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“This must be how those women felt…” Her voice is far away, barely audible, but sounds serene. “The helplessness. The…end. I’m paying for staying silent and playing a part in their deaths. Isn’t it ironic that you, of all people, get to see me go? I-I’m cold, Maxim. S-so cold…”
Dad curses a few times more, but Alicia’s voice disappears, and soon enough, the recording ends.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I stare at the screen through blurry eyes.
The sound of Alicia’s voice plays in my head like a haunting song on repeat. Her words, her helplessness, her final moments.
That’s where Dad had been that morning. He was chasing Alicia before she crashed, then he returned to bury his seventh victim.
He was there with her as she spit out her last breaths.
I grab my bag, and I’m on autopilot as I leave the office.
This recording confirms a few things.
One, I’m not crazy. Alicia did say that Jonathan was poisoning her.
Two, this is a lot bigger than I thought.
And there’s only one way to figure it all out.
29
Aurora
This is the last place I ever expected to walk into with my own feet.
But now that I think about it, the reunion was meant to happen sooner or later.
There’s too much black water between us, and I was never going to move on without having this confrontation.
The security Jonathan has following me around is waiting outside. I have no doubt that they called him, so I don’t have much time before he barges in here and drags me back home.
The room I’m in is sterile with bland grey walls. A few armed guards stand at the corners and cameras blink from every angle possible. Prior to c
oming inside, I was searched thoroughly and even got sniffed at by dogs. This is what it feels like to be the offspring of a dangerous criminal and to carry his sins on my shoulders.
A large glass with a few holes separates me from him as I sit facing the man I once called Daddy. The man who held me and raised me on his own. The man who taught me everything and nursed my colds. The man who took me to festivals and on hunts and hikes.
The man who was my superhero but other people’s monster.
Seeing him in that interview doesn’t lessen the impact of meeting him face-to-face. Or, more accurately, through the glass.
He’s wearing elegant trousers and a matching striped shirt. His blond beard is trimmed short but not gone. His eyes have some lines underneath them, but he doesn’t appear much older than the last time I saw him — in court, eleven years ago.
He’s gained some muscles, and considering he’s tall, he’s always appeared as a bodybuilder champion of some sort.
Maxim Griffin is still the same man from my memories. Once a father, now a devil’s spawn. Or maybe he was a devil’s spawn before he was even a father?
A small smile paints his lips, making him appear normal, approachable even. The guy next door, who’ll eventually kidnap you, strap duct tape on your face, and watch you slowly die as he cuts you.
I push those images away because if I get lost in the memories of those vacant eyes, I won’t be able to keep my cool and address the reason I’m here.
“Clarissa. Long time no see.” His voice is still the same — suave, posh, welcoming. He rarely spoke with the heavy Yorkshire accent. His mum, my grandmother, was a Londoner, and he somehow kept that accent. However, he switches to a northern accent whenever he feels it can get him closer to people. His ability to blend in with others and attract them with the sheer power of his charisma is the scariest thing about the Duct Tape Killer.
“I’m not here for a reunion.” I’m surprised my voice is calm, considering the jittery emotions sinking at the bottom of my stomach.
“Then what are you here for?”
