Chapter Twenty-Six

Nila

His words and behavior confused me. I was a killer; I shouldn’t be getting close to someone who could bring me down. Who had, in fact, threatened to bring me down. There shouldn’t have been anything between Jacob and me. I’d worked so long to harden the walls around me, to become cold-hearted and protected. People like me didn’t love or get hurt. And yet here we stood, the two of us, kissing, and this time I wanted more. More Jacob. More kisses. Just … more.

And it terrified me.

Shaken to the core, my heart thumped heavily in my chest, wanting to kiss him, wanting to heal this broken man standing before me. But my head was telling me to run, to get out, to kill him.

For once, I listened to my heart. My face in Jacob’s hands, his eyes penetrated mine and I was staring into his gaze, searching for the truth behind his words, and right there, clear as day, I saw them.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me about your first kill, Alana. Tell me why you became Nila.”

“I think we need to get comfortable to have this discussion. Follow me.”

Leading him through the kitchen into the foyer and down the hall, we passed several closed doors until we got to my favorite room, my sanctuary. Behind the door was my safe haven and I was inviting Jacob into it. Turning the doorknob, I led Jacob inside. Decorated in tones of black and white with pops of deep, dark-purple and gray, this was my library. On one side of a decorative rug was my desk with a chandelier hanging above it while two walls were filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A ladder rested against them to reach the books on the highest shelves. And on the other side of my desk were glass doors overlooking my outdoor pool. A chaise lounge sat near the doors so I could curl up and read near the beauty of my garden. Walking into the room, I immediately headed to the chaise to sit. If I was going to have this conversation, for the very first time at that, I needed to be comfortable. And while this may not be the ideal situation, this could give me some of the comfort I needed.

Before speaking, I collected my thoughts so I knew where to begin. Jacob knew the starting point, but should I tell him about that time from my view? Or do I start after we were separated?

I looked at Jacob. For the first time, he didn’t have the same air of confidence or control, so I reached my hand out to him.

“Come.”

Placing his hand in mine, he walked closer until he was right in front of me.

“Sit down, Jacob. I’m ready.”

As he sat next to me on the chaise, I opened my mouth and the words began pouring out.

“Becoming Nila wasn’t an easy feat. It wasn’t something I’d planned. The trial took a toll on me. I couldn’t sleep, and when I did, I sleepwalked. One night, I woke up choking the neighbor’s dog, this yappy thing that never quit barking. Up to that point, I kept trying to rein the bloodlust in. I knew there was something wrong with me though. I couldn’t adjust well to life back home.

I was irrevocably damaged and nothing, absolutely nothing, could change what I had been through and the demons that lived inside of me. I was tortured, I was lost … And in an instant, I was found. In a sea of darkness, in a world of endless night, the veil was lifted, and I could no longer fool myself into believing I was Miss Innocent Alana. I was Nila. I was forged from the blood, pain, and misery of my captivity.

And when they suggested I get away from the public, change my name, and start over, I wanted a name that captured the change in me. Like a phoenix, I had risen from the ashes for my second life. I wanted to be a strong woman who would never be controlled and held against her will again. Thus, Nila was born. I made the right connections, I went to school, I made friends. Everything a normal person is supposed to do. But I wasn’t normal.”

Taking a pause, I remembered my first taste of darkness. And my inevitable first kill. Jacob watched me, savoring my words and taking it all in. Finally, he was getting what he’d wanted from me from the very beginning.

“In my junior year of college, there was a serial rapist on campus. He was drugging and raping girls, and they would wake up the next morning with a rose next to their pillow. Like a sick thank you for letting him rape them. I went to a party with my friends. Rachel, who is a sweetheart, met a guy there. She thought he was so nice. I, however, could see the sickness radiating off of him.

“I tried warning her, but she thought I was jealous. It caused a fight between us, and she ended up spending the rest of the night with him. He drugged her drink, raped her, and left her a rose. But it didn’t stop there. She was the unfortunate one. He set his sights on her and began stalking her. She opened her dorm room to find dozens of roses one day not long after the rape and had a nervous breakdown.”

It was hard remembering what happened to Rach. She was so sweet, so innocent, like me, and that monster had stolen that from her. She didn’t deserve that. Not at all. My poor, sweet Rach. I tried to save her, and save her I did. She tried to apologize to me for not trusting me. It wasn’t her fault. She shouldn’t have to apologize for a man’s wicked ways and slick tongue.

