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It was the first time I’d been to my cottage since the prison incident.
“Screw the van, Luna.” Sean stepped into my space. “I want you to tell me what happened.”
So, I did. About the guy at the prison attacking me, thinking Dominic gave me a USB drive. How the Vigilante had killed the guy right in front of me, thus saving my life.
Sean’s eyes widened in shock, his face draining of color. Every muscle tensed, his lips parting slightly, as if struggling to find words or maybe to simply breathe amid the overwhelming dread.
He asked a lot of follow-up questions, but eventually—and thankfully—our conversation began to wind down.
In addition to taking a shower, maybe I would take a nap because this entire situation had drained me.
“You know what I think you should do?” I asked as I walked down the hallway toward my bathroom. “I think you should do a true crime podcast about the Vigilante.”
I turned the shower water on so it could warm up.
“No one knows who this guy is or how he’s able to carry out all these killings with such stealth. Or how he manages to get his hands on evidence that cops can’t seem to obtain.”
Sean leaned against the doorframe.
“It would probably be a very popular episode or maybe even a series of episodes. You could explore all the murders, go through the evidence, and try to uncover his identity. You could even have people call in with tips.”
Warm water finally trailed over my hand.
“We could even do it together,” I added. “Remember that follow-up podcast about my dad’s case we did together? We ordered pizza and ended up going two episodes long.”
His mouth curled downward. “That was the first time I saw you cry.”
I flushed under the weight of his stare but squared my shoulders.
“For, like, a minute.” Hello, we were picking at the deepest wound of my life. I was proud tears had only slipped out briefly and even prouder that I managed to shake it off. It was easier to feel lighter sitting with someone who truly believed in my father’s innocence. I remember that bond forming quickly because of it and how my guard had crumbled.
“But I also laughed. Weenjoyedworking on that podcast together,” I pushed on, trying to sound optimistic. “Think about how much fun it could be to team up on this.”
He studied me intently for a moment before responding in a low voice, “We might never uncover the identity of the Vigilante.”
“But we might, and it would be exciting to try.”
Sean held the back of his neck. “That’s not the kind of crimes I cover on my podcast.”
I raised my eyebrows. The Vigilante was all over the news. Even right now. A reporter’s tone rose in pitch as she talked about the latest attack at the prison.
“I thought you liked to work high-profile cases?”
“Murders. I focus on victims. Not killers.”
“Think about what a boost it would be for your show if you cracked the identity of the Vigilante.”
When Sean said nothing, something unsettling swirled in my chest—something I couldn’t name.
“It was strange that the Vigilante turned up at the prison,” I mused.
It bothered me now that I was thinking about it. The Joliet Prison was a long drive from Chicago, and the Vigilante, to my knowledge, had never been spotted outside of the city—his hunting grounds. And while he had said he was trying to watch over me, it was a serious stretch in his radius to go all the way to Joliet.
“How would he know I was there?” I guess he might’ve researched me and found out I visited my dad regularly, just as Franco had, but that would mean staking out the prison the entire weekend, waiting for me to show.
No one knew I was going to be there at that exact time, except for my dad.
And of course, Sean, whose van I had borrowed.
