Disgust competed with rage inside of me. I didn’t know which would win.

“You were the only one who came to me. All the others never came, like I was beneath them, only there for them to walk on, but not you. You always came and you smiled. You were nice.”

“Yeah,” Corrigan cracked a joke. “Look where all the niceness got you now, Sheldon.”

“Shut up,” I whispered. I asked Marcus, “What are you talking about?”

Bryce answered instead, intense, “You’re the only girl that goes to the Eatery.

None of the other girls go there. It’s why we go there, Donadeli.”

His contempt was whiplash. Marcus wasn’t happy to be addressed by his competition and he stabbed his best friend. At Corrigan’s sudden cry in pain, Marcus snarled, “You do not address me. You are beneath me.”

“Beneath you?” Bryce asked, a taunt.

And Corrigan cried out louder, “Shut up, man. Just—shut up.”

Blood had started to drip on the floor. It ran the course of Corrigan’s jeans and a small droplet pooled on the wood flooring.

I asked hoarsely, “Why’d you kill Leisha and Bailey? Why them?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask me that and I’d hoped for a more intimate moment between us. Here, with these two, it’s not the right time for those answers. I’m sorry, Sheldon Jeneve, but it’s not the right context.”

Screw context.

I yelled now, “Why’d you kill them, you sick bastard?!”

That was the moment Marcus Donadeli woke up, where he blinked and saw the reality that screamed in his face.

I was the reality and I was screaming in his face.

That didn’t bode well for a psychotic murderer and Corrigan took the brunt of his rage.

He slid the knife in further and Corrigan’s choked cry reigned against my ears. I’d hear that quiet weep of agony every night of my life, but I asked anyway, “Why’d you kill them?!”

“Sheldo…,” Corrigan begged in pain. His eyes pleaded.

“You slice him one more time, I don’t care about the risk. I’m putting a bullet between your eyes,” Bryce clipped out and stepped closer. His hand was perfectly steady.

Marcus saw that, even in his madness, and he stopped.

Corrigan fell to his knees. The blood’s pool had grown and multiplied at his feet.

His jeans were velvety red from blood and black from the grime of his evening in jail.

“Why’d you kill them?” I asked again.

And this time, I got an answer. Marcus whirled his gaze back to me and replied, calmly, “I was watching you that night. You wanted her to come to you, but I couldn’t let that happen. You had been with him again.” He sent a scathing look to Bryce. “You needed to be punished. She was your friend.”

“God,” I whimpered.

“She walked right past me. I was in the bushes and your punishment had been delivered to me. I knew it was the right thing to do.” He smiled. “I haven’t regretted it. I haven’t regretted anything. It all opened for me.”

“That night her house was broken into—did you do that?” Bryce asked.

“No.” Marcus smiled evilly, “But I was there. I was just outside and you looked at me. You knew right where I was. You felt me that night. I knew it then. I knew you wanted this to happen.”

“…That’s the Donadeli kid, right? Doesn’t he have, like, eight jobs or something.”

Faint, I remembered and whispered, “You work at the alarm company that I called.”

“A twist of fate. He was telling me that we belonged together. I knew it then, when I heard your voice on the other line.”

“You….didn’t find Bailey that morning, did you?”

Finally. A flash of uncontained control. There was a chink in his perfectly orchestrated plan of luck. He smiled, still, and shrugged, “Who’s going to believe Marcus Donadeli, the kid who just works all the time? Such a ‘good kid, that one is.’ The kid who gets trampled by bullies that you screw. No one doubted my story for a moment.”

“Someone caught you, didn’t they? You didn’t ‘find’ her. You were caught leaving her.”

“Yes.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “The other janitor came in early. I told him that I’d mixed up the days. I thought I was supposed to clean that morning, but ‘look here what I found.’”

“You’re sick, man.” Corrigan coughed from his knees. He had curled an arm to hold his bleeding side, but it hung loose and weak.

“Why’d you kill Bailey?” I needed to know. I needed to know…

“Because she talked to you. I watch you, Sheldon. I told you that. I notice everything. I couldn’t risk her anymore. She knew more than she knew that she knew. I couldn’t risk it…she had to go.”

“What’d she know?” I stepped closer.

“Sheldon,” Bryce murmured, softly. A heed.

“What’d she know?” I ignored his heed. I had to know.

“Bailey saw me that night. I live between her house and Evan Harris’ house. She had seen me go for a walk that night. It was only a matter of time before she realized it and told. She already told you enough as it was. I didn’t kill Leisha in the park. That’s just where I enjoyed her.”

“You’re lying!” My words were acid, sharp to the touch. “There’s no way you’d dump her in the park, risk that time by getting caught. No. You dumped her and left. You don’t do that—you don’t make this like it was supposed to happen. You controlled it.

You controlled everything!”

“Why’d you come back?” Bryce asked. I knew he wanted to distract the inevitable rage that would snap inside the boiling madman.

It worked.

Marcus smiled, calm again, and eerily, “Because she lied.” He turned those inhumane and serpent-like eyes my way. “You lied to me this morning.”

“What?”

He caressed his cheek with the knife and whispered, “I can forgive your lustful nature. I understand it. You need that touch to make you feel alive, but I can’t forgive your hypocrisy. You can’t lie to me and you lied this morning.”

“I wish no one noticed me.”

His hands stilled and the flush disappeared. “You do?”