Archive of Our Own ^beta

Katie dreams of earth.

Brown, cold earth, so unlike the rusty red that she is used to in Utah. It crumbles against her touch, falling away into bleak nothingness. Unlike the red she is accustomed to; the brown dirt leaves no trace behind. She stands, surrounded in piles and piles of dirt, with no light to breach the top. She is drowning in dirt, the damp scent clogging her nostrils and building down her throat.

It burrows into her stomach, like a sick, starved animal. The dirt is a living thing that steals her air and feeds on her blood. It whispers in her ear, foul, poisonous words of anger and hate. Katie can only fall to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She chokes, dry heaving at the almost painful sense of being stretched beyond her limits.

They have taken everything they can from her. Bones, blood, air, and even flesh. She is nothing but a womb for them to grow and take form. They are all at home here in the earth, but that is a lie. It is not a home, but a prison, and Katie is the only means of escape. They rise from the soil her body as rejected. Hundreds of faces that she knows. God help her, she knows.

Blonde hair, brown hair, blue eyes, hazel eyes, they all stand before her. Her sisters not by blood but through bond. Caught between being dead and alive, their faces etched in permanent anger and sorrow.

“Why us?”

“Why not you?”

“Why did I have to die? Why me?”

“You should be dead along with us!”

Their voices are loud, deafening even. Katie wants to answer them, but her mouth will not move. She wants to help them…help them…

Help them do what, exactly?

She is frightened of the woman who spoke last. Her brown eyes are bright and murderous. She is the worst one to look at. Skin melting off, revealing the aged bones underneath. Her hair is limp and lifeless, still clinging on desperately to her skull. Katie knows all of their names by heart, has seen their faces so many times she is no longer surprised, but Michelle scares her the most.

Michelle was the first, and Katie is the last. Michelle will not forgive her for doing what she couldn’t. Her hand reaches out, faded nails scratching against Katie’s throat.

“Why you?” Michelle is angry, so, so angry. Her rage frightens her beyond belief. “Why not me? What makes you so special?”

She wants to answer, “nothing”, but the hand around her throat tightens. The others scream, clawing at their prison, but they get nowhere. More dirt piles in. If Katie looks up, she can see the top. So close, yet so far.

And standing at the top, as though observing ants underneath a magnifying glass, is…

Katie’s eyes snap open, hand coming to her mouth to stifle the scream. She lays there for a moment, the cold sweat sticking to her clothes and gluing her to the bed. Even with the last of the summer heat, she is hot and the fan circling above her head isn’t helping. She places a hand over her heart, begging the organ to stop beating so hard. It crashes against her chest painfully. Almost as painful as the bullet that clipped the side of her head only a few months ago.

Into the pit with the old bones. The girls with flesh still clinging to them. The glass eyes that erupted from the dirt…

Katie vaults off the bed, down the hall and into the bathroom. She barely makes it to the toilet when she heaves. The taste is awful, but familiar. Acidic and burning her throat. She thought she had grown past this, but clearly had not.

She sits there on the cold bathroom floor, forehead pressed against the rim of the toilet. Not the most hygienic thing to do, but it feels nice against her flushed skin. She ignores the burning in her mouth and throat, opting to focus on her breathing. It’s not a full-blown panic attack, but if she doesn’t get herself under control, it will be.

Katie rocks back and forth on the floor, doing all the steps her therapist told her to regain control. The in and out motions of her breath usually work as a grounding technique; always have since she was a teen, but things are different now. She can only imagine how long she would have survived if this had all happened to her when she was a child.

Not very long at all.

How long has it been now, since that fateful day? Six months? It feels more like a lifetime has gone by.

Katie sighs, relieved that her heart rate is finally slowing down. She leans against the wall, the back of her head resting on the cabinet. The house is quiet, its inhabitants still fast asleep. Technically it’s only her and Aunt Sandra at the moment, but still, she’s glad she hasn’t disturbed the woman.

Tyler has gone back to school in California and Jordyn has started her freshman year at the University of Utah. Uncle Mark is at a conference in Los Angeles for a few days, so it’s only her and Aunt Sandra. Just the two of them and the puppy, who’s not so much of a puppy anymore.

While she didn’t seem to wake Aunt Sandra, she can’t say the same about Applesauce. She hasn’t been in the bathroom for more than five minutes when the goldendoodle wanders in, resting her soft head on Katie’s knees. Her soulful brown eyes looking into Katie’s. She wonders, briefly, if the dog notices the dark shadows beginning to form.

“Hey there, Applesauce,” she greets the dog softly, a hand coming up to stroke her head. “You came in here all the way from Aunt Sandra’s room just to see me?”

All she hears is the thump of a tail wagging and grins. “It’s okay, girl. Just another nightmare. Nothing I can’t handle,” she says quietly, pulling the dog further into her lap. She buries her head in the dog’s fur, taking in the calming scent. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

Applesauce merely licks her forehead, her cold nose bumping wetly against the skin. Katie nearly jumps at the sensation, pulling away slightly. She glances up at the clock on the wall, sighing. It’s only four in the morning. She’s only had five hours of sleep. Oh well.

“Come on,” she stands, carefully. Slowly, just to test the waters of her body out. “Let’s go watch some TV. I’m sure all those crappy infomercials are still on.”

She spends the rest of the early hours on the living room couch, wrapped in a blanket with a strong cup of coffee in her hands. Applesauce lays dutifully next to her, head resting on her knee. She’s not sure if it’s a rerun or mistake, but she knows this ad is from 2004. She has no idea if Betty Crocker is still selling that cake pan, but she’s almost convinced herself that she needs to buy it.

She still doesn’t eat a whole lot, but God does she love cake.

She can’t have cake for breakfast, so she settles on pancakes. By the time Aunt Sandra wanders down the stairs, likely lured in by the smell of food, she’s not at all surprised to see Katie cooking. In the months that she’s lived here, she often takes it upon herself to do the cooking. They’ve never asked her to, but she’s been cooking for herself for so long it’s only second nature. Since her aunt and uncle are loving enough to let her stay here, it’s the least she can do.

“How long have you been up?”

The question itself is not entirely unexpected. Aunt Sandra has always been highly aware of her habits; likely something that comes from being a seasoned mother. Her dark eyes are all knowing as Katie places a plate of pancakes in front of her.

“Since four,” Katie answers. She knows better than to try and lie to her aunt. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but not exactly a lie either. Aunt Sandra doesn’t push further, but she knows. Katie doesn’t have to verbally say anything; Aunt Sandra always seems to be aware of everything.

“Are you sure you’re up for work today? If you’re not feeling well, you can take the day off.”

Since the start of August, Katie has been working part time at the company her aunt works at. The pay is slightly better than her previous job at The Nightengale, and she mainly just answers phones and schedules appointments. Nothing terribly exciting, but anything is better than just sitting around alone with her thoughts.

“I’m alright,” Katie says, adding a dismissive hand to wave away her aunt’s concern. “Everything’s fine, I promise.”

She doesn’t tell her aunt about the nightmares. She suspects Aunt Sandra has an idea, but there’s not much she can do. Just like Katie, there isn’t anything she can do to stop the nightmares. All things considered, the one she had last night wasn’t even the worst one.

“Are you sure?” Aunt Sandra presses again, and subconsciously, Katie’s hands tighten around her coffee cup.

“I promise I’m fine,” Katie assures her. It’s a lie, but it’s one she’s used so often now she can almost fool herself into believing it. “I’m just a little tired. Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix.”

“You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you?”

Katie stills at the question, though it isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. Aunt Sandra is cautious, anticipating Katie’s reaction. As one of her former primary caregivers, Aunt Sandra is remarkably observant when it comes to Katie’s moods. Though they are not related by blood, her own abilities of observation are quite similar. Most of that, however, she contributes to living with her father and his ever-changing moods.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Katie admits. There’s no point in pretending she didn’t have nightmares. “It’s nothing serious, Aunt Sandra. They’re just dreams.”

Vivid, horrifying dreams, but dreams, nonetheless. Ones that leave her sweating and on the verge of breaking. It takes every ounce of self-control she has to try and not vomit after waking up. Key word being try.

Sometimes she’s successful, and other times, well, take a look at earlier this morning.

“Have your sessions been helping?”

Katie nods, too tired to try to add anything verbal. The coffee hasn’t kicked in yet and it’s too early to be questioned. She knows that her aunt means well, and she loves her, but she is not in the mood to answer thirty questions.

She can’t say the therapy doesn’t help; she’s learned different ways of coping and self-regulating. She likes her therapist for the most part. Maybe she doesn’t go as often as her therapist would like, but what’s the point really?

She imagines there aren’t that many people who could say they were kidnapped and held captive by a psychopathic serial killer. Also, how many people can say they survived a serial killer? How many could say that only a few months later, they faced their would-be-killer in court?

