62

The door to the gallery is unlocked. Whoever is orchestrating thisobviouslywants me to walk right in.

I pass through the deathly quiet rooms. The security camera lights are off;they'veall been tampered with.The exit signs give the rooms a soft glow, butthere'sno sign of anyone.

Adrenaline courses under my skin, every cell on edge with tension. Where the fuck are you, Ava?

If there wasanydoubt that this mystery man took her because of me,it'sgone from my mind. Hedidn'tlure me to some secluded warehouse.He'sled me into the gallerythatI'vebeen part of for yearsnow.

But who the fuck is he?

The first two floors are silent as I climb the stairs, the quiet weighing on me like torture.

A thought hits me. The attic, where Liza said her new piece was being exhibited. I quickly find the twisting stairs up to the highest level and push open the door.

Something twists in my chest as I enter as if the ghosts of tortured souls who once were trapped here are still haunting the space.

But only a kaleidoscope of reflections greets me. This isLiza'sart installation—a labyrinth of shattered mirrors.It'slike afunfair'shall of mirrors elevated to ahuge, reality-bending level. The fragments are arranged in contorted patterns, creating a dizzying sensation.It'sdark in here, onlythe neon red exit sign ricochets its colors around the space. An open path through the center of the room beckons me forward.

My chest is on fire with adrenaline as I move deeper along the path. Every pane throws a fractured piece of my own face back at me.It'stauntingme;a multitude ofdoppelgangersreflectingthe rage and desperationetchedin my expression.

"Ava!"

My voice reverberates off the mirrors. Then, a muffled sound up ahead breaks the silence. Without hesitation, I sprint around the corner.

The sight stops me in my tracks.

Ava is on her knees in a small clearing amidst the mirrors.There'sa cloth shoved between her pretty little lips. Her dark hair cascades wildly around her face,

Her eyes are like broken steel. Cold and determined but crackedopen,so that the fragility is exposed. My beautiful girl of a thousand contradictions.

"Ava," I rasp. "I'm here."

I rush toward her.

Click.

A figure emerges from the shadows. The man who stole her. He brandishes a gun, its barrel aimed atAva'shead. I freeze, a surge of dread turning my blood to ice.

Theman'sface is concealed by a black balaclava, but I can see his cold, inhuman eyes."Jackson. I knewyou'dcome running."

My fists clench at my sides, every muscle in my body tensed for action. But Idon'tmove. Ican'trisk putting Ava in danger."Who the fuck are you?"

His voice has a rough wheeze to it. It sounds familiar, butthere'stoo much adrenaline pumping through my brain to make any connectionright now.

"Ishould be asking you the same question. What should I call you these days? Jackson or Hyde?"he taunts, pulling the balaclava from his face.

"Aaron?"

Recognition floods me as I stare into the face of my patient, his gun pressed against the head of the woman I love.

He gives a slow, nauseating smile. "Recognize me yet, Jackson?"

"Why are you doing this?"I snarl.

"I'vebeen watching you,"he replies calmly."When I came to see you as a patient, I wondered ifyou'dremember me from our pasts. I was curious to see you at work, so I played along as a mild-mannered, neurotic man with too much money to blow on therapy."

Our pasts? What does he mean?

But my confusion is drowned out by the rage exploding inside me like a bomb detonating."You were the one who killed Henrik."

He smiles."An eye for an eye."

"What did I ever do to you?"

His expression hardens into ice."You murdered my father, Jackson. I thought it was only fair I kill the closest thing you had to one."

Acid fills my mouth. I suddenly know whathe'sabout to say."Dr Blackwood,"I whisper.

Aaron is Dr Blackwood's son.

His face has changed so much; when I escaped, he was stilljust a child whomI occasionally saw at their home.

He nods."I know you killed him. Everyone involved in the Utopia Project knew it, but they were too scared to do anything about it. They scattered about the country and tried to hide away. My father was a genius, hewas going to change the world. But you killed him and destroyed it all."

Memories swirl in my brain.

I'mrunning from DrBlackwood'soffice with a knife in my hand. I feel so fucking free. Every dark instinct in my body is flowing through me.

I run until the drugs in my system have worn offandeverything I did is just a blurlikea half-remembered dream.

