But without proof from the girls, we can’t confront Jack.He won’t believe us, and he’ll probably have us silenced for good.
I don’t know what comes next.
“Yes, you do…”
“Oh, shut up,” I grumble to the Jupiter inside my head.
Kit is in the garage, giving me space.He probably needs time alone to reflect as well.
I’ve fallen down the doom-scrolling rabbit hole, as it takes my mind off things.I’m watching some chocolatier make a three-foot minion when Kit comes barging into his bedroom, scaring the living daylights out of me.
“Where’s the fire?”I ask, sitting up in his bed.
But he isn’t in the mood for humor.
He ignores me and turns on his computer.I quickly get up because whatever is happening seems important.He sits down and impatiently drums his fingers on his desk.
“C’mon.”
“What’s going on?”I ask, suddenly concerned.
He keeps ignoring me.
“Kit!”
I watch over his shoulder as he opens his email and see the attached video files.This can only be described as a miracle.
“My name is Caitlin Teller, and on April tenth, I was drugged and raped by Jack Bloom.”
“My name is Jessica Fitzgerald, and on the Fourth of July, I was raped by Jack Bloom at his family’s lake house in Key West.”
One after another, women appear on Kit’s computer screen, sharing their testimonies.In total, there are twelve.
“What’s happening?”I ask, in utter shock.
Kit opens the email so I can read Caitlin’s message.
Let’s burn this motherfucker.
I don’t know why she had a change of heart.But I won’t question it because in front of us is the proof we need.And then some.
It’s evident that each of these women is telling the truth.This pain cannot be fabricated or imitated.The waver to their voice and the horror in their eyes as they recount their stories is something you can’t fake.
“Got you, asshole,” Kit says, quickly saving the video files onto his hard drive.
I watch him copy the files, email them to himself, and save them on multiple USB drives.He’s making as many copies as possible.
He retrieves an envelope from his drawer and writes Penelope Bloom, who is Rebecca’s mom, on the front.He slips a USB into it.
“Collateral,” he explains, switching everything off and coming to a stand.
“Are we goingnow?”I ask, eyes wide.
“Yes, we do it now before one of the girls gets cold feet.Or Jack or one of the Blooms gets wind of what we’re doing.This is a small town, and word spreads fast.We’re at an advantage right now.Let’s keep it that way.”
He’s right.
But I didn’t think I’d be facing Jack so soon.
