3. Aurora

Idrag the black lipstick down my lips, creating this faux skeleton look. I'm always experimenting with make up for Halloween, but everything I know is self-taught. This could work for a little kid, but not a teenager. It needs to be better than this.

Every year, a week before Halloween, I always dress up as a Day of The Dead ghost. I don't know why, but I've felt attached to the costume for as long as I can remember. After a few minutes of me trying and failing to create a decent look myself, my mom walks into the bathroom and takes over the face painting.

"I don't know why you insist on this little tradition of yours. Day of The Dead is the day after Halloween, not a week before, sweetheart."

I smirk as soon as she finishes the design. "I like it. It's something fun and no one else does it. It makes me feel special."

She quirks a brow at me. "You're already special without all this makeup on." I look in the mirror at the flawless job she did. Seriously, my mom should've been a special effects makeup artist. She would've made a killing in Hollywood. "You know, Derek Fuller keeps asking about you."

It takes everything in me not to cringe. Derek is the son of my mom's best friend. We're not even friends. He's just like all the other guys around here. They assume that since I've never had a boyfriend that I must be desperate and willing to date anyone. I'm not. I've had a lot of guys ask me out and I always turn them down. Why? Maybe it makes me unstable, but I want something more. I want obsession, determination, and possession. I want someone so hell-bent on having me that he'll chase me to the ends of the Earth just to make me his. I want a man who will stop at nothing to have me. I want a man who's toxicity knows no bounds. He'd not only die for me. No, that's too minimal. I want a man who would kill for me and take the life sentence with a smile on his face.

If he accepts me saying no laying down, he's not the one for me. And that's okay. I'm patient. I can wait until I find him.

I just won't tell anyone else that. Everyone would think I"m a freak and it would attract the wrong kind of attention.

"Mom," I groan as I tuck all of my makeup back in the bag before pulling it under the sink.

"I know, I know," she mutters before running her fingers through my silver curls. "I just want you to be happy, sweetheart."

"I know, Mom. I am happy. I don't need a man to make me happy." We leave the bathroom and head to the living room where Dad stands next to the couch, staring at the TV with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He looks…concerned, which is an odd thing to see on my Dad's face. "Dad?"

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mom asks as she takes note of the same thing I have.

His head snaps around to look at us before his eyes settle back on the screen. "Damien King is what," he grumbles before sipping his coffee.

I know that name. Damien King is basically the Boogeyman in Chippewa Falls. He's known as the kid that randomly snapped and killed a bunch of kids on Halloween night fourteen years ago.

"What about him?" Mom asks.

"There's a statewide manhunt for him. He escaped late last night."

"He was a twelve year old boy. He couldn't have gotten far."

Dad turns to me, looks me dead in my eyes, before saying, "Damien King isn't a little boy anymore. He's a twenty-six year old man who has lost his damn mind. You were just a toddler when he went on trial for those murders. You didn't see him. I looked into his eyes. After that night, he wasn't an innocent little boy. There's something dark and unnatural within his soul. He's a machine for the devil himself. He was a scrawny pre-teen who killed sixteen people, thirteen of which were full grown adults. He did it with a kitchen knife, Aurora. Don't take his escape lightly. It very much requires a nationwide manhunt and…he's coming back here."

My eyes widen as his gaze moves back to the TV. "How do you know that?"

"I…I just do. When people escape, they go back to what is familiar to them. Damien King is coming back to Chippewa Falls and we need to be ready when he does." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a matte black taser before handing it to me. "Keep this on you."

"Dad," I groan. This is what I get for being the daughter of a cop. Always overprotective.

"For once, Aurora, do as I say. It's to keep you safe if I can't." He presses a kiss to my cheek before moving onto Mom. "I'm going upstate to see if I can help in the search."

"Be safe, Lieutenant Sullivan."

He nods while grumbling about how she doesn't need to worry about him. So typical.

"Do you need a ride to school?" he asks and I shake my head.

"I'm going to walk with Lisa and Alexis," I say, but my attention is completely on the TV. Even though it's muted, I watch as pictures flash across the screen of a boy a bit younger than me. Messy, dark hair, tan skin, but I can't make out much else. His hair is in his face for every picture except for one where he's wearing a mask. It's a Purge mask, the one with lights all over it. He's holding a toddler in his arms that's also covered in blood.

