42. I Went to the Mirror

42

I WENT TO THE MIRROR

DAISY

"What in the actual fiery pits of fucking hell do you think you're doing here, Jace?" I gasp out in shock when I see him crouching beside my bed in my dorm room. Instantly reaching for my switchblade in my pocket, I step forward and hold it up right when I push the button, the blade shooting out.

I spent the night at my parents' house after what happened with Lester, but I came here early to gather some stuff I need for my classes today.

He falls on his ass out of shock, crawling backward, using his feet as leverage and holding his hands up in pathetic surrender. "I needed to see you. To apologize for what happened after the Led Zep concert," he says, his voice shaky.

"So you break into my room? Great place to start, Jace. Really." I flick my knife closed and put it back inside the pocket of my red dress. "You tried to rape me, you fucking cum stain."

"I didn't mean to. I just hoped you would finally see that there's something between us." He slowly gets up from the floor, reaching for me.

Out of instinct, I move my hand to my pocket again, watching him with a wary gaze. "Why were you at my bed? Did you jerk off on it or something? I swear to the devil, Jace. If you did that, I will fucking murder you."

"I didn't," he answers, smoothing a hand over his sweaty forehead. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore. I've been kicked out of school. Expelled until further notice. Someone planted cocaine in my locker and reported me to the dean. I was arrested, Daisy. My dad was able to make bail, but I might go to prison. Did you have anything to do with this? Revenge for what I did to you?"

My entire face contorts to a mix of confusion and fury.

He was arrested? For drug possession?

Holy fuck…

I know exactly who did it. I was wondering why Lester didn't do anything about Jace yet. Now I know that he was just being smart and thinking about the long haul. Murdering a student from his class would have been dangerous and incredibly foolish.

Which is another reason why I know that he didn't kill that man in the woods. If he's strong enough to not kill the guy who almost raped me, he's definitely strong enough to not kill a random man using none of the steps of his sacred ritual.

"I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. I'm not petty enough to do something out of revenge, Jace. Fact is, I don't think about you enough to even think of doing something stupid like that. I don't think about you at all."

"What am I supposed to do?" he whines out, and my face visibly cringes when he does.

"I don't know, sing fucking Elton John or something," I blurt sarcastically, giving him a push to the door, making him stumble over there. "Just get the fuck out!"

Once he's gone, I slam the door closed and go to inspect my room. I don't believe for a second that he didn't do something. I look for a wet spot of cum on my bed and check my underwear drawer to count the number of panties to see if he stole any.

And then a horrifying thought dawns on me.

My book.

My picture book that's full of photographs and articles of Lester and the Sculptor of Death.

"Oh, no, no, no!" I scream out desperately, every vein in my body lighting up like a line of gasoline lit by a match. Yanking the book out from underneath the covers, I flip it open to inspect every page, until I find the latest paper, where I glued a polaroid with floral stickers around it. There's an empty square in the middle where the picture used to be―the picture I took last week of Lester and me, where I sat on his lap as we kissed. I took it from a drawer in his Red Room, where he told me he would keep it safe.

My heart sinks all the way down to my feet.

No…

"No, no, no !" I scream again as I pound my fists onto the mattress in defeat, tears streaming down my face.

He knows.

Jace knows about us, and he has the polaroid.

That's a recipe for disaster. He could destroy both of our lives.

And that might not even be the worst thing. Because if he flipped through the entire book, he may have made the connection that Lester is the Sculptor of Death.

I spent hours upon hours searching for Jace with murder on my mind. I missed all my lessons, including Lester's Sculpture class. But at the end of the day, none of it has mattered one single bit. Because when I set foot into the large hallway at the entrance of the school, all eyes are on me.

Students look at me funny. Some seemingly with jealousy or curiosity, others with humor. Most of them hold a piece of paper in their hands and they switch between looking at it and then back at me.

Defiantly with my chin held up and my nose in the air, I walk through the crowd of people and yank one of the papers out of a random guy's hand.

My eyes become blurry when I watch the copied picture of Lester and me.

" Blaigeard ," I mutter under my breath before I turn around and go back outside, leaving all the prying eyes behind. I don't think I've ever been this utterly enraged before. I'm nearly shaking with a frenzied need to kill Jace in the most horrific of ways. Slowly, dragging out his torture until he literally begs me to kill him. Maybe I can become the Sculptor of Death 2.0.

I run all the way back to my dorm with tears streaming down my face, and as soon as I'm behind closed doors, I finally allow them to fall.

Lester could lose his job. His entire life could be destroyed. His credibility as a teacher, his integrity as an artist.

What the hell was I thinking, keeping pictures of him―of us together , in a book for everyone to find? Sure, I don't share my dorm with anyone and no one is allowed in there, but as I found out today, it's easy to break into.

This is all my fault.

I see red.

After all the hard work that I did, after all the watching and waiting, this is how it will end? Lester was already pushing me away, and this will push him so far out of reach that I might never get him back.

Nope. I'm not allowing that to happen. Fuck no.

After mauling it all over in my head for the last two days, things have become clearer. Lester would have never killed the man they found in the woods. There is just no way. So what would be the other possibility? That's what I spent my sleepless nights thinking about.

But I know now. The only other explanation is that I'm not the only one who knows about his true identity. There's someone else. Either a person who admires him or wants him out of the way.

A copycat killer.

This asshole is going to steal my spotlight. Nuh-uh, sir. No fucking way.

This is my time to shine.

I think it's time to finally show the Sculptor of Death exactly who I am.