I run until the memories are lockedupin a box at the back of my head.

Now Aaron is a man with a look I know all too well in his eyes. He wants vengeance.

Therapists like to talk about the cycle of trauma, and maybeit'strue after all. Were my killings just part of the cycle, one that spins and spins but never ends?

Idon'thave an answer, but I know I was justified in what I did.

"Your father was a psychotic abuser,"I snarl."Hewasn'tdriven by science. He was driven by his twisted obsession with power. He deserved what I did to him."

"And you deserve whatI'vedone to you,"Aaron spits, his voice full of venom."I studied myfather'swork. I wanted to destroy you in the most poetic way of all. He gave you the drug he developed back then, so I decided to repeat history."

He grins, madness in his eyes.

"It was easy enough to drug you again. People these days reallydon'tgive a damn about ethics; I easily bribed the pharmacists to swap out your sleeping pills with doses of Psychlipse. You must have taken enough to alter your brain chemistry forever."

Rage crashes through me. This is why the episodes resurfaced. Aaron drugged me with the very same substance his father used to torment me all those years ago.

"Iwanted to sit back and watch while the drugs triggered your violent, psychotic episodes all over again. I wanted you to light yourownlife on fire and destroy your do-gooder reputation in this city.

"But you kept fucking up my plans, Jackson. Imagine my displeasure when the beast within you was unleashed, only for you to target more people from myfather'sproject.That'snot what I wanted at all.

"So I adapted. I decided to drive you insane instead.You'realready halfway there,aren'tyou? I left you those notes, Jackson. I was going to manipulate you and everyone else into thinking you killed your precious Henrik."

He jabs the gun harder againstAva'shead. Anger bites at my heart as she whimpers into the gag.

"Then I was going to kill this troublesome little bitch and make you believe you killed her too.It'sso easy to make a man whodoesn'ttrust hisown mind believe thathe'scapable of anything.

"But Ididn'tpredictyou'dthrow your own life away to stop her dying.That'snot what I want. No, I want to be the one who pulls the trigger and sends you down to hell.It'sgoing to be so much more fucking satisfying to watch you as I execute her first."

Violent fury courses through me.I'mnot going to let him hurt her.

"Ava isn't part of this," I say. "She's innocent. Let her go and we can settle this between us."

"Innocent."He laughs wheezily."She chose to get close to you.You'relike poison, Jackson. Everyone close to you is infected. Her innocence vanished the day she chose to play your little game."

He slips the cloth down fromAva'smouth. She gasps for air, her eyes rising to meet mine.

"Don't listen to him, Jackson!" she screams.

He brings the handle of the gun down hard againstAva'sface. She yelps, blood trickling from her lips.

My vision turns pure red. I start to step forward, buthepresses the gun hard againstherforehead again.

"Stay right where you are. Everyone has a weakness, Jackson.That'sjust basic psychology. I know this woman is yours."

He'sright that I have countless weaknesses. But Avaisn"tone of them.She"smy source of strength.Shehelps me tame the raging storm within me, to harness it rather than be consumed by it. I thought she was giving me the strength to die, but now I knowit'sactually the strength to live.

Rage and adrenaline crash through every fiber of my being. With lightning speed, I whip my knife from my pocket. The cold metal of the handle sears my skin asraisemy hand and throw it with all my force straight towardAaron'sthroat.

Aaron grunts in pain as blood splatters against the glass behind him.

For a second, dark fucking satisfaction flows through me.

But then he turns, raising his gun in my direction.

The knife protrudes from his shoulder. I missed his throat.

His face contorts in anger as he pulls the trigger.

Pop.

The sound vertebrates in deafening shockwaves in the room full of mirrors.

I collapse backward with the force of it, my head slamming against the ground. I think I hearAva'spiercing scream, but everything suddenly feels far away.

Pain seeps through me, butit'snot just from the bullet. My brain is ablaze with all the pain from every second of my life andAva'stoo.

I'msorry, Ava. I wanted the pain to have a meaning. But maybe in real lifepainis just that: pain. No meaning andnopurposeandno escape.

My vision flickers like an old TV slowly dying.

Real lifedoesn'tfollow the rules of stories.

In real life, the detective and the killer can both end up dead.