"Who's that?" I ask and grab the remote, pausing the screen on him and that small body pressed to his.

"That is Damien King," Dad answers, like I just asked the stupidest question he's ever heard.

"No, not him." I point at what must be a little girl because she's wearing a skirt. "Her. Who is she?" I've never asked questions about Damien King or the Halloween Murders.

Silence drags on and I turn to look at them to see my parents looking at each other like they don't know what to say.

"What?"

Dad clears his throat before saying, "Bellatrix Rothchild. She was staying with them when the murders happened. No one could seem to figure out why, out of everyone he encountered that night, he let her live. He didn't even want to let her go. He was rather docile before, but when she was ripped from his arms, it took seven men to contain him. He put two of them in the hospital."

He loved her. That's sweet and sad. Is that why Dad thinks Damien King is coming back? Is he looking for Bellatrix Rothchild?

I open my mouth to ask what happened to her, where are her parents, but as soon as my lips part, the front door opens and closes, leaving me alone with the picture of a mass murderer and possibly the only person he gives a damn about.

* * *

As soon asschool is over, I make my way to the library because apparently, I'm now obsessed with the Halloween Murders because I spent my entire lunch period doom scrolling Google for information on the killings, Damien King, and Bellatrix Rothchild. The most unsettling thing that I found is there are no pictures of Damien King, none showing his face anyway. There's nothing on Bellatrix at all. She wasn't even mentioned in any of the transcripts from the trial. Her name seems to have been scrubbed from everything online. Not even a birth certificate exists.

Maybe her parents did a name change to protect her after everything happened. That would make sense. I can picture loving parents wanting to keep the stain from what happened affecting her.

I want to know more. I don't care what any of these articles or trial transcripts say. A twelve year old boy doesn't just snap and kill sixteen people for no reason. There is always a reason, even if it seems far fetched to everyone else. I'd bet my life savings on it.

Everyone who does bad things has an explanation that is logical to them. From what I can tell, Damien King never spoke a single word to the police or during the court proceeding. It doesn't make sense. Everyone talks when they're arrested but not him.

Picking up my phone, I call Dad and he answers the phone immediately.

"Aurora, you know I don't like talking on the phone when I'm driving," he chides me.

"Sorry. I know. I just had a quick question. You worked on the King case, right?"

A pregnant pause passes before he clears his throat. "Yes, I did. Why do you ask?"

If I tell him the truth, he'll think I'm crazy and won't answer my questions so I tell a big old dark lie. "We're in our local history section at school and I have a paper I need to write about a local event. The Halloween murders were over ten years ago so it falls under local history. With his escape, it seems relevant so I thought I'd do it on the case, but there are some things that I can't seem to find in my research."

He sighs with irritation before he responds, "Fine. Ask me your questions."

"Okay, so I can't find anything he said about the murders," I start and he quickly takes over.

"That's because he didn't. He hasn't spoken a word since that night. Before then, he was a normal kid. He went to and from school and spent a lot of time at home, but I saw him around town. He seemed like a good kid, but good kids don't do what he did."

I beg to differ, but don't say it. "So there was no known motive?"

"We had speculation, but a lot of evidence was lost since we were working under the impression that he was a victim. We thought he was covered in blood because he was present for the attack and went to hide when it started. We were responding to a noise complaint and stumbled upon a bloodbath. The knife had his fingerprints on it and he had offensive cuts on his hands. There was no doubt that he was the one wielding the knife, but to motive? I don't think he had one. It all started at a park a couple blocks from his house where he killed three kids that were out trick-or-treating and that was hours before the bodies were discovered in his home. We knew the two were connected, but we didn't know how. We ran security footage from someone's home and were able to see him in that park with the girl."

My eyes widen. "The girl?"

"Bellatrix Rothchild. She must've witnessed the whole thing. I can only imagine the kind of damage that can do to a toddler."

I bite at my nail nervously. "What happened to her? I couldn't find any records."

"No clue. I haven't seen her since the night she came out of that house of horrors."

I can't explain how truly disappointed I am to reach this dead end. I just need to know more than what I'm being given.

"Thanks, Dad. That was it. I'll see you at home. Love you." I hang up without waiting another second and bury my face in my hands. I don't know where this obsession has come from, but I do know one thing. It's not going anywhere any time soon.