“He didn’t?” I arched a brow, my voice heavy with disbelief, although nothing should have surprised me about this guy.
“Nope. He held the lecture, going on and on about how beautiful Lucretia’s death was. How noble it was. How freeing it was. People left his class in tears, yet the fucker just kept talking.”
“Jesus.” A chill washed down my spine at the depravity and lack of compassion. Then again, he was a serial killer. A severe lack of empathy was probably a requirement.
“After Annabelle’s suicide, something apparently sparked inside Nick,” Ethan continued. “He’s a textbook example of a true predator, a sadistic rapist. He learned how to get inside his victims’ heads to create the desired outcome. In Nick’s case, it was manipulation, domination, and control. He was charming enough to win over any woman one minute, desperate for power and control over her the next.
“He didn’t immediately set out to manipulate another woman to commit suicide. Over the next few years, he simply returned to his typical MO of stalking and rape. But it was no longer enough. Not now that he’d gotten a taste of ultimate power. So, after two years of chasing that high and falling short, he came up with a new plan.”
“Which was?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
“Using an alias, he sought out women who were already vulnerable, attending group self-help meetings for those struggling with depression. When he found the perfect subject, so to speak, he did what he did best.”
“Stalked them.”
“Exactly. Researched everything about them. Their hopes. Their dreams. Their fears. Being in the same self-help group allowed him access to information he normally wouldn’t have been privy to. As with Annabelle, he broke into their homes, stole things. Then, when the moment was right, he attacked, drugging and raping them.
“As if raping a woman already suffering from depression weren’t enough, he continued breaking into their homes. Moved stuff around. Left gifts, sometimes photos he’d taken of them without their knowledge. Even turned on the stove. All things that made them question their sanity until they couldn’t stand it anymore and took their own life. It had almost become a game for him. See how little it took for him to weasel his way into their brains and coerce them into ending their life. And he never failed. Every woman he set his sights on eventually killed herself.”
“Jesus,” I murmured again, everything about this guy giving me the creeps. What kind of depraved human intentionally stalked someone who already felt vulnerable, then exerted their power and control just to get off on watching them die?
“What you have to understand about this guy’s psychological makeup is that it wasn’t about the rape or murder.”
“It was about the control,” I stated.
“Exactly.”
“Did he ever get caught? He’s not still out there, is he?” I assumed Ethan and Claire wouldn’t know everything they did about him if it were still an unsolved crime.
“He’s currently spending the rest of his life as a resident of the Georgia Department of Corrections.”
I sat in silence for several seconds, a sickening feeling in my stomach. I’d heard my fair share of deranged stories, thanks to Mrs. Young’s obsession with true crime. But the story Ethan just shared was by far one of the creepiest, if for no other reason than this guy’s ability to get into his victim’s head to the point that he could coerce them to kill themselves.
As if the world weren’t twisted enough.
“It’s an…interesting story.” I licked my lips, scrunching my brows. “But what does this have to do with what happened to Piper?” I leaned toward him. “She didn’t kill herself. She—”
“When Claire was doing her research into all the victims, something she insisted on doing to properly tell their story and not simply glorify what the bastard did, she noticed a similarity. Domenic Jaskulski’s second victim was Evelyn Price, a social media influencer who died July tenth. Piper’s date of death was also July tenth, correct? And wasn’t she also a social media influencer for a variety of surf brands?”
“Yeah, but—”
“His first victim was Annabelle Landry.”
I nodded. “I remember.”
He opened the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out a large stack of files. He placed them on the coffee table and grabbed the top one, opening it to a photo of a smiling, young brunette, setting it in front of me.
“This is Emily Scott. A college student who volunteered for a homebuilding organization, much like Annabelle Landry. Five years ago this past spring, she also died of suicide on March third. The same date as Ms. Landry.”
I blinked, still not entirely convinced. It was somewhat suspicious. But it could have been a coincidence, too.
Grabbing another file, he threw yet another photo in front of me. “This is Lilian King.”
“Let me guess. College student. Volunteered for a homebuilding organization. Died March third.”
He nodded. “Three years ago.”
He threw one last photo onto the pile. “Everly Flores. Four months ago. This is what Claire figured out.”
“What is?”
He leveled a stare on me. “Someone’s repeating Domenic Jaskulski’s kill cycle.”