Ricky skimmed the articles on my screen. "He was a serial killer."
Gabriel cleared his throat.
"Sorry, counselor," Ricky said. "Kirkman was an alleged serial killer. Three missing teenage girls disappeared along rural roads. Two were discovered in shallow graves, raped and strangled. The third wasn't found, presumably because the killer learned to hide his victims better. Classic serial predator. And Kirkman fits the classic profile--the quiet white guy who lives alone. The last girl disappeared a month before he did. There were no more after that. Which suggests he was more than a suspect."
Gabriel conceded the point. "The police believed Kirkman was responsible and that he committed suicide somewhere in the forest, perhaps having gone for drinks to prepare himself. They continued to investigate the murders but found no other suspects. They did eventually locate and identify the third victim--her body was found buried a few miles from his home."
"Which was near Cainsville," Ricky said.
"That's not the only local connection." I enlarged another article. "The second victim disappeared during a summer visit to extended family, who lived..."
"Here," Ricky murmured as he read. "In Cainsville."
--
Ricky borrowed my car to take Lloergan to the Saints' clubhouse. He had work there, and our new "next step" wasn't something he could help with.
There were three people we could confront about Greg Kirkman. Four, if you included Seanna, but we had no idea where to find her. The question was which to choose. Which wasn't really a question at all.
An hour later, I was back where I'd first been stalled. And where I'd first known I was being thwarted but had gotten too caught up in the sluagh business to pursue it.
"Greg Kirkman," I said as Pamela took her seat across from me.
"I told you, Eden, I don't know--"
"Try again."
Pamela's lips tightened. "This woman--Seanna--is sending you on a wild-goose chase, and I can't believe you're allowing it. She's an idiot with just enough animal intelligence to know where to strike. Where it will hurt. For you, that's your father. You need to guard your weaknesses more carefully, or your enemies will never stop using them against you." She sat back in her seat. "I see Gabriel isn't with you. I'm going to interpret that to mean he's tried to dissuade you from this path, knowing his mother and her schemes. As much as I hate to say it, he's right. Drop this, Eden."
"Can't. Not until I have answers."
She let out a hiss of frustration. "You're better than this. You have blind spots. You need to recognize them and--"
"Oh, but I do. I recognize them, and I work to overcome them. Sometimes I'm even successful, like when I finally realized I couldn't trust you to tell me the sky is blue. You fancy yourself a good mother, Pamela. Tough love. Preparing me for a harsh world. Like criticizing me when I'm making mistakes, when I'm not fulfilling my potential, not as clever as you expect."
"You are clever. That's the point. You aren't utilizing your intelligence--"
"Do you know what's worse than telling your kid that you're disappointed in her? Using that to manipulate her. Telling her she's made a stupid mistake, when in fact she hasn't--you're just trying to grind her self-confidence into the dust so she'll stop chasing questions you don't want answered."
Her face hardened. "I am trying to stop you from making a mistake, Olivia."
"Yep, you are. Except that 'mistake' isn't chasing a false lead. It's following it to a conclusion you don't want me reaching."
"You--"
"If you hate fae so much, stop acting like one. Stop manipulating and diverting and distracting. You don't know anything about Greg Kirkman? I'll refresh your memory. He killed three young women and then disappeared shortly before you went after the Tysons. All signs point to him as the guy who murdered those girls. One of his victims was from Cainsville. She had fae blood--I've confirmed that, which would make her killer a Cwn Annwn target."
"What does that have to do with your father?"
"You made a deal with the Cwn Annwn. That much is undisputed fact. But the details aren't entirely clear, like how you contacted them in the first place. It's not like you can look them up in the Yellow Pages. You know what Cainsville is now, but you didn't when you were growing up."
"How do you--?"
"I have visions, remember? I've seen you in them, as a child."
Her composure rippled. "You've seen--?"
"You only got the full picture once you made that deal. Maybe not even then. So how did you make contact?"
