at me. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you.” I offered her my credit card.
I should have asked for Eva, but that would have made me seem like a stalker. When I got home, I placed the pot on the hardwood floor, wondering what I was supposed to do with it. This was getting out of hand. I didn’t have time for this.
Maybe if I got laid, this desire would go away all on its own. But I wasn’t attracted to anyone else, so relief seemed completely out of reach any time soon.
Chapter Four
Eva