Not many, she imagines.

She remembers the courtroom. The trial lasted four weeks, and just like her captivity, it felt even longer. The courtroom was full of people. Not just her family and friends, but the families and friends of the other victims. Hell, even people who had taken time out of their day just to sit and listen. To get a glimpse of the man who had caused so much pain. Just outside the courthouse doors, the media was in a frenzy, eagerly waiting for a verdict.

The fevered enthusiasm of the media versus the somberness of the courtroom was hard to ignore. She didn’t miss the juxtaposition. Oregon hadn’t had a case of this magnitude in a long time, and the fact that it was a serial killer stirred up both excitement and fear. The amount of people standing outside, wanting a glimpse of the now dubbed Trust Fund Killer was astonishing to say the least.

(She remembers stepping up to the witness stand, immediately sensing his cold, unfeeling eyes on her body. Looking well groomed despite being imprisoned, his hands laced together in front of him as he listened to her speak. She tried not to look at those hands. Those very same ones that only months ago she had been at the mercy of).

She takes comfort in the fact that Cale, no, Caleb, will never be coming out of prison. The mere magnitude of his crimes was enough to warrant the death penalty in Oregon. There are some angry that he took a plea bargain, admitting to his guilt, just to avoid lethal injection. Uncle Mark had been infuriated when he heard, and it had been quite strange to hear her normally peace-loving uncle be so angry on her behalf.

It's still an adjustment knowing how unconditionally loved she is. Yet, she can’t bring herself to try and run away this time. In a morbid sense, she’d been reborn when she’d crawled out of that grave.

“Why you? Why not her? Why did she have to die? Why can’t she have lived?”

“Katie?”

Katie shakes her head, offering a small smile to her aunt. She shoves those words to the back of her mind, ignoring the sting that lingers long after. “I’m fine, yes, they’ve been helping.” She takes another long sip of coffee, feeling her aunt’s eyes still trained on her. She bites back the urge to sigh. “I actually don’t have bad dreams that often anymore. Now that he’s put away, he doesn’t haunt me as much. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

That’s most definitely a lie, but one she hopes if she repeats enough, she’ll actually start to believe.

“You are such a bad liar. Just look at you, you’re a mess. A sad and pathetic wreck of a person. Do you actually believe there is anything special about to you to have survived?”

Katie ignores his voice by taking a long, slow sip of her coffee. She gives her aunt a reassuring squeeze of the hand before resuming her breakfast.

She pretends not to hear him sneer in the background.

~

The company Aunt Sandra works for deals with computer services. An IT tech company that has been around since the early 2000s, and Aunt Sandra has been there since the beginning of the company. Katie has no qualifications to work with computers; she never went to college, but she is capable of answering phones and scheduling appointments.

The work isn’t difficult, and the people for the most part are nice. They’re well aware of who she is thanks to the media. Despite her and Aunt Sandra’s attempts at keeping the incident low profile, it’s entirely useless. Caleb’s crimes have become the focus of national attention. Which means, what little privacy she had is now out the window.

The sympathetic and curious stares she got used to. As much as she hates it, she knows it isn’t done out of malice. It’s a familiar feeling, one that takes her all the way back to her childhood. Right after Daddy was sent away and she was stuck in a back brace for months, all people did was stare. The sympathy Katie can tolerate, but the pity…

She hated the pity back then, and she still despises it even now. The people from her hometown, all of them, knew what her father was like. They knew what happened behind closed doors and merely pretended not to notice. Simply looking at her with pity when she and her grandparents headed into town or church.

The whispers are another thing entirely. She sometimes wonders if the people at work know that she can hear them. Unlike the scathing remarks she used to hear from people in her hometown, these words are cautious. They want to ask her what it was like. They want to know firsthand what being kidnapped, tortured, and almost killed, was like.

They don’t dare ask her, and they’re certainly smart enough to know not to ask Aunt Sandra. Still, she almost wants to shout at them. Just go off and tell them that it was just so much fun not knowing when her last day would be. If Caleb was going to shoot her, strangle her, or just torture her to death. That being so tightly strapped to a chair for hours and weeks on end had done serious damage to her body.

They wouldn’t understand, however. No one does, not even her family, whose support she is eternally grateful for. Yet no one will ever know what it was like. Strapped down, with no room for movement. Sometimes for days on end with no food or access to a bathroom. Being forced to eat nothing but lentil soup or having the shock collar so tightly wound around her throat. No one understands or will ever be able to.

The only ones who do are buried in the ground. Or sitting in evidence boxes with no name. From what Sean has told her, there are still many victims who don’t have identities. That very slowly, he’s been able to get that information from Caleb. For a few months now, Sean has been assisting the FBI in getting Caleb to speak. Apparently, Sean is the only one Caleb is willing to speak to.

Pompous asshole, she thinks crossly. She doesn’t envy Sean for one minute. Being alone with Caleb is enough to make even her skin crawl, and she did it for four weeks.

How many remaining victims there are, however, is not a thought she likes to think about. The fact that Sean is working so hard on finding them is touching. She doubts Caleb, or many other people understand why Sean does it, but they don’t need to. Sean could have easily pretended he didn’t see her in that house, but he didn’t. He defied death more than once just to try and save her.

That’s just who Sean is. Despite his previous hobby as a thief, he is kind and warm. They text each other every few days, just checking in and seeing how the other is doing. The bond they have together as Caleb’s final victims is something only they share. If there’s anything good to come out of this, it’s her connection to Sean.

“Hey Katie?”

She’s been sitting at the front desk, going through the motions of her job when a new voice interrupts her. She chases the somber thoughts away and plasters a small, toothless smile to the newcomer. When she realizes it’s only Jason, she relaxes a little. “Yes?” she inquires, politely, but not unkindly.

Jason is new to the company. A recent graduate from Utah Tech University, he started only a month before she did. He’s quiet, a little shy, but he’s one of the few people here that doesn’t stare or openly discuss her kidnapping. He’s more inclined to focus on his work than the gossip that travels around the office.

“There’s a delivery for you,” Jason says, a touch of pink on his freckled cheeks and a look of secondhand embarrassment. “They need you to sign it.”

This cannot be good. She doesn’t know why, but she dreads whatever it is. Her friends know where she is; if they wanted to send her something, they would have written her aunt and uncle’s address. She has no idea who would send something to her place of work.

She wracks her mind wondering who could have sent this. Obviously not Kayla or Christine. Nor would it be any of her other friends from Portland. She highly doubts Sean would have sent her something.

Could it be?...no, that isn’t possible. There’s absolutely no way. Not with where he is currently.

It’s almost silly, really, how her hands have started shaking. As she approaches the person waiting, she can hear her heart thundering against her chest. Vaguely, she’s aware of Jason following her, no doubt curious as to what it is. Or perhaps he’s coming along for moral support, which is sweet of him but not necessary.

Can inmates even send people packages? She knows they can send letters, but she isn’t sure about other deliveries. The woman waiting up front smiles, and right next to her, Katie can see what it is. A bouquet of flowers, though from whom, she has no idea. Only dreaded suspicion.

She signs the form quickly, wanting to get this over with. The smiling delivery woman leaves, completely unaware of the ball of tension that is Katie. The bouquet mocks her, assaulting her with its bright colors and added perfumes. The very thought of who could have sent them is enough to make her sway with nausea.

Why would Caleb send her anything? She means nothing to him. Just another woman whom he intended to kill. Another notch on his collection of dead women. He has never made any effort of contacting her; the only one he’s interested in speaking with again is Sean. Not her.

She is irrelevant to him. Her heart stings at the thought, for some reason that is beyond her. It isn’t scorn, or jealousy that he takes more of an interest in Sean that bothers her. It’s not that she wants to mean anything to that monster.

Maybe it’s the fact he has never given her any acknowledgement that she exists. Ever since she took her freedom back that fateful day, he has ignored her. Even in court, he never seemed to notice she was there. He stared at her when she took the stand, but other than that, it was like she didn’t exist.

Katie knows she sounds ridiculous. Why should she care about what he thinks? She doesn’t need or want his attention. The last time she had it, he nearly put a bullet in her head.

“Katie?”

She nearly jumps at the sound of Jason’s voice. He’s looking at her the same way Aunt Sandra did only a few weeks ago at breakfast. He’s looking at her as though she’s sick, which, maybe she is. Her stomach is churning violently, like she’s out to sea and about to hurl from uneven motion.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking like he wants to say more, but isn’t sure how to proceed.

