“This way,” he informs us.
Doors open, and I’m ushered inside a room with a wave of a hand and jerk of the head.
Panic flares within me when Hernandez doesn’t follow me inside. Without him there as an anchor, will the man I once knew try to use his allure to convince me everything they say he did is a lie?
God, how I wish that were the case. But I know better.
My heart booms in my ears. The warden steps into the room, standing silently in the corner, and I breathe a little easier.
It’s a small, square room. No windows. No air. It’s suffocating. A coffin.
Scanning the room, my eyes find his.
Mr. Willis Langford.
Husband.
Father-to-be.
Serial killer.
He sits on one side of a small metal table bolted to the concrete floor, his wrists chained to a hoop.
The rattle of my ribcage from the beat of my own heart causes my head to swim.
I can’t do this.
Is this really how it ends?
A smile so natural and beautiful sits plastered on his flawless face.
How can he look so normal, so…mine?
He’s so young. So impeccably handsome. How can this be happening?
The questions barrel into me, chipping away chunks of my soul.
Scruff on his chin is longer now than he’s ever kept it, and his once long, wavy brown locks have been shaved.
“Hey, precious.” He beams at me. Just like that—like he hasn’t taken everything from me. He broke me. Ruined everything. There’s nothing left of the life he promised me. It’s all corroded.
Vomit threatens to spill from my mouth. Even though I know what he is, my soul longs for it all to be false. I can’t force myself to stop loving him. Why can’t I stop loving him?
Love is for the weak. I’m weak.
“Let me look at you.”
The words spilling from his lips are a caress. The pet names incite overwhelming longing. I hate him for it, but hate myself more. He’s a monster, yet my heart refuses to stop loving him. That makes me a monster too.
“Sit down, precious,” he commands, and I do, just like always. His word is law to the infatuated teenager still in love with him.
I’m a woman now—a mom-to-be. I have to be strong. Leave here and never return. I know this, but in his presence, all strength flees. I will put miles between us. Once I’m gone, he’ll become a memory of a past life. History. An echo.
He lifts his hand and jiggles the chains that clank and jar against the ring, confining them. The sound resonates around the small room, teasing me. What if they freed him?
No, he’s never getting free. This is his tomb now.
“Sorry you have to see me like this. They wouldn’t take them off, even though I’d never hurt you. Don’t be afraid of me. I couldn’t bear that.”
What? An un-amused laugh wants to rip from my chest, but it releases as a sob instead, filling the space with soft cries. I want to scream, to beg for this all to be a dream, a nightmare.
“Please don’t,” he murmurs in a soothing tone, caressing my sorrow. How can he still incite any warmth within me? Am I that deluded—that damaged?
Wiping my face on the sleeve of the blouse I spent an hour picking out for this visit, I look up at him through dark, wet lashes.
“I need to know why you would do something like this. Was it something I did?” I ask, the words broken, my soul deflated.
His eyes narrow, the affection seeping from him moments before replaced with annoyance. “What could you have possibly done to make me do what I do?” he snaps, and my spine curls.
Been a bad wife, not given him enough attention, sex? Questions fire off in my mind, each blow taking more of my life than the last.
“Was I not enough for you?” I murmur instead, hating how pathetic I sound, ashamed, marred beyond repair. The break in my voice only angers him.
He cracks his neck, rolling back his broad, powerful shoulders, every muscle moving, morphing before my eyes into the beast he kept so well detained until now. My breath quickens, and I find myself flinching when he sighs. As if sensing my fear, he uncoils his muscles, his body relaxing back into the man I know...knew. His eyes appraise me for a beat, then he breathes out, “It’s not about that. It’s part of who I am. A part I never wanted to touch you. I thought I could stop when I met you, but the urges, precious, they’re so powerful, consuming.”
Urges to rape, kill?
I think of his victims…the girl who was found still alive in the bed of his truck. How will she ever have a normal life now? Would it have been better if her injuries had killed her?
His eyes gloss over. It’s the same look he has when we’re making love. It brings a fresh wave of sorrow for what I’ve lost.