Twenty-Five

Vale

"Melonie must have told you that," Dayton accused.

I didn't reply. He didn't believe me, and I had little hope I could say anything to convince him at this point. If he couldn't see past the suspicion, then he'd never believe me. I'd hoped he might for a moment, but clearly, he took everything I said as a lie. Which meant this was over. Everything I'd worked toward for the past five years…finished. Hopeless.

I'd known all along this might happened. I couldn't blame him. Truth was, I wouldn't believe it, either. And I'd always been the more open-minded about otherworldly things.

So this was it. Struggling to keep a breakdown at bay, I focused on what I had to do before I said goodbye. I'd give him what he needed then leave him to connect the dots into a logical picture.

"Can you trust me? For a minute anyway?"

He half-shrugged with a whatever shake of his head. Which meant no, but he wouldn't stop me, either.

"This will seem weird. Weirder," I told him.

"Doubt it."

"Then follow me. We're going into the basement."

"Vale…"

I held my arms out to the side. "It's not like I could hurt you. You can check if you want; I'm not armed. I'm not an ax murderer or something. Just trust me for five or ten minutes."

"Don't joke about murder," he growled.

Okay. Fair. That was a stupid thing for me to say.

"Just… Come with me."

Without waiting, I headed for the basement door. I didn't look to see if he followed. I knew he would. He might not believe me, but his curiosity wouldn't leave me hanging.

Like a reassuring mantra, his heavy footfalls sounded on the wooden stair treads behind me. I didn't pause as my feet hit the unfinished cement floor. Immediately, I headed into the laundry room and the small cubby hole near the dryer I wasn't even sure he knew about. Pushing aside the loose plywood over the small space, I showed him the firebox hidden there.

"What the hell?" Dayton breathed.

"I thought I had a garden-variety stalker. Just… Well, some guy getting his kicks from sending me creepy letters. It was only ever letters. At least until the end. I was scared at first then annoyed, but I didn't take it seriously. It was stupid. Monumentally stupid. But, your case was all-consuming and dangerous. I knew any problems at home might throw you off and put your life in danger. So… Well, you know what happened. I always tried to make everything perfect at home. Never cause any waves. Make it a sanctuary so you had no worries. That fight, that last morning, was the first time we'd argued in over a year."

He had no idea of the stress that had welled up inside me over that year.

I pointed at the box. "You should call Anderson. Have her read through it with you. The key code on the box is your birthdate. You know how I, um, how Melonie was. There's a log-journal along with the letters. It notes where and when they were received, thoughts on them…" I shrugged. "Melonie and her stalker are the only ones to touch them, as far as I know. If he didn't wear gloves, that is. They weren't mailed. Her prints should be the only ones on the box itself."

My feelings were so visceral inside me, and it was difficult to speak about my other self in third person.

"How do you know about this?"

"You know how. I told you. You just don't believe me." I stepped back, moving toward the stairs. "Once you're done with that evidence, maybe you should take a look into me, Vale Corin," I said, anger entering my tone for the first time. I'd lain so much proof in front of him, let things slip multiple times over the past weeks, too. "Do more than the cursory background check you probably already did. Look into the accident I was in—you've seen the evidence of that on my body. You know it's real. Maybe, when you check into that, you'll learn a thing or two."

"Vale."

"I'm leaving, going home just like you said."

"Vale!" He took a step toward me. I backed a few steps up the stairs. I couldn't let him touch me, in desperation or in anger. I'd shatter.

"Just read that. Those letters should give you some of the answers you so desperately want. You know it was Dutch. I could give you exact details of the murder, and I will, if you ask. You know his handwriting. There's blood, I think, on the edge of one of the envelopes. His DNA is on file from when it was needed for him to be excluded as a suspect in one of the murders you worked on."

"How…?"

"Come on, Dayton. Don't make me say it again."

"Why did you wait five years?" he asked suddenly, his pain slicing me. "If I was to believe you, why did you wait five fucking years?"

"What was I supposed to do? I spent over a year trying to recover from the accident this body endured. And then what? I walk up to a man who's grieving his murdered wife—a wife whose murderer was never caught—and say, guess what? After I was murdered, I walked into another body because that girl didn't want to stay. Still, I worked for five hard years to get close to you again. I couldn't stay away. I love you." I shook my head. "Once I was here… I don't… I don't think I was ever going to tell you. When I got close to you again, I knew there was no way to tell you. This morning proves that. And no matter what you think, I didn't tell Brennan. He does have abilities. He can see things other people don't."

Dayton didn't say a word. The tic if his jaw was the only movement in the utter stillness of the basement, the tension so strong it was deafening. That was the only answer I needed. That was the death knell. The end. Done and dusted. I might as well have given in and just died five years ago.

No, no, that wasn't right. I still had a purpose here. I thought it was to return to Dayton. It wasn't. Not only that, anyway. My destiny was to avenge myself—to avenge Melonie Windsor. Whether that was with Dayton's help or with Kale and his Ghosts of Vengeance, I did have a mission. And I'd finish it.