“His name was Peter Barnes. He’d graduated the year prior and was an insurance broker who liked to get his kicks by coming back to campus for keg parties with his old fraternity. When he wasn’t at work or out partying, he was raping girls. It didn’t matter what type of body or hair they had. As long as they were female, they were in danger. The campus was in a frenzy. Girls were sticking together.

“And Rachel, she was docile. Like a kitten. She lost herself in painkillers and antidepressants to numb herself. Her brokenness made the darkness in me rise, and I knew Peter Barnes needed to die. I hadn’t known his name before, only his face. But I started going to parties, and when I saw him again, I did what he had done to Rach. I stalked him. I found out every little piece of information I could, every skeleton in his closet. And then, when his guard was down, I struck.”

“How was it?” Jacob’s eagerness at hearing the rest of the story compelled me to share it.

“Sloppy but satisfying. It was my first kill, so I didn’t prolong it. I lured him to the waterfront and killed him right then and there with a knife to the heart. I pushed him into the water so he wouldn’t be found. I was glad I got rid of him for Rach’s sake, but the darkness in me crowed because I hadn’t taken my time, I hadn’t prolonged it or given it the attention it deserved. Peter deserved torture, and even though he died with a blade to the heart, he should’ve suffered.”

“Damn right he should’ve suffered! What did you do afterward?”

“I studied. I studied serial killers. I studied how to get away with murder. But my favorite thing was torture techniques.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“There was something that grabbed my attention. It was the perfect way to fuck with someone’s mind. To bring them to the brink of insanity, to the point where they craved death. Where they begged for it. And then I want them to think of their victims, what they put them through. It’s why I always ask for a confession.”

“I wondered about that. About the confessions.”

“Somewhere out there, a girl has been hurt. Raped. Violated. Like I was. Some come out on top, but some sink to the very bottom of despair. The become addicts, prostitutes, and some kill themselves to get away from the memories and the pain. This, this is for them. Some of the girls were murdered and are already long gone. I like to think if there were a God and Heaven, those girls are watching down and seeing these bastards get what they deserve because those beautiful girls sure as hell didn’t deserve to die at their hands.”

“You’re passionate about this.”

“Of course I am, Jacob! Your father raped me. He tortured me. He killed Celia right in front of me. He raped you. He impregnated me. He killed Alana, the girl I used to be. I was a shell, a fucking shell of decay. I would’ve been one of those girls if I didn’t have the craving for blood. I would’ve been found hanging in my closet or in a tub full of my own blood, wrists slashed. That’s what your father caused. So you’re damn right I am passionate about ridding the world of fucking scum.”

I stared him down. Sitting next to me, hand on my thigh, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, Jacob’s eyes seared into mine, and then he was pulling me into his arms, holding my body tightly. For the first time in a long time, I had a sense of security.

“I understand your reasons, Alana.”

“Nila.”

Pulling back to look me in the eyes, Jacob looked directly at me as if trying to look into my soul.

“Alana. You were Alana when I met you. You’re breathing. You’re alive. He may have killed a piece of you, but he didn’t kill all of you.”

“Because you saved me.”

“I’ll always save you,” Jacob whispered, lying back on the chaise with me in his arms. Nothing was better than his arms around me. Holding me. Keeping me safe from the outside world. In here, we were in our own little bubble and were an everyday, normal couple.

“You can’t save me from myself,” I whispered back.

“I can damn well try.”

“You don’t know me, Jacob.” Once again, I was trying to talk reason into him. No matter how my thoughts drifted toward imagining us as a normal couple, we barely knew one another.

“I fucking know you, Alana. We are one. Quit pushing me the fuck away.”

“I don’t know you!”

“Then get to know me. You’re a damn therapist, ask some fucking questions.”

“Tell me about your kills.”

“And then you’ll tell me more about yours,” he returned.

“Perhaps.”

“I’m still in control here, Alana. You want me to open up, tell you about me, fine. But you’ll do the same.”

“I told you about Peter.”

“But there’s been more,” he insisted. “I want to know it all. I need to know it all.”

“Tell me about your kills and I’ll tell you about RJ.”

“RJ?”

“RJ Campbell. My first torture.”

“I kill pedophiles,” he said.

“Like your father?”

“Just like him. Men who have to hurt little boys. Fathers who hurt their children. I put them all in the alleyways, leaving them with the trash and filth they deserve to be in.”

