Prologue
Anna
My mother once told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. That, given the right attitude, I could conquer the world if that’s what I chose to do. Nothing was free and everything came at a price. But what was money or a little blood if it resulted in one’s true happiness? And that’s what life was about, wasn’t it? Doing what made you happy?
My mother was crazy. That’s what my adoptive parents told me when they took me into their home at the age of nine. To them, my mom was clinically insane. Not that they let me dwell on their opinion too much. God came first. Not our kin, or our wishes, or dreams—God. And if I asked forgiveness enough, he would help me. He would cleanse me of my sins and make me forget all the wrong I had done, then he would think about blessing me.
Yes. The Monroes so desperately wanted to save my soul.
We lived our days repenting and praying to become better Christians. For years, I was a good girl. I obeyed their rules and said my prayers. It still didn’t erase the need inside me. I once tried to speak openly to Lucille, my adopted mother, about my demons, but she wouldn’t listen to the cravings I held deep inside. “Repent, Anna. Pray, Anna.”
That wouldn’t have been my mother’s response. She probably would have just found another body to not only sate her need, but mine as well.
“You like the red shade better than the pink. Come put the lipstick on her, Annalise. Come help mommy make her pretty. She’s so very beautiful, isn’t she?”
Yes, she was. All my mother’s victims were. And she wouldn’t have had it any other way. My mother, Rebecca Anne Fowler, was the Madison Ridge Killer. She murdered twelve women, and I helped her. At the time, I didn’t know they all resembled the woman my father had left her for months after my conception—not that I would’ve understood the significance at such a young age.
I was raised on blood and torture. Slicing up their painted faces and perfect bodies didn’t seem so wrong compared to the tears and sobs that left my mother as she yelled and accused them of things I didn’t understand. To me, they were the bad ones. Even now, they still were.
“Anna, honey, hand me the knife. Her breasts are too perky. We can’t have that… Ralph used to love mine,” she’d mumble. “He used to…”
The whispering was always common. Looking back, I almost wished I would have paid better attention to what she was saying. I didn’t, though. I only saw one thing in those moments: the skin splitting, the blood oozing from the incision my mother made as her hand worked its way around the underside and top of the breasts so she could remove them from her victims. The color of the exposed tissue and bone when she finally managed it mesmerized me.
“Better. Don’t you think so, Annalise?” She’d paused, scanning over the woman’s figure. “Her belly isn’t swollen like mine was. That’s why he left us, baby. He wanted her. He wanted his perfect whore. Here, come stand on the stool and let’s show her what happens when trash like her gets in our way. Nobody messes with us. I told him that. I told your father this would happen. He didn’t want to listen…I made him listen.”
Her tone always deepened just before the women screamed the loudest. Screams. Screams.
When I think back on it, I can still hear their desperate cries. Her hand always engulfed mine, directing the course of our artwork. Warm stickiness would wash over our hands and hers would sometimes slide against mine as she increased the pressure. We’d break through more layers of muscle and she’d hum. She was happy, again…I was happy.
“Mmm-mmph! Mmmm!”
The women fighting and trying to break free never seemed to faze her. Sometimes, I didn’t think she realized it at all.
“Someday, Annalise, you’re going to meet a man. And there may come a day when he breaks your heart.”
She’d thrust our grip down, slicing along the inside of the woman’s hips, heading lower on her stomach. I knew she was angry again. It upset me when she got sad. “Oh no, momma. I’ll never. I won’t.”
So clearly, her tear-filled green eyes stared at me. Blonde hair fell over her shoulder and her full lips pressed against my cheek.
“There is always a chance. If that day ever comes, protect yourself and everyone else. Cut out his heart, put it in a box, and lock it away. A man without a heart can’t love another person. What’s better, is it’s yours forever. Nobody can take it away from you.”
“Well, if men are bad, maybe I’ll love a woman.”
My mother’s eyebrows drew in while she took in my response. “Anyone can be bad. Whether you love a woman or a man makes no difference. The heart falls for whoever it chooses. When that happens, it’s a dangerous thing. Love doesn’t always last. When it dies, so does a part of us. If I could have one wish for you, I’d pray you never found true love. You don’t want to hurt like this. You don’t want to go mad, Annalise. Or…” She paused, looking between me and the unconscious woman whose dark hair I mindlessly stroked with my free hand. I didn’t miss the way she rapidly blinked or shook her head. Her hand opened from around mine and I was suddenly left holding the knife. “Mad…perhaps we both already are.”