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“It’s about my dad, isn’t it?” she asks in a small voice.
“He has no case. It’s his word against yours and all evidence points at him.”
“Just because I didn’t commit the murders of those women, doesn’t mean I’m not an accomplice.”
I lift my hands so they’re resting on her waist. “What are you talking about?”
The spark that always shines in her face slowly dims until it’s non-existent. “We hunted together — Dad and I, I mean. I got off on it, and I looked forward to it. The reason I followed him that day was because I thought he was hunting without me. True, I didn’t like killing the animals, but stalking, following trails and blocking their exits? I loved all of that. I might have loved it a bit too much. So what if I didn’t hurt those women? I have my father’s sadistic nature, and I’m…a monster like him. I just never got the chance to fully grow into my character. So maybe I deserve this — the trial, the media, the unwanted attention. It’s been long overdue.”
“Nonsense.”
Aurora blinks away the moisture gathering in her lids. “W-what?”
“You’re not a murderer. Hunting is allowed by law. Thinking you’re just like Maxim because you enjoyed hunting with him doesn’t make you a
monster, it makes you a daughter. He was your only parent, and it’s natural that you were attached to him and picked up his hobbies. The fact that you didn’t get off on killing the animals and that you reported him means you’re cut from a different cloth than him. Don’t let his media games mess with your head. That’s exactly his purpose behind this entire masquerade.”
She blinks again, and this time, the light slowly returns. Those dark blues that shouldn’t be allowed to lose their spark. Not eleven years ago, and certainly not now.
My fingers trace over the cloth where I know her scar and tattoo are. She shivers, her lids slightly drooping.
“Why did you get the closed eye over the wound?”
“When I was stabbed, I fell into the eighth grave — the same one you got me out of. I was delirious when I finally regained consciousness and got myself out. When I first looked at the wound, it felt like I was looking at Mari-Jane’s eyes — the one I witnessed being dragged. The wound felt just like her eyes, along with every other victim’s. At the time, I couldn’t sleep because their vacant gazes always visited me. I still can’t sometimes.”
So that’s the reason behind her nightmares. I don’t stop stroking her scar and Aurora leans into me, her nails digging into my shoulder again as if she’s afraid she’ll lose her balance.
“After I sutured that wound, I got the tattoo of the closed eye. I thought that…after Dad was sentenced, they could rest in peace, you know?” Her voice cracks. “Not now, though. They can’t be in peace if he gets out.”
“He won’t. He has no evidence against you.”
Her attention shifts to the block of books behind me, to the window, and even the table. She stares at any place but at me.
“Aurora, look at me.”
Her gaze slowly finds mine, and it’s only when she’s fully focused on me that I say, “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me?”
Her lips tremble and she lets her fingers intertwine at the back of my head. “I never thought anyone would ever tell me that.”
“I will — every day if I have to — until you believe it.”
“God.” She smiles, but it’s not exactly joyful. The pain still lingers there like a ghost ready to pounce. “You’re nothing like how you were in the past.”
“How was I in the past?”
“I don’t know. When I first met you at the wedding, I thought you were too distant and too untouchable. You still are, in a way.”
“The wedding wasn’t the first time I met you.”
“What do you mean the wedding wasn’t the first time we met? I didn’t even live in London.”
I could tell her about that time in the cemetery, but that will only bring on Alicia’s memory and I don’t want her sad, so I change the subject. “You didn’t. You had a Yorkshire accent.”
Nostalgia covers her features. “I did.”
“You lost it. Why?”
“I…” She clears her throat. “I had to so I wouldn’t be identified. It was so hard at first.”
