Page 34 of Psychotic Faith
"Why does it matter?" She doesn't face me, but I can see her reflection in the window. Those hazel eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"Because you matter." The words escape before I can stop them. A weakness she doesn't even recognize.
Her laugh is hollow, broken. "You want to add him to your body count?"
"Those were necessity. Business." I step closer, finally breaking that eighteen-inch barrier. "Neumann will be pleasure."
She spins to face me, fury replacing fear. "No! I need him to confess. Publicly. Legally. In a courtroom where everyone can hear what he did."
"The law won't give you justice."
"I have to try! Twelve years…"
"Twelve years wasted on a system that failed your mother." I move closer still, watching her pulse jump in her throat. One hundred fifty beats per minute. "The same system that lets him walk free. That lets him target other women like that volunteer…"
"Don't." Her voice cracks.
"Tell me everything or he dies tomorrow." Not a threat. A promise. "Dawn, specifically. I already have the tools selected."
"You can't just…"
"I can. I will. Unless you give me a reason not to." Another step. She's backed against the window now, nowhere to run. "Talk, Faith. Or I handle this my way."
"That's not fair!"
"Fair?" The word hurtles out of my mouth. "FAIR? Like him walking free is fair? Like your mother dying was fair?"
Something shatters in her expression. The mask she's worn for over a decade cracks, and what pours out is pure, raw truth.
"I watched him kill her!"
The words explode from her like arterial spray. First time she's said it aloud. I can tell from the way her whole body convulses with the admission.
"I was there, hiding behind the couch." She's sliding down the wall now, legs giving out. "She told me to hide when he knocked. Told me to be quiet no matter what."
I watch her collapse, fighting every instinct to touch, to claim, to comfort. But she needs this. Needs to bleed out this poison she's been carrying.
"I could see through the gap underneath." Her voice is small now, a tween again. "Her face turning purple. Her hands clawing at his. And his smile. He was SMILING."
The tears come then, violent sobs that shake her entire frame. She's on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, making herself small. Trying to hide like she did that night.
I drop to my knees beside her. Don't touch. Touching would break her completely. But I'm here. Present. A witness to her truth.
My rage is a living thing, wanting to hunt Neumann now, to make him suffer for every tear she's crying. But more than that, something shifts in my chest. Recognition. She's been carrying this alone, this weight that would break most people.
"How old?" My voice comes out deadly soft, the tone I use before I make someone scream.
"Twelve. I was twelve."
Twelve. Not much younger than I was during the massacre. When I killed Mikhail. When I became what I am. We're both frozen as teenagers, both carrying bodies in our memories.
"You've been carrying this alone."
"Dad doesn't know I saw. No one knows. If he knew, he'd…" She looks up at me, eyes red and swollen. "He'd break. He barely survived losing her. If he knew I witnessed it…"
"So you've been planning revenge while playing the perfect daughter."
She nods, wiping her face with her cardigan sleeve. "Getting close to Neumann's family. His wife trusts me. Thinks I'm sweet. His kids actually like me. They request me for story time."