"I'd heard things, growing up. I figured out what Cainsville was."
"Bullshit."
"You asked, Olivia, so I answered--"
"With a lie, which comes as naturally to you as breathing, so I won't take it personally. I think my father knew his lineage. He knew what the Cwn Annwn could do. So he told you. You realized that was my best hope. The problem was how to contact the Hunt. I mentioned those visions of mine. They give me all sorts of tidbits, pieces that seem random but eventually come in handy. Like this one I had of a guy trying to contact the Cwn Annwn. He interrupted their hunt. He knew their target and waited for the Huntsmen. That's one method. A better one? Find someone who fits their criteria and do the job for them. Someone like Greg Kirkman. That's how you contacted the Cwn Annwn, isn't it? You and my father killed him--"
"Not your father. Just me."
"Then why did Seanna visit him?"
"Because she's an idiot. How many times do I need to say that?"
I paused, then said, "You killed Greg Kirkman."
"Yes. I found him. I killed him to lure the Cwn Annwn, while providing them with a gift and a sign of my willingness and ability to do more of the same."
"So you admit to this, yet when I accused you and Todd of killing the other four, you said you weren't responsible. You blamed him."
She flinched. "It wasn't like that."
"It was exactly like that, Pamela. You said my father did it. That he loved me so much he did that for me. You threw my father under the bus to save yourself."
"No, I said it because you love him."
I stared at her. "You accused him out of jealousy?"
"Of course not. You've always loved him more, and I never blamed either of you for that. He is easy to love. I am not. I accused him out of panic. Obviously, I didn't think it through, or I'd know you'd get to the truth eventually and hate me for the lie. All I thought at the time was that you loved him and so you would forgive him, as you would not forgive me. You would understand he did it out of love. With me? Nothing I can say will convince you I did it for you. You cannot forgive me."
"But I have."
A bitter laugh. "Ah, yes, I can tell."
"I forgive you for killing four people because they were killers. If their deaths let me walk? I'm okay with that. What I cannot forgive you for is James and Gabriel. The death of a man I loved. The attempt to ruin the life of a man I love."
"Love? Gabriel?" Her spine snapped straight. "I hope you're saying that to taunt me, Eden."
"I'm saying it to drive home exactly how much I hate you for doing that to him. You say I loved you less, Pamela? Maybe so. But I did love you. I might still. Yet it'll never erase what you did and how much it hurt me." I got to my feet. "One last question. How did you find out about Greg Kirkman?"
She stared at the table, eyes unfocused, as if she heard my words but couldn't relate them to anything we'd been discussing.
"Greg Kirkman," I said. "How did you know he'd be a Cwn Annwn target?"
"Because he killed a girl with fae blood. I heard talk in Cainsville." She settled in, finding her balance now. "The elders are careful, but once you know what they are, you understand more of what you overhear, as I'm sure you've realized. I knew there was a serial killer, and one of his victims was partly fae, which meant the Hunt would want him."
"But Kirkman wasn't charged with any crimes. The police had barely begun investigating him. How did you know he was
the killer?"
"I heard the elders speculating. I did some digging and then confronted him and tricked him into a confession. I killed him, and the Cwn Annwn came."
--
I sat in Gabriel's car, still parked in the prison visitors' lot. He'd been waiting in the hall. I hadn't said a word as we walked out, nor once we got into the car, and while I could feel his impatience strumming, there was too much going on in my head.
It felt like I was under a cliff, an avalanche rumbling above, and I was frantically trying to figure out what to do next, where to run, one eye on those trembling rocks and Gabriel standing in the distance, motioning that he needed to speak to me.
Wait. Just wait. Let me figure this out first.
Once I got my thoughts as ordered as I could, I turned to him and said, "Sorry. I'm just..."
"Busy."
I nodded.
"Did Pamela confirm your theory?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And..."
I said nothing, just stared out the window.
After a moment, he said, "Olivia?"
