He leans over and mutters to me, “I’m
very excited for you to see tonight’s entrée.”
I smile, and even I can feel how ice cold it is. “What would that be?” I ask.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, now would we?” Dan deflects before turning his attention to the guest on his left side.
I stay silent, instead observing the guests seated around me. Everyone looks to be at complete ease, talking amongst each other, laughing, and smiling.
As if it’s just another day, sitting at a dinner table and waiting for a young child to be served.
There are three exit points in the dining room. One leads into the kitchen, where there’s a back sliding door. The second leads down a hallway towards the game room and deeper into the house. The third leads back towards the front door.
I imagine the girl is in the kitchen. I don’t know if she’s already dead or if this will be like their rituals in the dungeon.
My question is answered five minutes later when the kitchen door opens, and an older man walks in, hand in hand with a little girl no older than six.
Her brown eyes are wide with terror, looking upon the table like every boogieman in her nightmares has come to life.
The monsters inside her dreams were only there to show her what they look like on the inside.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served.”
Chapter 38
The Manipulator
A ll the information Daya and I have gathered so far is splayed out on the island before us. I twist my lips as I mull over what we know for the millionth time, while Daya twists the ring in her nose ‘round and ‘round. She’s waiting on a call back to get the DNA results for the blood on the watch.
“You know, we still never found out who sent me the envelope with all those pictures and the note,” I mumble.
“I know,” Daya says, dropping her hand and pursing her lips. “That’s so odd. I have no idea who it could’ve been.”
Just as I open my mouth, Daya's phone rings. She picks it up so fast, you'd think it was sitting on a burning stove.
"Hello?" she answers, clicking the button to put it on speaker.
"Yes, Daya Pierson?" a woman’s voice asks.
"This is her," she responds, anxiety making her eyes pinball around the room. She chews her bottom lip, the tiny gap between her front teeth on display, while I abuse mine just the same.
"Yeah, I got the results back pertaining to the sample you sent in.” She pauses, and it feels like when a rollercoaster crests the top of the hill. And just for a single second, you're suspended in time before you go crashing back to the ground. “We did get a match. Genevieve Parsons.”
Brown eyes clash with green in a symphony of shock and excitement. Daya clears her throat.
"Perfect, thank you, Gloria. I appreciate it."
"No problem," she chirps before the line disconnects. Mutual silence descends as Daya and I both process the new information.
"Holy fuck."
Before I can fully process the information, Daya reaches over to her bag and pulls out a thick manilla envelope.
“I had some testing and research of my own done. I went ahead and found a sample of Frank’s handwriting in a police report and the note we found and sent it in to an analyst. Now just to make you aware, graphology isn’t always taken seriously in the name of science, but there have been cases where it held up in court. Regardless, I think it’ll be good evidence to have.”
My eyes widen with excitement. “Really? Let me see.”
She holds up a finger, signaling for me to wait. “Also, remember how the serial number was illegible on the watch?” When I nod, she continues. “I have a friend that’s pretty good at deciphering shit like that, and he thinks he got a match. This, Addie, is where the real evidence is. If we confirm it’s Frank’s watch that had Gigi’s blood all over it, and if the handwriting is a match, that’s sufficient evidence to prove that Frank was the murderer.”