“It’s you, isn’t it?” I questioned, already knowing it had to be.

“What?”

“The Molester Killer.”

“I hate that name. Like, they couldn’t come up with anything cooler than that?”

“Tabloids love their names.”

“Idiots.”

“Is that why you think we’re somehow alike? Because you kill degenerates too?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged.

“Maybe?”

“They shouldn’t be allowed to walk the plane of the earth, it’s that simple. I don’t do it to save little Johnny from his dad. I do it so I don’t—”

“So you don’t have to what, Jacob?”

He sighed roughly and gripped me closer. “So I don’t have to be afraid of kitchens anymore.” Where his father had hurt him the most.

He clenched down around me, not letting me go.

“I was lost, Alana. So fucking lost. I was looking for you, and I was small. Always so small. Late bloomer, they called me. And each time, I was angrier and angrier. Do you know how many kids in the system hate kitchens?”

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

He buried his face into my neck and inhaled deeply. “I need this, Alana, with you. I’m not afraid when I’m with you.”

“But I’m not yours to own, to cage and do whatever you want.”

“Of course you are.”

I clawed at his arms, and he sank his teeth into my neck. This was us, a battle of wills and differences. Wrong and rationalized wrong.

“How are you any different? You still kill, Alana. It doesn’t matter if they deserve it or not. You’re still a fucking killer. And you want the pain I give you. Lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

“And the world is better off without them. “

“You’re still a killer, for your own pleasures. And you don’t have to punish them like you do. Guess who else is like dear ol’ Dad? And training? Bullshit, Alana. You want it from me. You always have.”

I was too tired to take up the fight, and his words rang too close to home. “Tell me about the first one,” I whispered.

“I’d only been out of the home for a few weeks. It fucked me up. I didn’t know where to go next. My dad was dead. I didn’t know where you were. I was sitting in a diner. It was raining, and this guy walks in wearing this hideous poncho, holding a little boy’s hand. I could see it, you know? The way the boy shook, his wide-eyed stare at everyone in the room. He needed help, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. I didn’t need to be asked. I let them eat and followed them out. Didn’t let them get too far before I grabbed that fucking prick and forced him into the backseat of his car. I strangled him, and then bashed his head in against the car door. I dropped off the boy at the nearest church. Figured a police station was pushing it.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of rage, but he deserved it.”

“Every fucking minute. But I wish I had more time, like my dad after hurting you.”

“I’m nothing special, Jacob.”

“You’re everything. Every fucking thing.”

“But why? Why me?”

“Because you gave me the courage to kill him. You gave me something to live for. Despite the hellish circumstances, all I thought about was you, and it gave me the strength.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That I left you to deal with everything on your own.”

“You said it yourself. You were young. My father had done a number on you. He would’ve killed you, you know?”

“I know. I wanted him to.”

“You wanted him to kill you?”

“By that point, I was so tired of the torture, not just your dad’s torture, but the mental anguish of thinking about what I had done to Noel. I deserved to die.”

“No. He did. My father always deserved to die. Never you.”

“I killed Noel.”

“You had a good reason.”

“Did I? Did I really?”

“Look at me, Alana. Fucking look at me.” Standing up, Jacob stretched his arms wide. He was seething mad. “Look at me! I’m that prick’s son. His flesh and blood. I killed him. I killed others. Fuck, I captured you and did exactly what he did to you. Did you want Noel to be like me?”

“No. Never.”

“Then you did the right thing. Because this, me, this is what your son would have been like if he had been raised by that monster. He would’ve been psychologically tortured, emotionally abused, and if he stepped out of line, he would’ve ended up raped like me. My dad was a sick fucking monster. Noel deserved better.”

I never thought of it that way. I’d thought of a monster raising my son. I’d thought of him having a chance to become like that monster, but I never thought of him being Jacob—the son of the devil. Noel wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Jacob was right. I killed my son, but my son had deserved better. I wouldn’t have been able to save him from a cage. I would’ve watched the abuse from the sidelines and have been tortured over not being able to save him. And Noel, poor Noel, would have been a mess. I did the only thing I could have done.

I loved my son. I still love my son.

And Jacob loved Noel.

He thinks he loves me.

He wants to know me.

What do I want? What do I really want?

Freedom.

I’m a bird in a gilded cage.

But do I want Jacob to free me, or do I want to be free of Jacob for good?