"I need to get another answer."
"One you don't want."
"Yes."
Silence. A squeak of the leather. A sigh, the softest exhale of frustration, not meant for me to hear.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be." A slight snap to the words. "Whatever it is, the prospect upsets you, and you don't want to discuss it until you know if there is cause for you to be upset. Do you wish to speak to Ricky? He's still at the clubhouse. I have business I could discuss with Don."
I shook my head. "No. I just want to get through this. As quickly as possible." I took out my phone and hit a recent addition to my speed-dial.
"Ioan," I said when he answered. "I need to talk to my father."
I braced for some lightly sarcastic comment to call attention to my lack of preamble. But Ioan wasn't Patrick. He could tell by my tone that I was upset.
"Are you being blocked again?" he said. "I thought I had that straightened out."
"No, I mean I need to see him in person. Face-to-face. In private, if possible."
He paused.
"I know you have access and contacts in the prison," I said. "I also know this isn't easy to arrange or I'd have asked sooner. This isn't me deciding I really need to hug my dad."
"I know if you're asking, it's important. You need something from him. An answer, I presume?"
"Yes."
A pause. A long one. Then, "Is it one I could give?"
"Yes, but I need it from him."
Another pause. Then his voice lowered, gentler. "Is it one he'd want to give you, Liv?"
"No, but I need it. Directly from him. And yes, that's cruel and he doesn't deserve cruelty, but I need all the answers and he needs to know I have them. No more secrets."
"I agree. All right. I can't promise this will be ready when you arrive, but I'll do my best."
--
Once I got off the phone, those rocks overhead stopped shaking and chattering. I knew they were still there. I hadn't averted disaster. I just had a moment to pause and reflect and say to myself, What will I do if they come tumbling down? Because they almost certainly would. That breathing room, though, was enough for me to turn to Gabriel and tell him my thoughts, my fears. To do it dry-eyed and steady-voiced.
When I finished, he said, "Thank you. For telling me." A moment of silence. Then, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
I tensed. I tried to hide it, but he'd already noticed.
"And the fact that I need to ask is indicative of the problem," he said, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
"No, I--"
"Please don't lie to make this easier on me. It's about making it easier for you. I should know how to do that. Asking you is like watching someone drown and asking if I can help."
"I'd like to talk it out. That will help. Is my logic correct?"
"Yes." He glanced over. "Which is not what you want to hear. Your logic is correct. I'm less certain on your interpretation of the aftermath. But you're looking for the worst scenario. To brace yourself against it."
"Yes. Thank you."
When he didn't say anything more, I glanced up to see a look I knew well. He had more he had to say and wasn't sure he should.
"What is it?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Gabriel..." I said.
He cleared his throat. "If you discover you are correct in the basic facts, it would only be discomforting. If you are right about the rest--which is your worst scenario rather than an honest fear--it will be difficult and upsetting. Yet..."
"Yes?"
"It isn't what you may discover that has you so upset. It's what you'll need to do to get those answers."
Tears prickled my eyelids, and I laid my head against him again to hide it, nodding instead.
"I do understand, Olivia," he said. "Just because I could do it myself without experiencing the same emotional response does not mean I can't place myself in your position."
"I know."
"You've made the right decision. I only wish you didn't need to do this."
I twisted to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I told Ioan I didn't want this meeting for something as fanciful as hugging my father. That was true. And yet that wish wasn't as fanciful as I liked to pretend. I had not hugged my father in twenty-three years. It didn't matter if, for most of those, I'd forgotten he even existed. Willfully forgotten, pushing aside the painful memories of a toddler who knew only that her beloved father had left her and so she banished him in punishment.
Now that I had Todd back, I felt every one of those years of separation. Seeing him through a Plexiglas barrier made me feel like a chained dog, going mad watching my goal only a few feet away, unattainable.
I had no idea what strings Ioan had to pull, but we'd been at the prison less than an hour before a guard came to take us through. A guard who I knew, instinctively, was not really a guard at all.
