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Dayton paced the length of the coffee table and clasped his hands behind his neck for a second before they burst into movement. “You’ve always been quick to accuse me, but what about you? You’re not innocent here.”
“I’m not a killer.”
“No? You’re a liar. That’s a start, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Truly, Kenna didn’t. Her head teemed with tears and possibilities as the grim broadcast droned on with the aim of making its audience feel something by spouting off things like ‘sorority member’ and ‘honor student.’
His face was neutral but there was something frightening about it. She spotted the Caprice keys on the island and thought about lunging for them. Trying her luck.
But she knew how quick Dayton was.
“Sure you do. You may not have sent that email to O.M.B., but I know you went to the police.”
He stared at her with a forbidding stillness and no one was around to witness her demise. She had no intention of being the next girl found in a dumpster.
It felt as if Kenna had swallowed an anchor, its flukes puncturing either side of her throat. “Dayton, I—”
“Hush, lamb.”
Silence engulfed the room as he turned off the television. He crossed his arms, looking more betrayed than anything else.
“I’d found happiness. I’d found it with you, and when you finally came to your senses and returned, I didn’t care that you were bearing threats. I knew they were empty, that you wouldn’t dare do anything with your so-called evidence and that, even if you did, I wouldn’t face any legal consequences. But I didn’t expect you to go through with it, and when I found out that you had …” He shut his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Well, I was beside myself.”
The Dayton she knew had gone. She was listening to someone else speak. Patrick Bateman. Neither man allowed morals to form a barrier between them and what they wanted.
“The police were highly dismissive of me.”
“The fact remains, you went. You want to see me punished in some way. Tell me, what crime have I committed?”
The challenge had her on her feet in an instant. She stood toe to toe with the devil. No longer afraid of death.
“Have you considered that, maybe, my going to the police wasn’t about you?” She shouted in his face and it was such a rush, something she’d wanted to do for a long time. “I’ve been trying to figure you out since we met. Knowing everything that I do about you is an incredible burden and not being able to discuss it with anyone is an even greater one. I thought the police would at least listen. Maybe a small part of me hoped it led to something more, a search warrant,somethingto make you realize that the way you behave is wrong.”
Dayton didn’t shout or ring her neck or attempt to defend himself in any way against her slew of what bordered on verbal assault. He was rigid, emotionless.
“Stop looking at your keys and leave. That’s what you do when things become too much, isn’t it? Run away. It’s what you did after we slept together. You ran away from me like you ran away from your family.”
“You don’t know anything about my family.”
“No. Only what you’ve told me, but it’s enough. Or have you forgotten that I help people process trauma for a living?” He stepped closer. “Do you think you’re uniquely difficult to figure out? You aren’t.”
Kenna barreled past him and swiped the car keys off the island and was out the door, not realizing until she was halfway down the stairs that she’d left her own apartment instead of kicking him out.
Her flight response was in full force.
Soon, she was behind the wheel of the Caprice, heading for the one place that would welcome her at any hour.
* * *
Faint, flickering light set the stained glass of St. James aglow as Kenna climbed the steps. Inside, her footsteps echoed against the stone and they summoned a voice from somewhere in the recesses of the nave.
“Do you wish to seek confession?”
She swallowed but it only exacerbated the lump in her throat. “Yes, Father.”
“Come along.”
