Page 103 of Killing Me Softly

He opened it.

She got Mel.

Kenny shot up so fast the room tilted. His legs gave way, sending him crashing back onto the sofa, but adrenaline cut through the dizziness. His heart pounded, a frenzied drumbeat, too fast, too hard. He hit call again.Aaron. Pick up.Voicemail. Jack. Nothing.

Think,think!

He swiped open FindMy. Clicked on Aaron’s phone. Last known location: The university. Okay. That was good. Thathadto be good. Aaron was still with the police escort. He’d be in his lecture, phone off, oblivious to all of this. That made sense. It madefucking sense.

ButMel…

Kenny knew what that text meant.

A sickening realisation struck. Aaron wouldn’t have stayed at the university. He would’ve gone after Mel. And he would’ve gone alone. No. He wouldn’t. He’d promised. Nothing stupid. So Kenny had to ignore every grain of instinct screaming at him to believe that maybe it was already over. Maybe they were safe. At the police station, being interviewed.

No. He knew that wasn’t likely.

Years of behaviour analysis had told him not to ignore those gut feelings.

Think like her.

Cold. Methodical. Performative.

Child A didn’t lash out without purpose. He knew that much from his assessment of her years ago and from what wasunfolding right now. If she was even a smidgen like Roisin, how she’d been taught, she was an orchestrator. And knew exactly which strings to pull. Mel wasn’t just bait; she was a symbol. Like Taylor. Like hismother. She was showing how attachments were weaknesses. Using Mel was a psychological strike designed to cut where it hurt most.

This wasn’t about chaos. It was aboutcontrol. Escalation, yes. But also, evolution. Each move sharper. More intimate. She wanted to isolate Aaron. Physically, of course. But also, emotionally.Destabilisehim.

She wanted himalone.

Unprotected. Reactive. Impulsive.

She didn’t need to chase Aaron. She couldpredicthim. That was the power of shared trauma. She knew what would rattle him, and more importantly, she knew how he would try to fix it.

Now think like him.

Aaron, for all his rage and bravado, was heartbreakingly loyal. And haunted. He carried guilt like a second skin. Kenny had seen it in every glance, every withdrawal, every time Aaron turned away from affection as if it burned. If Mel was in danger, Aaron wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t ask questions. He’d run straight into the fire, even if he knew how hot it burned.

Guilt, love, and the need to make it right. That was Aaron’s fatal flaw. The one his sister had always known he couldn’t outrun.

So where are they?

Kenny’s mind sprinted.

He recalled back to the hypnotherapy session.

“I… I’m getting up. My feet are cold. The hallway is dark, but the music is still playing. It’s coming from outside.”

“Outside where?”

“The shed. The warehouse. I’m not allowed in there.”

That wasn’t just memory. It was programming. Conditioning. The site of trauma. His mind’s epicentre.

For the sister, it was more than practical. It was ritualistic. Cyclical. A dark homecoming. Where it all began. Where she’d realised there wasanotherchild. Where they both met face to face for the first time. When she’d realised Aaron hadn’t been treated like her. And hadn’t helped when she’d needed it. That had manifested over the years in confinement into rage.Revenge. She would lure himthere.Make him relive it. To pay for it. For her toreclaimit. Make him hers again. One final time.

This wasn’t just a kill.

It was theatre. A message. A resurrection of their shared mythology. It wasn’t just symbolism. It was a fuckingmessage. A blueprint drawn in blood and memory.

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