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‘Do I even exist?’
Sometimes, Kate isn’t sure. To some, that might seem a silly thought. But to Kate, it’s an all-consuming one that comes and goes.
As a child, she was totally convinced that her life was one big performance, and she was the star of the show. It would be a lie to say she’s never wondered,Narcissism or naivety?
The naivety of believing that no one exists the moment she exits a room, or that they can all read her thoughts, or that they are just actors who stand motionless when not in-scene with her—and that others watch her through the hidden cameras she once believed were scattered all around town.
It was a childish delusion she outgrew.
As she got older, her thoughts faded to ones that eventually made sense.
So why is it that, right now in this very moment, she feels like she’s being watched? Watched, as though little beady eyes are peering through small dark spots hidden throughout Grace Maxwell’s home.
Look, Kate knows how it is. For her, it’s different. Folk in town really do watch her, some more than others. She might have grown up here, her family too, but not everyone in Dosserport takes kindly to townsfolk with more melanin.
Dosser was never a confederate kinda town, but it’s got the racist roots like any place—and Kate feels the reminder of that in looks that linger too long.
In the city, it won’t be that way.
One of the many reasons she’s clutched so tightly onto the dream of moving to the Big Apple, City of Dreams, ‘New York, New York’. The fucking Mecca.
The things she’s done to keep that path clear…
And yet, not an ounce of regret survives inside of her. Kate would do it all again, if she had to.
Billie once asked her, ‘If we could go back, would you do it the same?’
Kate was in two minds. Still is.
Her answer, ‘If I could go back tobeforewe hit Maxwell, yes. I would make you pull over, turn around. I would take the keys out the ignition. But if you’re asking about after… After we hit him… No. I would do it the exact same way. Clean up our mess.’
That stands true, even all these years later.
Kate keeps her path to the city clean—and free of any obstacles.
Until now.
“Gigi was dragged… Someone did it to her.”
“There were letters cut into her feet. Initials… H.M.”
Henry Maxwell.
The absolute bane of Kate’s existence, but only ever in death.
Hell, if she hadn’t chopped up his body into little pieces by her own hand, then Kate would almost think he’d survived, then waited to seek revenge on them, one by one.
But you can’t get much deader than Henry Maxwell. And Kate’s not one for ghost stories.
So someone else out there knows what happened that night. Did they wait seven years to kickstart this sick plot of revenge? Or did they only just recently learn what the girls did all those years ago?
Whatever the reason, however it came to be, it’s a pothole in her perfect, smooth road that leads to the City of Lights.
A killer hunting killers.
And Kate’s number one suspect is in that bedroom right above Billie’s head.