“I’m fine, Jason.” Katie offers him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to stick around here; I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

Jason nods, yet the concerned look doesn’t leave his face. He’s very sweet, she thinks fondly. He’s only a couple years older than Tyler, and she can see just a little bit of her cousin in him. “If you’re sure,” he says. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

He leaves, and Katie watches him go till he turns a corner to where the cubicles are. She lets out the sigh she didn’t know she’d been holding in, turning her attention to where the flowers sit. Practically demanding her attention with their brightness and floral scent.

The bouquet is…something. Katie returns to the front desk, flowers in hand and processes them. Flowers have never been her favorite thing; she’ll take them if offered, but she has little use for dead things. Hell, she doesn’t even own a vase. She’ll have to ask Aunt Sandra, who will then see the flowers, and that will start a conversation she is not entirely looking forward to.

She isn’t an expert on flowers, but she does know a few things from Christine, who is a romantic by heart. Flowers can have more than one meaning depending on how you arranged them, or so her friend said. The red roses were obvious, who didn’t know they symbolized love? The pink tulips represented affection, or so Christine said. Katie has no idea what red tulips meant, and one quick google search has her face flushing. Passion, it said, and the implication turns her face an even brighter shade of pink.

God, she felt so silly. So paranoid. Caleb would never send her something like this. Just the thought of him doing so made her almost laugh out loud.

She picks up the note attached to the bouquet and sighs. She should have known. The only one brazen enough to do this would be Ross. Now that she no longer works for him, he can be as open as he wants about his interest in her. Not that she doesn’t appreciate the sentiment, but it’s weird. He’s known her since she was barely twenty and at the time, he’d been in his early thirties.  

“Why he’s interested in you is a mystery.”

His voice sounds in her head, petty and condescending as always. For the briefest of moments, she can see him standing against the nearby water cooler. Arms crossed and staring down at her like she’s nothing more than an ant he’d like to crush under his shoe.

“What do you have to offer anyone? Pitiful childhood trauma and abandonment issues? Like any sane man would want a woman with so much baggage.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, and places the little card back into the flowers.

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. The damage is done. Has been ever since he took her that night in March. If there’s one thing his voice is good at, it’s finding exactly what she’s insecure about and using it against her.

He takes delight in sliding the proverbial knife in between her ribs and watching her bleed out slowly.

~

Every night, without fail, Katie makes sure the doors and windows are locked.

Her evening routine is simple: all windows are secured. Latched down tight and quickly locked. Next came the front and back doors. She would sit on the couch, watching whatever was on TV or read until Uncle Mark or Aunt Sandra announced that they were ready for bed. She would then wait, watching as either one punched in the security code.

She loves them so much for this. It’s a small action, but it makes a difference. She can easily put the code in herself; it’s only four digits yet watching them do it adds an extra layer of security. Once she sees them put the code in, she knows she’s safe.

They do it without hesitation or question.

It sounds over the top. She knows she’s being obsessive with making sure things are locked down. It’s not that she enjoys being paranoid. Logically she knows Caleb cannot get her. He’s stuck in prison three states away with no access to her.

It’s just hard getting the irrational side of her to understand this.

If she doesn’t see either of them put the code in, she cannot rest. Like right now, for instance. It’s pushing on two in the morning, and she isn’t sure who put the code in, or if they forgot, which does occasionally happen. Her aunt and uncle are only human, and mistakes happen. Which wouldn’t be too bad, but now she cannot relax.

Her leg thumps against the ground in clear agitation. Her body tired, ready to relax for the night, but unable to properly wind down. She’s all too aware of the ticking of the living room clock and the soft fiber of throw she’s draped over her lap. Her hands wring together uncertainly, her eyes glued to the security alarm by the front door.

She’s been down in the living room for hours. The couch is comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as her bed. She doesn’t like sitting in armchairs, and her family has become acutely aware of this. When Jordyn, her other relatives or various friends of her family members come to visit, her aunt and uncle always make sure there is a spot on the couch available to her.

She can tolerate the dining room chairs for short periods of time, and the kitchen barstools don’t bother her at all. It’s just the armchairs that bother her. It’s not that they’re uncomfortable; it’s nothing against the furniture actually, she just doesn’t particularly like chairs anymore. If she had her way, all of them would end up in a fire to become kindling.

However, she can’t just get rid of the furniture. She cannot begin to imagine what the faces of her aunt and uncle would look like if she took them away. Or what the neighbors would say, not that she cares what they think, but she doesn’t want to cause problems for Uncle Mark and Aunt Sandra.

If she thinks about it, it’s the car seats she really doesn’t like. When she’s driving, they’re not an issue. She’s perfectly at ease in the driver’s seat. When she’s in the passenger seat, she wants nothing more than to flee.

She blames the chair that Caleb strapped her too. She can’t enjoy the simpleness of sitting next to the driver in a car without the anxiety creeping in. Fuck that chair and fuck him too.

God, she’s so tired. Katie rubs her face, fingers pressing into her closed eyes. All she wants to do is sleep, but she can’t. No one’s set the house alarm and who knows what could happen.

Chills creep along her spine at the thought of Caleb breaking into her home. Easily dispatching her aunt and uncle, her cousins, and anyone else he deems to be in his warpath. Just as he did the Sandoval family, she knows he would do the same here. Then, when he’s done leaving his bloody path through the house, he’ll come for her. This time, the bullet will hit the way it was originally intended to.

“Katie? What are you still doing up?”

She didn’t even hear Uncle Mark come down the stairs until he’s standing in front of her. Rubbing at his eyes, clearly confused as to why she’s sitting on the couch just staring at the front door. It takes a few seconds for it to dawn on him why she’s pretty much stuck on the couch.

“Shit, did I forget to set the alarm?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry Katie, I didn’t mean to forget. Long day at the hospital.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Katie shrugs, holding in the huge sigh of relief when she sees him finally put in the code. “I actually like sleeping on the couch sometimes.”

A lie, but he doesn’t need to know. After spending three weeks sleeping upright, it’s not an experience she wants to repeat. At least the couch is leagues better than that goddamn chair. She hopes whoever is charge of evidence disposed of it as soon as it was no longer needed.

“I’m heading into the kitchen for some water. You need anything?”

“I’m good.”

She watches him go into the direction of the kitchen, yawning the whole way. Katie settles against the couch, hands wringing the blanket in her lap. She doesn’t need to voice how embarrassing it is to have to depend on one of her relatives to set the alarm. She loves them for it; how without a second thought they do it, but this dependency goes against everything she is.

It’s still hard a lot of the time depending on others. She’s getting better, opening up a bit more to them, but she’s still so guarded. The walls have only lowered a little. That privilege is reserved for her friends and family. Exposing the cracks isn’t fun. It’s raw, and uncomfortable; some cracks are older than others and not pretty.

She doesn’t enjoy lying to her aunt and uncle. She’s only recently come back into their lives, and she still can’t seem to lower her reservations. Despite Kayla and Christine’s gentle support as her best friends, she’s been on her own for so long. Ever since the day Mama died, she’s only had herself to depend on. Damage like that can’t be undone in only a few months, or so her therapist said.

If she really thinks about it, she stopped being a child the moment she saw Mama’s bloodied wrists.

Mama is still an old wound. Whether she actually saw Mama in that grave isn’t something she’s brought up with anyone. She knows Mama did love her, though it wasn’t enough. Mama had her own issues, and she couldn’t take it anymore. Being married to Daddy since she was 16 and pregnant broke her.

She wonders if they ever truly loved each other. Her aunt and uncle come to mind, along with Kayla and her husband Martin, and now recently with Christine and Nick being engaged. Not that it always works out, she thinks. Love is a nice feeling, but it doesn’t fix every problem.

She almost expects him to comment. He always seems to make snide remarks whenever she’s feeling particularly low. For once, though, he is silent. Whatever, small mercies.

Thoughts of him cross her mind once more when she’s in her bed, the alarm clock next to her bed reading 2:15AM. She thinks of the cabin, now closed off from the public by the FBI. Some of the items in it have been removed and sold to the public. The dining room table, chairs, the couch. She hates the couch most of all. The first time she put on the shock collar had been on that couch. Her first kiss in over a year…

Immediately she purges that from her mind. Without thinking, she brings a hand to her lips, remembering how his felt on hers. Soft against her chapped and bloodied ones. She’s not entirely sure why he did it; he’d never done something like that before or even after again. It was a test, but what he was testing for is a mystery to her.

It’s also a mystery why she decided to start kissing him back, but she isn’t going to think about that right now. Or ever again if she can help it. As it is, Caleb kissing her that one time is strange enough. The whole incident goes into a box inside her head labeled: Do not open.

“I get you’re lonely, but I didn’t know you were that lonely,” his voice creeps in again, and she can almost picture him sneering at her from where she’s laying in her bed. “That one second when you started responding? I knew you were damaged Katie, but that damaged? It just goes to show how badly you needed my assistance. How you still do.”

