Chapter 34

Undisclosed Location

"Tell me why you killed them," I say.

If I'm going to die, at least I'll know this.

"Do you know why you do the things that you do, Hannah? I'm curious. You make such bizarre choices. You strike me as a person that doesn't really know what they want," he replies.

It seems inordinately cruel that he's trying to destroy me emotionally before he kills me. I console myself with the fact that after I'm dead, I won't have to hate myself for still caring what he thinks.

"I've never killed anyone," I reply.

"But you delight in their deaths. Don't try to deny it. I read a lot of interesting things last night, Hannah."

"You found the forum," I say.

Though the forum is public, this is an intrusion.

As a child, my mother gave me a diary with a tiny lock as a birthday present. The lock made it feel important and I fastidiously made sure that it was sealed whenever I tucked the diary back beneath the clothes in my dresser. After a few entries, I realized that I had nothing of great importance to say and certainly nothing that counted as a secret. I stopped writing in the diary and it was forgotten until my mother cleaned out my dresser a couple of years later and asked if she could toss it.

The cruelty of the internet is that there is no lock. Even posts intended to be private can be found if someone wants to see them enough. It's where people reveal their most secret of selves, right out in the open.

"We were trying to help them."

"Bullshit," he says. "You wanted glory."

I don't attempt to deny it.

"You haven't answered my question," I press again.

"Oh, Hannah," he says. "I wish I didn't like you so much."

My stupid brain is flattered by this compliment. He takes the briefcase and sets it on the floor in order to sit in the chair across from where I'm sitting. I breathe a little more. If nothing else, this gives me a few more minutes to live.

"I know what you're wondering," he continues. "You're wondering if I did this with the others, brought them here and had nice little chats. You want to know if you're special or one of many."

"You don't know what I'm thinking," I reply, though he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I want to be special in death as I was never able to be in life. I wish he couldn't see inside of me the way that he does. I've always been so transparent to everyone around me. The expansiveness of my emotions visible to men even as I've tried to hide them deep within.

"Anna Leigh and I didn't spend much time talking, if that makes you feel better."

"You were having an affair?" I ask.

I wish I could text Dotty. She always suspected something like this. I've never had better gossip in my life and here I am, tied to a chair without my phone.

"There's always sex involved with a girl that pretty," she had said.

"She thought Tripp was an idiot, you know," he says. "These girls, always marrying men that they don't respect."

"Why did you kill her?"

"I only took what was owed to me. Then, after it was done, I realized that I wanted more."

There it is: finally, a confession. I've spent so much time thinking about this moment and it doesn't feel like I thought it would. It was supposed to feel good, victorious, and instead I'm filled with an increasing sense of self-pity as I realize that this piece of knowledge isn't worth paying for with my life.

He doesn't look remorseful. If anything, he has the same look of glee that I used to get when I told people that I was corresponding with a serial killer. There are people who have spent years in therapy trying to achieve the same level of self-assurance that he has right now.

"Was it worth it?" I asked Lauren once, about her time at the Kris Cooper trial.

"It's always worth it," she said, "if you think someone might be innocent."

I wish she were here with me now, if only I could ask, "What about when you know they're guilty?"