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“Professor. I’m not trying to find out who’s guilty. We know that. I’m trying to find outwhyhe did this!.” He remarks hotly. The long hours on the case starting to show.
“They.” I correct him for the last time, “I can go through these with you, detective.” I inform him, glancing at the notes. “I can read his script as well as my own. But-”
I shift my head, making sure the door’s closed and lowering my voice to guarantee Violet can’t hear, I continue.
“I’m getting married soon. Retiring too, so I’d appreciate it if none of this came out with my name attached. No details.” I rasp, sensing that what he has is gonna give me more than just a publicity headache if it gets out.
“So you know what they did?” Weyland asks.
“Sounds like you’re accusing me of taking part.” I retort. The folder he's holding spilling open in front of me after he tosses it on my desk.
Black and white and some color photos. Some grainy, some crystal clear.
All of them of me and my two mentors. But they’re the only ones conscious.
It hits me like a nine iron.
Decades of fragmented memories. Bits and pieces of what I always thought were nightmares.
“I think this should answer your questions as to whether you’re a suspect or not,” he murmurs. My stunned silence feeling deafening as I look over the photos.
“They never mentioned you in the journals, did they?” Weyland asks. My head shaking automatically as I take in one image of me after another.
Young. Vulnerable. Handsome as hell.
And sedated.
The two doctors, twenty years younger and naked to the waist. Smiling smiles that make my skin crawl.
“Not in these.” I rasp, unable to even look at the journals now.
“You don't remember.” Weyland says. Telling me, not asking me.
“I- I knew something wasn’t right. But… All that medication… It was years before I could even think straight.”
“Well. It’s clear from their confessions that we have a lot of work to do, identifying victims… Hell. Finding the victims.” He says bitterly.
“You’re one of the lucky ones, Professor. As horrible as that sounds.” Weyland says, exhaling loudly through his nose. The closest thing to sympathy he can muster.
The sick feeling in my stomach making me want to retch. But not because I’m thinking of myself.
“If they’d gotten Violet…” I realize out loud. Knowing in an instant why I was driven to watch her. To look over her constantly.
To protect her. My own subconscious driving me to do what must have been dangerous behavior, but its nothing compared to what these monsters had planned for her.
“This can stay between us, Professor,” Weyland assures me, helping himself to the notebooks. Telling me he’ll be in touch when he needs my help deciphering them.
“You did good,” Weyland says, leaving the photos I know I’ll destroy behind as he makes for the door. “If it wasn't for you? Well. Those two might have gotten away with it. You kept one girl safe though, Valentine. And that’s more than we could do.” He says, creasing his mouth.
Violet’s gentle rapping on the door is followed by her breezing in. Apologizing for interrupting, but she has some papers that need signing so they can go to a meeting in progress.
“Anyway. I’ll be in touch,” Weyland says, unable to look Violet in the ye as he leaves.
I close the open file with the photos. Lifting a heavy book and covering them with it.
Feeling like I need to hold Violet tighter than ever right now.
“Everything alright?” She asks, reading me like a book.
