Zed lifts his hands in a half-hearted attempt to placate me. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you. It’s not personal. It’s just…what people expect. They want the story.”
I scoff. “People? You mean your followers, your podcast listeners? You turned my life into clickbait, Zed. You’re an asshole for that.”
“And you’re the daughter of a notorious killer. That’s big news. People want to hear from you—your perspective.”
“Yourperspective, you mean. You’ve already decided who I am. And whatever you think I am, whatever story you’ve twisted together about me, it’s all wrong.”
“I’m only trying to find answers.”
“Are you serious?” I take a step forward, my hands clenched into fists. “You exposed me for views. This isn’t about answers. If you cared about the truth, you’d be out there looking for the remains of the women my father killed, for ways to help their families—people like Natalie Singh, Benjamin White—not ambushing me on my front porch.”
For once, Zed seems genuinely taken aback. He stares down at his scuffed Converse sneakers, then sighs. “I may have pushedtoo far, yeah. But I can’t change that now. And it’s not like the world’s gonna forget about you, Ryan. Better to own the story before someone else spins it.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need life advice from you.”
I’m about to turn on my heel when something occurs to me. I cross my arms, eyeing him in suspicion.
“You did an interview last night where you said you figured out my identity after you saw me with the FBI. Is that actually when you figured it out?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Not before?” I push. “You didn’t know around the time of my father’s suicide? You weren’t the one sending me all those messages?”
“What messages?”
“The ones saying you knew who I was, that you’d expose me if I didn’t stop looking for the bodies.”
His expression is blank. “I legit don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that?”
Zed furrows his brow. “Why would I want to scare you off? I need you to keep looking for the bodies. You find them, I get my scoop. That isn’t the kind of story you sabotage.”
It annoys me that I believe him. He’s right. If the remains are found, it only benefitsFree the Sparrows.
“Ryan,” he starts, and for the first time since he got here, he conveys genuine remorse. “I’m sorry for the shit I pulled at the dance. I got carried away.”
“Carried away? You destroyed mylife, Zed.” I shake my head in disgust. “Now get the hell off our property.”
At that, I march into the house and slam the door behindme.
Just when I think things can’t get worse, the following morning the doorbell chimes again. This time, I’m the only one home. I debate ignoring it, but something pushes me forward, and I open the door to find Natalie Singh on the porch.
“Hi,” I blurt out, caught completely off guard.
“Hi,” she says. “I think we should talk.”
I manage to nod. “Um, yeah, okay. Would you like to come in?”
She nods back.
I step aside to let her in, then lead her into the living room, where she sits on one end of the couch. I sit on the other, nerves roiling in my stomach. The silence stretches on, and the longer Natalie stays quiet, the more anxious I feel.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she finally asks. She’s neither accusatory nor gentle. Just…neutral. I didn’t expect that.
I swallow, my throat too dry to speak. “My aunt didn’t want me to. She thought it would cause too much of an uproar. And…if I’m being honest, I’m glad she suggested we keep my identity a secret. I didn’t want to be judged for something I didn’t do. I just wanted to live a normal life.”
“Normal?” A trace of something—anger, maybe?—flickers across her face. “Your father is…was…a monster. He killed my mother. He killedyourmother. How can your life ever be normal?”