“Go away!” Katie grumbles, not loud enough for anyone but her and him to hear. “Shut up and go away!”

If she could throw her pillow at a voice, she would do so in a heartbeat. Since she can’t, she merely turns onto her side and presses the pillow over her ears.

~

October in Utah tends to be mild and sunny, though some years there is a heatwave and even rarer, light snow has been known to happen. This year the weather is crisp, in the mid-seventies and no chance of rain in sight for the next two weeks. They are a week out till Halloween, so all the kids are excitedly running through the stores looking for costumes, dragging along their exasperated parents.  

Katie has never been a Halloween person. Not that she dislikes passing out candy to the kids or seeing their costumes, but she never got much excitement from it. As a child, she was never allowed to go trick or treating. When she was nine, the year before Mama died, Daddy did agree to let her go. Why, she still isn’t sure and quite frankly she doubts even he knows, but Mama had been the happiest she could be. She and Nana had put together a fairy princess costume for her, and she still remembers to this day how the glitter from the wings stuck to everything it fell on.

Nana still has pictures of her in the costume. Katie, however, doesn’t like to look at them. All it does is bring back unpleasant memories. She never did get to go, even though Daddy promised. Mama was just about to take her out when he said he changed his mind; that no daughter of his was going to go out begging for candy. Mama had been heartbroken, and it was one of the few times when she’d ever seen Mama get angry.

She didn’t stick around, no, she knew better than that. The shouting match between her parents had reached particularly ugly levels that left her with no choice but to hide in her room. Even then, she could still hear the shouts, the screaming, and the smashing of plates on the kitchen floor. She knew the neighbors heard, but as always, they shut off their lights. She went to bed that night, eyes red from crying and still in her costume.

Of course by next year, she didn’t have Mama, and by that point, she knew better than to ask.

This year will be different. For more reasons than one. She’s only just gotten off work when Uncle Mark asks her if she could pick up some bags of candy. Their neighborhood is quite big, so they’re going to need at least five bags. Four will be for the kids and one will be for the household. He doesn’t look like it, being a doctor and all, but Uncle Mark has quite the sweet tooth.

The irony is not lost on her.

She doesn’t mind, though. The weather is nice and being early afternoon the stores aren’t too crowded. Smith’s is the nearest grocery chain to her home, and she goes in expecting to be in and out. There’s an attached café next door and before she leaves, she stops to get herself a salted caramel mocha. The afternoon is lovely, and for once, she feels almost like her old self again.

Almost, she thinks, before a frown crosses her face. There are parts of her she will never get back. Parts of her that he took without hesitation.

She shakes her head, tossing her hair back determinedly. She won’t let him ruin her day. This little outing is the best one she’s had in a while. She won’t let him take that from her.

She pays for her drink, allowing it to cool for just a minute before taking a sip. She loves a good mocha, and the salted caramel only adds to the flavor. The whole building smells of coffee and tea, and she just loves the smell. It’s earthy, but not in the way that makes her skin crawl. This is warm and comforting.

That place had been cold and dank, with the clinical smell of lye and the decaying scent of dead girls.

She shivers despite the fact the building is warm. She tries not to let the thought linger. Easier said than done.

Coffee in hand, jacket tucked in the other, she turns to leave the store.

What happens next is mostly a blur. It happens so fast she isn’t even sure it actually happened until the skin on her legs are screaming from the burning sensation. She didn’t even know she screamed until she notices all eyes are on her. The café goes deafeningly quiet.

There’s a boy in front of her, staring at her in bewilderment. He can’t be more than eight or nine, and the mask he’d been wearing has been pushed up to sit on his head. It takes her a few seconds to recall what happened, her heart going a mile a minute and blood thundering in her ears.

She’d just been about to leave when the boy had jumped at her from behind a pillar. Wearing some scary mask that was clearly bought at a Party City. The mask isn’t what startled her, though it didn’t help. For some reason, it’s a clearly fake plastic chainsaw. Brandishing it in front of her right as she was heading out.

She is beyond mortified, sitting curled up on the floor with her hands raised to protect herself. Everyone is staring at her, including the baristas. No doubt everyone thinks she is an absolute lunatic. An unstable woman who freaks out over a childish prank and spills her coffee. It’s all over the floor, and while it wasn’t as hot as it could be, it still hurts. The child appears unharmed, thankfully, but he’s just as startled as she is.

The plastic chainsaw is held limply in his hand, and he stares at her owlishly. She internally berates herself for getting worked up over a plastic inanimate object, but in that moment, it wasn’t a fake chainsaw. For the merest of seconds, she’s back at the house that is now just a slab of concrete.

The man with the glassy blue eyes still haunts her. Lying on the makeshift operating table with his guts sawed open. The blood decorated the tarp covered floor and walls, and Caleb appeared completely unbothered. Forcing her to look at the man, taking pride in his handywork while all she could do was hold her face in her hands and cry.

Who that man is, she doesn’t know. She brought it up to the police, but they could not get Caleb to tell them about him. Not even Sean, who Caleb seems to respect at least a little, can get him to talk about the man. Honestly, she thinks darkly, she isn’t even sure Caleb knows who the man was. Afterall, he told her it was a favor for a friend.

What friend? She doesn’t know, and Caleb has been tightlipped about other possible criminals he knows. Serial killers typically don’t involve themselves with other killers, but there have been exceptions before.

“Miss?”

There’s a voice calling to her, and a gentle hand is on her shoulder. She jumps at the sudden contact, whipping her head around to see one of the baristas. The concerned girl calls for one of the others to grab a mop before taking Katie aside to one of the chairs.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, in a surprisingly calm manner. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

God, she does not want to go to the hospital. She hates hospitals. If she can help it, she never wants to go to one ever again. Even if her last stay hadn’t been too bad, nothing usually good comes out of staying in a hospital.

“No, I’m okay. I’m fine.” Katie shakes her head, noting how the girl doesn’t entirely look convinced. “Please, I’m okay. Really, I was just startled. Kind of silly, huh?”

“At least let me get you some ice. Hey Sam, can you grab some ice?” the barista calls out to one of the others, her hand still placed firmly on Katie’s shoulder. When she turns back to Katie, she attempts a smile. “I’ll get them to remake that drink. Please, I’m so sorry about this.”

She assumes the girl is the manager on shift, for she rounds on the kid with an anger that Katie has only ever seen on one of her managers from the past. From her first job, the managers did not allow customers to insult or attack their staff. The manager from her second job had been an ass and Ross a people pleaser, so it is not often she sees someone of a higher position be so defensive of not only their staff, but their customers as well.

The boy cowers under the glare of the manager, but it’s short lived when the door opens again. This time it’s a woman who looks to be in her mid-thirties, arms full of shopping bags and out of breath. When she sees the boy, her face changes from exhaustion to worry in a heartbeat.

“What’s going on?” she inquires, dropping her bags next to the kid and getting in between him and the manager. “Why are you speaking to my kid?”

Katie watches along with everyone else the exchange between the manager and the would-be Karen. The woman’s body language goes from protective mother, to shock, to anger within seconds. She turns on the boy, and it isn’t lost to anyone the mixture of rage and disappointment on her. The boy’s mother, clearly ashamed, begins to apologize profusely.

The small crowd is beginning to disperse, seeing as the situation is handled and there’s no need to keep looking. Katie is waiting for her new drink, pressing the ice bag on her shins and watching one of the other workers mop the area. She’s sitting there idly when the boy and his mother come over, the manager lingering in the background just to make sure everything is alright.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the woman asks the boy, her voice so sharp it nearly takes Katie aback. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, unable to look Katie in the face. “I’m really sorry, ma’am.”

Internally she cringes at being called ma’am. She’s never been liked being addressed so formally, but she pushes it aside. She nods to the boy in recognition. “It’s alright,” she tells him, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “It’s okay, no harm done.”

Both the boy and his mother look at the ice pack on her legs. The woman gives her son one last glare before focusing on Katie. “Please, I apologize for my son’s actions. He clearly wasn’t thinking, but that’s no excuse. Please, can I get you something? It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m fine, really,” Katie tries to protest, just as another barista brings her drink to her. “It was just an accident. I’m okay, I swear.”

It was a stupid reaction anyway. Dropping her coffee over a child’s silly antics. She should have known better than to overreact.

The woman leaves her then, heading to the front of the café to speak to the manager again. Katie is left alone with the boy, who still can’t quite meet her face. She isn’t mad at him, she really isn’t. It was stupid thing to do, sure, but she can’t stay mad at a kid who clearly is ashamed of his actions.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, face downcast. “I didn’t meant to make you cry. I’m really, really sorry, ma’am.”

Katie offers him a small smile. “I promise you that I’m fine,” she says, and he finally allows his gaze to meet hers. He looks so dejected, she can’t help but give him a long, slow wink. The same kind Mama used to give to her. “But I really do appreciate the apology. Thank you.”

