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PROLOGUE
Hanna
Was I a monster?
As I stood just a few feet in front of the television, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen, I struggled to come up with an answer.
I watched the news. It was my thing, and that alone often made me question my sanity. The truth was, all too often, the news was wrought with the worst kind of stories. One after the other, they’d pop up on the screen, and I’d wind up feeling a wave of disappointment and sadness wash over me.
But there was one part I enjoyed.
One of the local news stations in Steel Ridge, Pennsylvania, had a segment that ran close to the end of their evening programming. That segment was what I lived for. It was the feel-good portion of their programming, and I always thought it was great that they chose to end the evening news on that note. Because after all the bad that often preceded it, most folks probably needed something to lighten the weight of all they’d just taken in.
That segment of the show was my favorite. It often featured stories about local heroes—the little girl who rescued her daddy because she called 911, or the elderly man who fought off the would-be robbers with his cans of corn and string beans.
Of course, there were also the stories of the professionals who did good in our community, too. I’d had as close to a front-row seat as was possible when a new friend of mine had found herself in a bit of trouble. In her situation, she sought the help of the men at Harper Security Ops, a place that employed current and former members of the military. Not only had my friend gotten the help she needed, but she also managed to find love in the process.
I smiled every time I thought about it.
Because those were the situations that demanded that kind of reaction. I liked it when the underdog came out on top. I loved to see the person nobody expected to be the one to do something sensational have their moment.
Maybe that was because those people reminded me so much of myself. They reminded me of how far I’d come in my life. And they reinforced that notion of being grateful for where I was now and what I had in my life.
I’d lost a lot, and I’d done a lot.
But that didn’t mean things couldn’t get better. They had, and I would never take any of the lessons I’d learned for granted.
Sadly, as I stood motionless in front of the television, I didn’t know if what I was feeling was the right thing.
I certainly didn’t believe that anyone else who might have been watching the same story that I was right now would be feeling similarly to me.
A man had been murdered.
He had lived here, in Steel Ridge.
At the top of the news story, I became frozen to the spot for a completely different reason than I was right now.
Initially, I hadn’t managed to make it to the couch because, as it had been stated, the police were on the hunt for a killer. That was enough to have anyone in their right mind riveted to the screen.
A killer.
Here in Steel Ridge.
For someone like me, someone who lived on her own, the notion of a killer being on the loose was unsettling. And when the initial report had indicated that this didn’t seem to be an isolated incident, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
Someone being murdered was never a good thing. Knowing that there wasn’t any obvious motive, or that there wasn’t anything that could explain why the man wound up dead, was the kind of thing to set anyone on edge.
But the minute the name of the victim had been revealed and his face flashed up on the screen, I felt relieved.
And it felt wrong to be relieved that a man was dead, especially considering he’d gotten that way because he’d been murdered.
Seeing his face in front of me, I had to admit I didn’t feel an ounce of sadness. I didn’t even feel guilty about my lack of empathy.
It was hard to forget a face like that. As long as I lived, I knew I’d never forget his face. In the moment, I was grateful I was seeing him where I was seeing him.
Because if he’d been standing in front of me, my reaction might have been a whole lot different.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have been.
