Page 74 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
“Urges? Tate attacked Alex, didn’t he?” I venture.
He nods. “Yes, Lexi was his first attempt. It’s not unusual for a killer to botch the first attack. After that, he honed his methods. He practiced and improved for seven years before his second attempt, which was successful.”
The admiration in his voice turns my stomach. Bile rises in my throat and I force it back down.
“I don’t understand. If you thought Tristan was Tate, how do you know what the real Tate did?”
He smiles. “Tate was smart. Smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He knew what Tristan was doing—not with me, not at first. But with you.”
“Me?” I squeak.
He nods. “We’ll get to that. After all, you’re at the center of it all.” He gestures again with the axe.
I really wish he’d stop that.
“What is Tristan doing with me?”
“I told you, he’s protecting you.”
“From what? He doesn’t know about Cassie, or my anxiety. He doesn’t know any of it,” I insist.
He paints me with a pitying look, as if he hates to be the one to break it to me. “He does, Emily. He’s known from the beginning. He knows everything—more than you do.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Yes. As soon as he heard about Cassie’s murder, he suspected Tate killed her.” His eyes gleam. “And he knew you were the intended victim.” He gestures to my hair. “You fit the type—not her. And he always thought Tate would return to finish the job.”
“He knew?” My mind spins. My knees threaten to buckle. I’m sweating and on the verge of hyperventilating.
“I … have to sit.” I sink to my knees.
Dr. Wilde nods. “It’s a lot to process, I know. Your marriage, your life together, is built on a foundation of lies. To be fair, though, you’ve withheld your truth from him, too.”
His words barely register. But something else breaks through the noise buzzing in my head. Not about Tristan, about Tate.
I look up at Dr. Wilde. “You talk about Tate in the past tense.”
He tuts. “It couldn’t be avoided.”
Fear twists my gut. “What couldn’t?”
“I had to keep him quiet so I could finish my work.”
“Your work?”
“He tracked me down, and at first, I genuinely thought I could help him understand his compulsions. I was so sure I could ...” He trails off, then shakes his head. “I was arrogant. I thought I was studying him, analyzing him. But he was studying me. He used me, Emily, and I failed to see it.”
My chest tightens. I thought I was frightened by his rage when he broke down the door. But the clinical detachment in his voice terrifies me.
Finally, I squeak out, “What did you do?”
“What he couldn’t do himself anymore. What he’d been grooming me to do.” His professional mask slips, revealing something lost and confused underneath. “I didn’t understand at first, why he chose me. But he knew. He saw how fascinated I was by you, by Tristan, and, of course, by him. He used my interest to pull me in. By the time I realized what was happening, I’d already helped him plan Giselle’s death.” He gestures helplessly with the axe.
The impulse to freeze for real is almost too much for me to fight. I’m numb. I can just sit here. Let whatever’s going to happen, happen.
What am I fighting for, anyway? My marriage is a lie. And I’ve already lived a longer life than I deserve. I should have died seven years ago.
A sob rises in my throat. “You helped him?”