“You’re the lady from the TV,” the kid suddenly blurts out. Not too loud, but it definitely catches her attention. “You’re the lady who put that bad guy in prison.”

She pulls back slightly, not anticipating the admiration that seeps in his tone. Nor is she ready for the amazement in his gaze. At once, she knows she’s been labeled some kind of hero in this kid’s mind.

But she’s not sure she’s quite ready for such a high level of admiration. Her nickname from Sean is Iron girl, but right now, she doesn’t feel like Iron girl. Iron girl is strong, steadfast and brave despite her fear. She doesn’t feel like the same woman who crawled out the pit right now.

She is both long removed from that situation, and yet somehow not. She is, and isn’t, the same woman from before. The days following her liberation have been long and often dismal.

To be honest, she isn’t quite sure where she fits in anymore.

The kid looks like he wants to ask a whole bunch of questions, but he is mercifully cut short by the return of his mother. The woman extends something to her, which Katie immediately realizes it is a gift card. Her face goes pink, though before she can’t politely decline, the woman speaks.

“I’m sorry again for the trouble. I know you’ve been through a lot.”

She doesn’t need to explain what she means by that; Katie knows. The way the woman stares at her meaningfully, pressing the gift card in her hand. Before she can say anything, the woman takes her kid, and they leave the store without so much as a second glance. She understands the woman’s embarrassment, but this truly isn’t necessary. She’s fine; she doesn’t need to be pitied.

“Could you be anymore ungrateful? I swear all you do is cause problems for those around you. Is it any wonder your father tried to get rid of you?”

“Shut up,” she internally snaps back.

She leaves when she believes no one notices. The after school and work crowd are starting to enter, so she slips out the door with little fanfare. She shivers at the October chill, holding her drink with one hand as she wraps her jacket around her.

Unfortunately, she’ll have to cross this café off her list of places to go to.

~

Tyler comes back from Sacramento the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, having just recently turned 21, and talking everyone’s ear off about how much he’s enjoying his third year at California State University. He’s majoring in Physical Therapy, and while Katie doesn’t understand much about it, she’s more than happy to sit and listen to him talk enthusiastically at her.

Jordyn returns Wednesday, and it’s very much the same with her. Katie tries to give her and Tyler some space, seeing as it’s the first time the two siblings have seen each other in months, but they quickly drag her back. Despite all that’s happened, and the awkwardness that’s still there, they still view her as their long-lost older sister. It’s less awkward than last summer, where no one quite knew what to say.

She tries to apologize, but the words are hard to say. She was a damaged kid with a broken heart who’d been let down too many times. She lashed out at the two of them, even though they were kids as well. A part of her resented them for having kind, loving parents. It wasn’t fair to them, and she regrets that now.

Somehow, they understand. Jordyn takes her hand, squeezing it. Tyler nods to her in the solemn way he does that reminds her so much of Uncle Mark. She doesn’t know how much they’ve been told about her father, their uncle, but now that they’re older she imagines they know a bit more.

Thanksgiving itself is a quiet affair. Just the five of them enjoying each other’s company. Normally Nana and Grandpa have Thanksgiving with Uncle Mark, but this year, they’ve gone to stay with her Uncle Steven and Aunt Sarah in Alpine. It’s the first Thanksgiving in nine years that she’s attended with any of her relatives. She almost feels like she’s intruding, but that feeling doesn’t stay for long. For a few hours, she’s laughing and enjoying her family. For just a few hours, he doesn’t exist. He is shoved into the dark recesses of her mind.

At least, for a little while.

On Friday, they all go out Back Friday shopping. Salt Lake City is packed, but somehow, Katie makes sure they all get to where they need to go without much issue. She prefers driving, even in the traffic packed big cities. Twice Uncle Mark has asked her if she wants a break, but she merely shakes her head. The offer is appreciated, but she can’t begin to explain why she prefers to be in the diver’s seat.

Technically she can, but it’s not a subject she wants to talk about.

They split up, Aunt Sandra heading into a nearby Bath and Body Works while Uncle Mark ventures into Barnes and Nobles. They wander through the mall, Jordyn talking endlessly about her computer science program. Katie has no idea what half the words she’s using are, and by the looks of Tyler lingering the background, he doesn’t either. Jordyn’s ability to talk a mile a minute is both fascinating and hard to keep up with.

The three of them are hanging out in the food court when it happens. For the past ten minutes, Katie’s been picking listlessly at her sesame chicken. Even back in Portland, eating in public was never something she did very often. Drinking at a bar with her friends on their girls’ night was one thing, but food she did rarely. She doesn’t tell this to Tyler or Jordyn though, and simply opts to nibble on her food. If her cousins notice, they don’t say anything.

She’s been scraping the seeds off the chicken when Tyler speaks up. “I think that girl’s staring at us,” he whispers, loud enough for her and Jordyn to hear. “Scratch that, is she…is she taking pictures?”

She has no idea what Tyler is talking about, and from the looks of it, Jordyn doesn’t either. Katie looks past Jordyn’s shoulder subtly, trying to see who Tyler is talking about. Her youngest cousin has to turn slightly just to be able to see who her brother’s pointing out.

“Don’t look,” Tyler snaps quickly, eyes narrowed in the direction of the stranger. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

He stands, and Katie has to practically yank him back down, which isn’t easy since he’s a hell of a lot taller than she is now. “Ignore her,” Katie grumbles, glancing towards the girl at the table near theirs. She internally groans when she realizes her cousin’s right; this girl was taking photos of them. “Come on, let’s just eat our lunch and get out of here.”

“I want to talk to her,” Tyler states, stabbing his orange chicken with more vigor than necessary. “Who does she think she is? It’s illegal to take a photo of someone without permission?”

“Doesn’t count if it’s in public,” Katie corrects absently, flicking a piece of rice off her now cold chicken. “Just ignore her, Tyler. I honestly don’t care.”

The media has plenty of photos of her. What’s one more to add to their supply? Frustrating as it is, her life isn’t her own anymore. She’s likely to be bothered by the media till the day she dies. Sean too hasn’t escaped their frenzy and he’s out in the middle of the fucking Midwest.

“She’s coming over here,” Jordyn hisses, practically gripping the edge of the table in preparation to leap up. “She’s coming over here!”

“Just ignore her,” Katie repeats, but her cousins, bless them, have gone into protective mode. Nothing she says will persuade them otherwise.

The girl looks to be around Tyler’s age. Her long blonde hair is done into two braids that sit perfectly on her small shoulders. She’s dressed comfortably for the mall, though Katie doesn’t miss the logo on her t-shirt. True Crime and wine. She holds back the snort she wants to let out at the tacky article of clothing. Could she be anymore transparent with her intentions?

“Can we help you?” Jordyn asks, and Katie is almost taken aback by how cold she sounds.

“Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. In fact, she’s not even looking at Jordyn while she’s speaking. “I was just sitting over there, and I couldn’t help but wonder, are you the girl who survived the Trust Fund Killer?”

If the girl notices all three of them staring at her in disbelief, she doesn’t show. Their lack of response does not deter her in the slightest. She merely stands there, waiting for a reply, even though every sign is pointing towards her to go away.

She’s not going to get the hint, Katie notes with a sigh. “Yes,” she finally says, leaning back in her seat to get a good look at the girl. “Will that be all? Or are you wanting an autograph?”

Generally speaking, Katie typically isn’t rude to strangers. Only the ones who bother her when she’s clearly not looking to socialize. This girl doesn’t seem to get the hint. Or maybe she does, and she just doesn’t care.

“Oh my god, I totally knew it! It’s the biggest true crime case of the year! I mean, other than the arrest of the Golden State Kiler. It’s amazing how they got him put away so fast, can you believe it? Has to be all that money he has. That, and he’s not bad looking. I never thought Bundy was all that good looking, but Valkenberg? When I first saw him, I was like no way could he be a killer? I know people said that about Bundy and a bunch of others, but for real, a guy as good looking as him couldn’t have been killing a bunch of girls, right? You should see some of the edits people have made of him; he’s extremely good looking…”

There’s no room to interject in on the girl’s rambling. Neither Katie nor her cousins can get a word in over the girl’s incessant babble. Both Tyler and Jordyn are stunned in disbelief. Not that Katie can blame them. She can hardly believe it either and she was there to experience it firsthand.

As for Caleb being attractive? The idea sounds ridiculous, yet she can almost see where the girl is coming from. He’s tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The fact he’s rich would-be a plus to many. She’s not surprised at all. She’s seen girls like this one before.

