Julia
Present Day
I stared ahead, consumed by my thoughts. My memories.
My fear.
It was back, coiling through me, wrapping around my lungs and heart, cutting off my ability to breathe, to think, to survive as I tried to process everything I’d learned in the past few minutes.
The man I’d been sleeping with lost his sister to suicide. The same woman who, mere days ago, had approached me when I was out to lunch with my daughter, insisting my ex-husband was responsible for more recent deaths.
The same woman who, hours later, was found dead of an apparent suicide, a method my ex-husband was known for.
Even admired for by some.
I kept telling myself it was impossible. That Nick was in prison. That he’d spend the rest of his life in an orange jumpsuit, only allowed an hour of fresh air a day.
It was better than he deserved.
He’d left a trail of dead women in his wake, something that could have been avoided had I simply opened my eyes and saw what my gut had tried to force me to for years.
But that was the thing about being married to a master manipulator. It was impossible to pinpoint the moment it all started because you were unaware anything was happening until the truth became unavoidable.
You were married to a monster.
On the outside, Nick was this charismatic, charming man everyone respected and admired. Handsome. Exceedingly intelligent. And just an all-around good person.
But his soul was as black as a starless night.
This was a man who often fixated on a woman for something as small as a kind smile. Who stalked his prey for months. Who raped her, then continued stalking her, breaking into her home, the one place she felt safe. Who wanted her to know he’d been there, often moving things around. A coffee mug here. Opening a window there. All to make her feel like she was losing her mind. To make her friends think she wasn’t doing well mentally. He’d observe her downward spiral with a sick sense of excitement, manipulating her until he watched her take her final breath.
He was smart. Chose his victims wisely, never targeting two women in the same jurisdiction for fear the police would catch on. Not that they would. After all, his victims died of “suicide”, a fact the authorities were certain of.
Until I found his journals detailing the stalking, as well as the keepsake boxes containing all the souvenirs he’d kept.
Well, not all the souvenirs.
He liked sharing them.
I just didn’t know it at the time.
But now I did. The mere memory of Nick draping me in jewelry that had been removed from a dead woman’s body made my stomach churn, my skin growing cold.
I tried to find comfort in the fact that he wasn’t a serial killer when I married him. Or even a serial rapist, although many would argue differently. Most considered me one of his first rape victims.
And I would have been one of his murder victims, too, if I hadn’t found the courage to break free from his years of grooming and manipulation.
“Jules.”
Naomi’s voice cut through my thoughts, returning me to the present, reminding me I was free. That I never had to see Nick again.
I tore my gaze to my left where my best friend sat, clutching my hand, concerned eyes studying my every move.
“It’s okay.” She dropped her voice to no louder than a whisper. “It’s nothing. Just because that woman died of suicide doesn’t mean anything.” She leaned closer. “Nick’s in prison. Where he’ll eventually die. He will never be released. Hell, for all we know, he’s received a taste of his own medicine and spends his days as some badass prisoner’s fuck toy.”
Any other day, I would have found amusement in her suggestion. Not today.
“That’s not it, Naomi. It’s not just the scenario. It’s…” I trailed off, shaking my head, searching for the words to tell her just how closely related this revelation truly was. Something I couldn’t do with the hair and makeup artist from the morning news show I was about to appear on hovering nearby.