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But you were weak. All women are weak. All women need to be taught to obey.
To stay.
To beg.
To fetch.
Like the bitches they are.
I am one of the few left. The only one who understands that until women once again know their place, our society, our future, is gone. All women should be trained by me. Only the most obedient will survive. Only those who do exactly what I say will live.
I have not yet found any worthy.
I will come for you, Lucy. Very soon.
SEVENTEEN
The morning sky seemed an even more vibrant blue in the icy cold, and while last night’s snowfall had been cleared from the roads, the delicate blanketing of white across small yards, parked cars, and roofs sparkled in the sun. The walk to Holy Trinity usually allowed Lucy a chance to reflect, but today the quiet and subtle beauty of winter gave her no peace of mind. She walked into the church late and slid into the back row.
Her lack of sleep showed in her lackluster responses to the Mass. She thought through possible scenarios as to why Prenter’s account had been deleted. An account could be accidentally deleted, but that seemed too coincidental. Or Prenter himself might have deleted it to avoid a trail of evidence. That was more likely, but why? Because he’d planned to drug and rape “Tanya”?
That went against type. He hadn’t gone to any lengths to cover up his rape of Sara Tyson, which yielded physical evidence that had aided in his conviction. Still, he could have learned from that experience and become more cautious.
After communion, Lucy knelt and prayed, pushing all thoughts of Prenter from her mind. Someone knelt next to her, and she automatically shifted away while glancing at the person. She didn’t like being snuck up on.
“Cody,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“Shh.” She wasn’t going to argue with him in church, even if he was apologizing.
Ten minutes later, Mass was over, but Lucy didn’t leave. She turned to Cody after the recessional and said, “Prenter’s chat account was deleted.”
He looked confused. “Why is that important? Lucy, anything could have happened to his account. The police could have locked it.”
“It’s been deleted.”
“They could have archived it, then deleted the public copy.”
“There are no archives on that site, except for private messages. I never sent him a private message.”
“I think you’re making a big deal over nothing.”
At first Lucy was enraged—it wasn’t nothing; then she noticed Cody’s brow was furrowed. He was at least thinking about her concerns.
“I need to know what happened, Cody. I have run the scenario every way I can think of and some are plausible, but I need to know.”
“Why is this important to you?”
“Because—” Why was it? Why did she care? She glanced at the corpus of Christ suspended on the wall behind the altar.
She’d killed Adam Scott and didn’t regret it. He’d deserved worse, but her lack of guilt had bothered her for years. She’d talked to her brother Patrick about it, only him, and he’d dismissed it. “You feel guilty because you don’t feel guilty about killing the man who raped you, who nearly killed Dillon and Kate? Don’t.”
Lucy had become desensitized by the violence in the world around her. She’d experienced pain and humiliation, she’d killed a human being, and she was immersed in an online world where sex predators were the norm, where they constantly hunted for victims. She didn’t want to take murder in stride, even the death of a convicted rapist.
“I don’t want to take anyone’s death lightly,” she said.
“I understand.” Maybe he did. “I’ll look a little deeper.”