During the month-long trial, it wasn’t just the families and friends of the victims. Nor was it the curious spectators and the media. Somehow during all this, Caleb had amassed a group of fangirls. These strangers who didn’t know him claimed he was innocent. Her friends and family had tried to shield her from them, but she’d seen images of women with Caleb’s name written across their bare chests, hoping beyond hope that he would see their tits out for him and somehow be impressed. 

A few of them made it into the court room, trying to get near Caleb so they could catch his interest. He never paid them any mind. He ignored their desperate cries for attention, their declarations of love. It astounds her to this day how willfully naïve they all were. Did they not understand that they are all beneath him? How disrespectful it was in that courtroom to be praising him while the families of those deceased girls were in that room?

This girl in front of her sickens her.

And it wasn’t just girls either. There were plenty of red-pilled men who had no problem defending Caleb’s crimes. Mostly online, however, and Kayla had seethed at a few tweets that had popped up on her twitter page. The only man she did see who was so defensive of Caleb been removed and detained by the police for being considered dangerous. She’d only ran into him once, when he’d been going off about how Caleb was innocent, and that the other girls deserved what they got. How Caleb didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

They all sicken her. Every last one of them. Right now, though, this girl sickens her the most just from her sheer audacity to be facing her now.

“I just wonder why he did it, you know?” The girl is still going on, despite the fact that every single person at their table is glaring at her. Did she know how to take a breath? “What caused him to do it? Why did he pick them? Did those girls offend him somehow? Did he ask them out and they turned him down? If that’s the case, well, their loss because I probably would have said yes. Then I would probably be dead, but-”

“Shut up.”

The words have left her mouth before she can even process them. Both Tyler and Jordyn have turned to her, not expecting it when she just told them moments before to ignore her. Mercifully, the girl has stopped talking and she’s now looking at Katie like a goldfish.

Katie can’t stop herself. Not now. Not when this girl is insulting her sisters. If it hadn’t been for Sean’s inspiration, she would be just like them. Abandoned and rotting in that pit. This girl should consider herself lucky. If Caleb hadn’t been stopped, she might have become the next one.

“Are you fucking serious?” Katie continues, her voice low and hard as the skull she’d gripped onto while pulling herself out of the grave. “You want to know what he was like? Valkenberg is a monster. A cold, unfeeling monster who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. All he does is torture and play games with people. He likes to control people. You think he would have given one damn about you? Some true crime fanatic with nothing better to do with her time than harass others?”

The girl opens her mouth to interject, but Katie doesn’t let her. “You want to know what it was like? It was hell. Pure hell. You know what it’s like not knowing which day will be your last? Which day he’ll finally decide to put a bullet in your head? I’ve had one in mine and let me tell you, it wasn’t fun. I was lucky. Those girls you so carelessly speak of were not.”

Again, the girl opens her mouth to speak. Unfortunately or not for her, Katie isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“Are you so busy being a “pick me” that you can’t hear how stupid you sound? Those girls were innocent. All they did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, I don’t even understand why he chose me!”

The girl is completely silent. Her face is pale in contrast to the angry pink that Katie knows is dusting her own. Whoever this girl is, she’s been mollified for the time being.

Fifteen women were in that pit. Four of them are still unidentified, and they are still looking around on the property for more bodies. There might be even more properties that belong to Caleb full of dead women. Other states have identified him as the killer of the various women uncovered by random people. She doesn’t envy the work Sean and Agent Fuller have put in.

“And those girls? They have names, you know,” Katie finally adds, hands clenching the table to steady herself. Last thing she needs is to be arrested for assault. “Andrea, Natalie, Jessica, Melissa, Ava, Rachel, Lauren, Erin, Brooke, Heidi,” she lists them off, including a pause between each name.

“Michelle,” she adds internally. “April.”

April had been the one before her. She was Tyler’s age and attended the same college. Lived in Sacramento her whole life, and like Katie, likely never believed she would end up the victim of a serial killer.

“Why you? Why not her? Why did she have to die? Why can’t she have lived?”

Her stomach rolls violently, and for a moment, she thinks she’s going to be sick. Jordyn is burning holes into her, ready to drag her to the nearest bathroom if she loses it in the mall’s food court. Tyler is solemn, looking so much like Uncle Mark when he’s disappointed in someone.

“Let’s go.” She motions for her cousins to get up. They’re pretty much done anyway, and she imagines none of them want to linger around any longer. Tyler takes her tray for her, shooting the girl one last glare before heading to the trash can. The girl is still there, her expression reminding Katie of a computer that’s just crashed and given its user the blue screen of death.

There’s nothing more to say to this girl. She wasn’t nearly as harsh as she could have been, but she doesn’t care. At this moment, all she wants to do is get out of here and away from this girl.

She feels Jordyn take her by the arm, linking it within hers. “Are you okay?” her cousin asks, low enough so that only they can hear. “We can go home if you want; that girl was absolutely out of line.”

Katie shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she says. “She’s just a weirdo. Nobody worth getting worked up over. Come on, let’s go find your dad. You know how he gets when he’s surrounded by books. He’ll want to take them all home.”

“You sure?”

She’s getting tired of being asked that question. Not that she blames Jordyn; she’s a sweet girl, but it’s exhausting. She’s exhausted and it’s only half past twelve.

They don’t get it. Her aunt and uncle, Tyler and Jordyn, they just don’t get it. Katie could try to explain it to them till she’s blue in the face and they still wouldn’t get it. They know almost all the details of what she’s experienced, and yet it’s a foreign concept to them.

So it’s best not to tell them. She’s not pushing them away, but she can’t be entirely honest with them. Not about what she’s endured. Especially her cousins, who are barely adults and have their own worries. She can look after herself.

She swallows it down. Takes the pain and squashes it down till it’s barely a pinprick in her thoughts. She takes Jordyn’s hand into hers and squeezes it. Even if she can’t entirely open up about the pain, she wants her cousin to know she appreciates her.

She takes Tyler’s hand and squeezes it too, just for good measure.

She’s almost surprised when they squeeze her hands back.

~

The Hopgood annual Christmas party is not something she’s especially looking forward to.

She supposes she could have skipped it, but she knows it would only lead to her aunt and uncle getting bombarded by her other concerned relatives. Albeit relatives she hasn’t seen in years and only knows how they’re doing through Facebook, but still. She makes the thirty-minute drive to Eureka, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than she needs to.

She hasn’t been back in years. Not since Nana and Grandpa’s Christmas party of 2008. Ten years have passed since she’s seen her grandparents.

Somehow, they haven’t changed much. Aside from the fact they’re older and move a little slower, they’re very much the same. Grandpa doesn’t say much, which isn’t unusual for him. Katie is a lot like him in a way. Solemn, quiet, and unable to go five minutes without having to do something. Nana is more extroverted. She loves throwing parties and wearing makeup, and she’s always in the middle of something whenever Katie looks back on her childhood.

When she got back to Utah, Grandpa and Nana came to visit for a week. The tension, Katie remembers, you could practically cut with a knife. It isn’t animosity that is there; she could never hate her grandparents. They tried to cover up the scars when they took her in, broken bones and all. They just didn’t know how to handle her trauma, and she can’t entirely blame them for it.

The party this year is the first time everyone has gathered under one roof. All five of Mama’s siblings and their spouses are here, along with their kids and their partners. Tiffany, the daughter of Mama’s eldest sister, Patricia, had a baby only a few months ago. She’s glad she isn’t the entire main focus of the gathering, seeing as people are quite enamored by the barely three-month-old baby boy.

The only one who doesn’t seem to be happy she’s here is her Aunt Jean, but she doesn’t care. According to Aunt Sandra, Aunt Jean never liked her mama, something that exasperates her Uncle Bobby. She knows Uncle Bobby was Mama’s favorite brother, so she can only imagine the tension that occurred during the early years of her aunt and uncle’s relationship.

Which is weird, considering Mama was fifteen years younger than her brother. What she actually believes is Aunt Jean was jealous of her husband’s youngest sister. Aunt Jean is not physically ugly, but Mama was, for a time, considered one of the prettiest girls in town. She never liked Mama, and that only solidified when Mama got pregnant at sixteen.

Aunt Jean’s dislike of her mama extends to her simply because of that. Katie doesn’t pay it any mind. It’s beyond stupid and the woman is nearing her sixties. Did she really have nothing better to do than hold petty grudges?

It’s while everyone is distracted by her cousin’s baby that Katie slips away. Up the stairs and to a place she knows very well. She stands in front of the door with bated breath, hand lingering on the old brass handle. She hasn’t been up here in years. Not since she was transferred to her aunt and uncle’s home when she was fifteen.

With a deep breath, she pushes the door open.

Surprisingly, not much has changed. Aside from a few things that weren’t there before, the room stands relatively untouched by time. The bed’s still there, with the same quilted blanket and pillow. The worn oak dresser and slightly scratched mirror. The unfortunate shag rug from the seventies that Nana can’t quite seem to let go of.