"Thank Ioan for me," I said as the man led us, wordlessly, down a hall. "And thank you."
The guard snorted. "You can thank me by getting Todd out of here. Which will get us both out. It's been a long twenty years."
"You've been here since--"
"It was the best way to help him. And I shouldn't complain. I get to go home every day."
"Does Todd know you're...?"
"That wouldn't be safe for either of us." He opened a door and led us through. "He only knows I've been here a long time, and we get along well. With Todd, that isn't very difficult. I expected I'd have to use my powers to make the other guards go easy on him, but that's never been a problem. Which doesn't mean it's been easy on him." Anger laced his voice and he shoved the next door open a little harder. "All she had to do was confess. All she still has to do is confess."
"He wants her to have a chance."
"Too bad. This isn't about her. She made the deal. If you do that, you take responsibility for the outcome. You don't drag someone else along. He didn't deserve that."
One last door opened. We walked through and...he was there. My father. Standing right in front of me, nothing between us.
When I walked in, his face was tight, as if braced for an official to say there'd been a mistake and order him back to his cell before I arrived.
Even when he saw me, it took a moment. A pause. A blink. Then a blinding grin, and he stepped toward me, his arms wide.
The young guard accompanying him warned, "Todd..." and the Huntsman growled, "Don't be an ass, Porter."
And then Todd was hugging me. My father was hugging me.
No, not my father. My dad. His arms went around me, and it was as if every repressed memory broke free. The feel of his embrace, the rasp of his cheek against mine, the sound of his breathing, the smell of him--it was everything I'd been missing sitting on the other side of that Plexiglas. That full sense of the man I remembered, my little-girl's
daddy.
When he pulled back and said, "It's so good to see you, sweetheart," even his voice was different, plucked straight from my memory, the one I'd heard through the speaker a poor reproduction.
And I cried. I hugged him, and I cried. Gabriel stayed behind me. The young guard stepped aside, taking a great interest in the decor, until the Huntsman guard said, "I've got this, Porter," and the younger man left without another word.
I moved back, and we walked to the chairs and sat, Todd pulling his chair around until we sat face to face, no table between us.
That's when I remembered why I was there. What I'd come to do. That little girl inside me screamed a tantrum shriek of a no. Not now. Not ever. Don't do this. Don't upset him. Don't ruin it.
But I am my mother's daughter, as much as I would like to deny it. I had a goal, and I needed to reach it, even if that might be cruel, might be painful.
No, it was cruel. It would be painful.
"Dad?" I said. "I need to ask you about someone."
"Sure, sweetheart. Who?"
"Greg Kirkman."
Did I want to see his brow furrow, lips purse, that look in his eyes that said he had no idea what I was talking about? Of course I did. But I knew better.
What did I expect to see? Fear. Fear of his secret being discovered.
Instead, he jerked back as if I'd struck him, and then his face flooded with pain and guilt, so raw that I flinched.
I looked up at Gabriel and said, "I can't. I just can't," and waited for the flash of disappointment, the tightening of his face as he told me I had to.
Instead, Gabriel just gave me a piercing look. Then he nodded and walked over and took my hand and said, "All right."
I panicked then, an explosion of panic, because I wanted him to say I had to do this. I needed his push, needed his strength and, yes, the ice-cold resolve I couldn't muster. He squeezed my hand and turned to Todd.
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said to him. Then he laid my hand on Todd's arm and asked, "What happened with Greg Kirkman?"
The prison room vanished, and I was slingshot through memory, lights and images and sounds whizzing past. I landed in the grass, on my back, the sun dancing in front of me. Then the sun became a daisy, petals falling on my face.
"What will my husband be?" It was Todd's voice, rhyming off choices as the petals fell. "Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief." When the daisy moved, I saw his face, even younger than I was now. "Looks like you get a thief, Eden. That's unfortunate."