Katie stands in the middle of the room, arms folded over her stomach and taking it all in. For a moment, she feels like a teenager again. A decade has gone by, and another one about to pass, since she’d been here. Her fingers trace the quilt, and briefly, she can see her and Ethan on this bed.

A lifetime has gone by since then.

“Oh, Katie, I didn’t know you were up here.”

Katie turns, wondering how she didn’t hear Nana walking down the hall. Her grandparents’ room is two doors down, and in Nana’s hands, is an old blanket. Blue and faded, with the engravings J.G on it. Nana notices her staring, turning the blanket over in her hands and smiles ruefully.

“I know you thought you burned everything of his in that little bonfire idea of yours.” Nana sighs, but she doesn’t sound angry. She merely stares at the blanket, unable to meet Katie’s eyes. “I had other things of his stored away. Mark’s too, though I am glad you didn’t start burning up his things when you went to go live with them.”

“Sorry,” Katie says, but she doesn’t entirely mean it. She’s only sorry she made Nana sad; she could care less about her father. She clears her throat, looking around the room to avoid her Nana’s somber gaze. “So, what’s the blanket for?”

“Oh, I just thought the baby might be getting a bit chilly. It’s colder than usual this time of year. Global warming, right?”

“Climate change,” Katie corrects, and Nana simply blinks. She clears her throat uncomfortably. “They’re calling it climate change, now. They stopped calling it global warming years ago.”

“Oh, how nice.”

God, why does this have to be so awkward? There’s a storm of emotions in her heart, a storm she isn’t sure she wants to unleash all at once. Just looking at the blanket, knowing who it originally belonged to, is enough to make her head swim. She wants to tear the thing to shreds, start another burning pile and be rid of it. She wants to remove all traces of this man from her life.

Him and Caleb.

But she can’t. She isn’t an angry teenager anymore. Well, technically she’s an angry adult. Adults, however, cannot go around burning people’s things without consequences. Adults communicate with each other. Or they try to, anyhow. She’s seen very few people in this family effectively communicate with each other.

“When did you know about Daddy?” Katie asks softly. It’s the first question she’s asked about her father in many years. Ever since leaving the hospital at thirteen, she hasn’t asked.

“What do you mean?” Nana replies, and Katie can see her eyes narrowing.

“About how he is, I mean,” she amends, huffing. She doesn’t mean to come across as impatient, but can Nana not see how this is uneasy for her as well? “When did you know?”

Nana is quiet. The quietest that Katie has ever seen her, not including Mama’s funeral. The old woman stares at the blanket in thought, lips pursed together and weathered fingers stroking the initials of her second born. When she does speak, her voice is soft. Worn and weary is the best way Katie can describe it.

“I’ve always known,” Nana admits, the rueful smile now bitter. “Not that he had OCD, but that he was different from the other children. Different from Mark and the other boys. A mother always notices these things. Your grandfather and I knew that something was off about him.”

“Why not take him to a doctor?” she asks, not entirely sure what to make of the answer. Her stomach rolls at the creeping realization. “Did you and Grandpa…not do anything?”

At this, Nana’s gaze snaps to hers. “When your grandfather and I were growing up in the 50s, do you think we knew much about these things? Mental disorders were not talked about and those who had them were kept away from the public. Cared for in the privacy of their homes by their families. When your father was born in 1971, things were still very much the same.”

Katie doesn’t speak. Not that Nana gives her much time to do so. Her grandmother is on a roll now, gripping the baby blanket so tight it might tear.

“Psychiatry itself wasn’t a thing here. Not in small towns like ours. You have to understand that, Katie. We did the best with what we knew. Your father wasn’t easy growing up. Even as a child he had such a violent temper. He was so paranoid, and his tantrums of things not being in order could go on for hours. As his mother, I did the best I could. Your grandfather suggested sending him away, but I couldn’t do that. Not to my child.”

Her Nana’s eyes are full of tears. It’s a sight that she’s never seen often, and just looking at her now is a shock. “And Mama?” Katie inquires, suddenly finding the will to speak. “What about Mama? Why her? He was four years older than her, right?”

At the mention of Mama, Nana shakes her head. Like Mama is a bad memory she would rather soon forget. “Your mother, Katie, was a kind soul. Beautiful, you know. Always had a smile for everyone, including your father. He was shy around women, but Dana was different. I know what you all think about age gaps now, but back then, things were different. He never had eyes for anyone but your mother.”

“So why did he hurt her?” the question slips out before she can stop it. “Why did he drive her to suicide?”

“He needed help,” Nana admits, a soft, broken sound escaping her. She brings the blanket close to her chest, holding it to her heart. “God knows he needed help, but I thought…I thought that Dana might be able to do it. She was so kind and patient, and after she got pregnant with you I thought she would be what he needed. If I had known the extent of what was going on, I would have…”

She trails off, staring off into the empty hallway. She doesn’t need to finish that sentence; Katie knows. It’s not reassuring to know that Nana had an inkling of what was going on in their home. She wonders if Nana ever saw the bruises on Mama. The ones she would try to cover up with long sleeves and the occasional foundation.

“Why didn’t you try to take me in sooner?” It’s the question she really wants an answer to. Why for almost three years they allowed her to take on responsibilities that were not appropriate for a child her age. “Why wait till he tried to kill me?”

Nana flinches at the accusation. “He didn’t try to kill you, Katie. I don’t believe that for one second. He was in a fit of rage; he wasn’t thinking. He loved you.” She stops at the snort that Katie doesn’t attempt to hide. There’s a fierceness in her gaze that Katie isn’t used to seeing on her. “You have to understand, Katie. We did the best we knew how. After your mother died, we didn’t think it would be a good idea to remove you. He was your father, and children need to stay with their parents.”

“Even if those parents are unstable?” The urge to run out of the room is overwhelming, but she’s tired of that. She’s tired of running from this uncomfortable topic. It’s been waiting for years and none of them are getting any younger. “You know he wasn’t well, Nana. Why leave me with him?”

She’s so sure Nana’s seen the marks, the bruises left on her in places unseen. Daddy rarely would strike her in the face, not wanting to leave obvious bruises. The belt she remembers vividly, along with the occasional fist and thrown beer bottle. Normally those would land near the wall, but sometimes a stray shard of glass would cut her skin.

She still has a tiny scar on her right cheek from one. It required four stitches and if the nurse and doctor attending her found it odd, they said nothing. Stitched up the wound and sent her back to her father.

It’s astounding, sometimes, knowing how nearly every adult in her life failed her.

“A child needs their parents,” Nana says eventually. In the hallway, she stands tall and absolute. Her shoulders squared back in a way that tells Katie that Nana’s going to stand by what she says no matter how badly she might react. “He was your father, Katie. A girl needs her father in her life. There are too many children out there with no parents and look at the consequences. Lord knows your father had his issues, but he loved you. He still does, you know. He asks about you every time your grandfather and I visit.”

“What?”

For a moment, she is stunned. It’s not as though she didn’t hear her grandmother’s words; she definitely did, but somehow it won’t process. Her grandparents visiting Daddy is one thing, but to tell her that? In what universe would she ever want to know? Not even Uncle Mark, to her knowledge, has had contact with his brother.

“Not that we had much to tell him these past few years,” Nana adds, allowing just a little bit of annoyance to slip in. “But he knows about what happened last spring. He saw you on the news during the trial. I believe he wrote to the man who did those awful things to you. He’s written you letters too, but since we didn’t have your address and Mark didn’t feel comfortable giving it to us, he wasn’t able to send them.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She’s seeing red at this point. This kind of rage that she has not felt in many months. Not since Caleb decided to take what little she’d been able to piece back together of herself and unceremoniously break it once more. There’s only so many times a person can break before they are completely shattered beyond repair. Katie is no exception to that.

Opening herself up to her grandmother like this is painful. It’s a raw, burning sensation that she does not like to show. She never allows herself to be this vulnerable with anyone. If there is one thing she possibly relates to Caleb on, it’s this inability to truly be vulnerable with another human being.

The stark difference between them is that she tries. She tries to connect with others, to remind herself that she is human. Caleb would rather pretend he isn’t and take his own issues out on people who have done nothing to him.

“I’m tired, Kathleen,” the sound of her true name snaps her focus back to Nana. In the soft lighting of the hallway, she can see just how much she’s aged these past years. “I’m old, and I’m tired. If hating me makes you feel better, then by all means do so. We all have our burdens to bear, and I am no different. But your grandfather and I always strived to do what we thought was best for you. I don’t know how else I can make you understand or believe that.”

She watches Nana leave, turning on her heel and heading back down the stairs to the rest of the family. What she expected to gain from this, she didn’t know. She’s always known that her grandparents weren’t equipped to deal with her trauma. They came from a generation of sweeping these sorts of things under the rug.

It doesn’t make her feel any better, though.

She feels like a teenager all over again. Trapped and restless, itching to hide where no one can see her. She’s too old to sneak out windows now, but since everyone downstairs is either drunk or distracted, she doubts they’ll noticed her if she disappears. Her eyes burn, but she knows if she lets one tear shed, the dam will break. It will crumble and she will be exposed. She doesn’t want to be near people when that happens.

The backyard is barely lit, cold, and Katie sits out there comfortably. While everyone’s attentions are elsewhere she’d slipped out the kitchen door to the back yard. She sits on the steps of the back porch, not caring how cold it is or how the wind bites against the drying tear marks on her cheeks.

She considers calling Kayla or Christine but thinks better of it. Christine is spending Christmas with Nick and her family in Seattle, and Kayla with her husband’s family in Trinidad and Tobago. Her aunt and uncle are making polite small talk with her Uncle Paul and Aunt Meghan. Tyler is joking around with her cousin Kyle, and Jordyn is jabbering away with Kyle’s youngest sister, Alyssa.

Katie wraps her arms around herself in a futile attempt at keeping warm. She doesn’t want to bother her family inside. It’s the first time in months they’ve all gathered like this and there’s a lot of catching up to do. She’ll be fine out here, in the dark winter night. She’s fine, she reminds herself. She’ll be fine. She has to be fine.

“You can lie to yourself, but I see right through you. How long are going to keep this charade up? You can lie all you want, but not to me. How long till you do the same as your mother and slit your own wrists?”

“Go away,” Katie grumbles, but it sounds weak. She’s too exhausted to fight him. “I’m not going to do the same as Mama.”

She couldn’t do that to her aunt and uncle. Not even to her grandparents. How would it look that she survived a serial killer, but not her own inner turmoil? If she were to die right now, what would the other victims’ families think? What would Sean think?

She shudders at the thought, a visceral reaction that almost surprises her. She can imagine his somber face at her funeral, devastated with grief. Perhaps he would be thinking how much of a waste it was to try and save her, only to have her be unable to handle the aftermath and do the unthinkable.

Out of all the people listed, why would his reaction hurt the most?

“Why you? Why not her? Why did she have to die? Why can’t she have lived?”

She can see the woman in her mind clearly. She will never forget what she looks like, not till her dying day. The woman dressed in black and clutching April’s photo tightly to her chest. She remembers the words, the way her husband hurriedly pulled her away, and her son staying behind to apologize.

She doesn’t blame the woman. She can’t. She understands, even though it hurts. The wound from those sharp words can’t seem to stop bleeding. She can place as many bandages as she wants over it, but it can’t seem to stop.

Katie lets out a shaky breath, wishing now she had brought a blanket outside. The Utah wind is painfully cold at this time at night. Still, she feels safer out here. In the cover of night, she can disappear. There’s a certain safety in loneliness that she can’t shake off. She’s by herself, with no one to watch or look at her. She doesn’t need to pretend she’s fine, or be anything else, she can just be.

And right now, she allows herself to break down and quietly cry.

Until her phone rings, and when she sees who’s calling, she answers almost immediately.

“Oh, hey Sean.” She clears her throat, in an attempt to sound composed. She wipes her eyes with her free hand, as if he can somehow see that she’s been crying. “Merry Christmas! How’s everything been?”

“Christmas isn’t for three more days,” Sean replies, amused. “But Merry Christmas to you too. I’m good, back in Portland to be with my family. How’s the party going?”

“It’s fine, kind of boring, actually. My Aunt Jean isn’t drunk yet, so the real fun hasn’t begun. She gets really loud when she’s drunk and will fight with anyone who looks as her funny.”

“Wow, now that’s descriptive. You sure you’re not Irish?”

Katie laughs at the stupidity of how that sounds. “Stereotyping now, are we?” she asks, but she doesn’t mind. Anything to take the tension off her shoulders. “Alright, technically we have a predominantly Irish ancestry. But I’m not sure that counts.”

“Ah-ha!” he laughs triumphantly.

In spite of this, Katie raises an eyebrow. “Was that really warranting an “ah-ha?”” she asks, not that she really needs an answer.

“Just a joke to lighten things up. You seem kind of down. Everything alright?”

She wonders how he can tell. She’s been good at pretending for years, and she’s only known him for a few months. It’s probably because she’s spent the past couple minutes crying in the dark. Her voice sounds funny even to her. He can probably hear how strange she sounds even from Oregon.

“I’m fine,” she says to Sean, wiping her eyes quickly. The tears are starting to build up again. “Just tired, but I’m fine.”

“You know,” Sean begins, carefully, as though he’s deliberately choosing words that won’t upset her. “You don’t have to be fine. Not that I’m saying you’re not, but you don’t have to be. This time of year brings out a lot of feelings for some reason.”

There’s so much truth in that statement. He’s absolutely correct. The confrontation with Nana isn’t one she originally planned on having.

The mess that is her is so overwhelming. The jumbled chaos of her thoughts and heart are too painful to try and construct right now. Things were fine before, when she was the woman she used to be. The one who could handle everything without doubt. Putting a mile between her past and who she became as an adult. She isn’t that woman anymore. She misses that woman; misses her and the problems that seem mild in comparison to the ones she has now.

“It’s…different now,” Katie eventually says. “After everything, you know? I’m still me, I think. Sometimes. And other times, I…”

She trails off, not sure she wants to affirm the epiphany that’s just emerging from an unwanted box in her head.

“Yeah?” Sean inquires.

“Sometimes I think it would be better if I was back there. Like it would be better if I was in that grave. I thought coming back to Utah would make things better, but it hasn’t. I’m back with my family, I go to therapy sometimes, and it still isn’t enough. He won’t give me my sense of self back. He’s taken every part of me and put a piece of himself in. I still hear him, you know. See him sometimes, too.”

She takes a ragged breath. The tears have started falling, the wind making them feel like ice against her flushed cheeks. Sean stays quiet, likely in shock by how whiny and demented she sounds. She doesn’t blame him. She hates how she sounds too, but she’s on a roll. There is no stopping the barrage of words that are tumbling from her mouth.

“He’s taken everything from me, and the worst part is, I don’t mean anything to him. Maybe if I had done something to him, everything he put me through would somehow be justified. But all I did was serve him that one time he came into my job. And why should I care that I don’t mean anything to him? I shouldn’t need acknowledgement from him! But God, I do. Is it bad that I just…I just want to know why me?”

She’s shaking, but not from the cold. The tears are dripping down her face like a waterfall, and for once, she doesn’t care. She’s being selfish, unloading this all on Sean, but she can’t stop. She doesn’t want to stop.

She takes a breath, forcing herself to reel her selfish urges back in. “Jesus, here I am rambling like an idiot. Unloading all this on you. It isn’t fair, not to you. I’m sorry,” she says, rubbing the heel of her free hand into her eye to wipe away the tears. “Some Christmas this is turning out to be, huh?”

Katie half expects Sean to hang up. Block her number and never speak to her again. She wouldn’t blame him either.

Yet, he doesn’t. He doesn’t do any of those things.

“You don’t have to apologize. Not to me,” Sean says, his voice soft like the snow that’s beginning to fall outside. “Actually, I’m glad, if I’m being honest. It’s the first time you’ve sounded genuine. Not that I’m trying to call you a liar. I’m just…glad that I’m not alone in the weird feelings department, you know?”

Weird feelings department. Well, truer words have never been spoken. She lets out a short laugh, even though it’s really not that funny. He gets it, in a way. In some way, she thinks he understands. Their experiences with Caleb are different, but Sean knows.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “And sorry for the freak out. It’s really not like me, I swear.”

“Sounds like it was needed. Please, don’t apologize, I’m good. And you’re welcome.”

“I want to see you.”

She wants to slap herself aside the head for sounding so forward. While she isn’t the type to bullshit around with her intentions, this is rather blindsiding. Especially for Sean, who just a few seconds ago had to listen to her rant about her messed up emotions.

Fuck, what is she, a teenager?

Why he also rolls with it makes no sense.

“Sure, you still want to see that arch, right?”

She smiles, and the simple action seems to wipe away just a little bit of heaviness on her heart. Not by a lot, but it helps. Even if for a little while.

“I do,” she admits. “More than anything.”

More than anything, she wants to get away. Not forever, but just for a little while. She wants to see Sean again. Without blood and bruises covering both of them. Not at a serial killer’s murder cabin or some stark-clean hospital. Just Sean.

If this is the one good thing that comes out of this night, she’ll take it. She’ll take whatever chance at a semblance of happiness she can.

If Caleb has anything to say about it, he remains silent.