Although I don’t share my plans with Jonathan, I make my way through the building, armed with his words to me.

You did nothing wrong.

He’s right. I haven’t. And now, I’ll own up to it.

They take me to a white room with a grey table in the middle. I keep my cool as the prosecutor tries to intimidate me with his questions.

The prosecutor, who introduced himself as Joffrey Dale, is an older man with a few decades of experience under his belt. It makes sense that they’re assigning him to an important nationwide case like this.

His bushy brows are drawn together as if they were made to judge people. His suit is a size too big and his head is half-bald with a few streaks of hair combed in the middle. But that doesn’t take away from the sharp look in his light brown eyes.

After a long silence, which he spends reading the file in front of him, Joffrey finally lifts his head. “We’ll start with the basics. What’s your name?”

“Aurora Harper.”

“Your legal one, Miss.”

“Aurora Harper. I registered it.”

He nods as if the information is new to him, when it’s most likely a tactic. Even the white room we’re in, which seems sterilised, must be some psychological trick. The police played them a lot on me back in the day, but I was too young to recognise them.

“Why have you come here, Ms Harper?”

“Voluntary questioning.”

He fixes me with his bland eyes. “For what?”

“Maxim Griffin’s parole hearing.” My hands grip each other on my lap, but I force them to loosen.

“What’s your relationship with Mr Griffin?”

“He’s my father.”

“And you’re the Clarissa he’s accusing of being his accomplice?”

I nod.

“Are you admitting to his accusations?”

“I’m admitting to being his daughter that used to be named Clarissa. That’s all. His accusations are entirely false.”

He focuses back on the file, retrieves images of the murdered women, crime scene ones, too, and lays them in front of me. I force myself to stare at their faces, even though tears start rushing in.

“Do you remember them, Ms Harper?”

“Of course I do. I dream about them all the time.”

“Who are they?”

“My father’s victims.”

“Do you remember their cause of death?”

I swallow a deep breath, the air sticking in my throat. “Suffocation by duct tape.”

“Do you know how long it takes for death by suffocation?” The question is clearly rhetorical since he continues in his flat tone, “Normally, it’s twenty minutes, but in their cases, he left a small opening in the duct tape to slow the process. Their death processes ranged from four to twenty hours. They spent all those hours begging for air, only to find death.”

“I know that! I also know he stalked them and made them feel like he was their dream on earth before he lured them to the cabin. I also know he cut their arms, played with their bodies while they suffocated, then kept the duct tape as a trophy before he buried them. I also know those seven reported victims weren’t his only ones, and that many other cases were closed for lack of evidence. So why don’t you look into those instead of this entire masquerade? Why the fuck are you allowing that sick bastard the right for parole?”

Despite my outburst, Joffrey’s voice and expression remain cool. “Because, Ms Harper, we might have evidence that he wasn’t the only one involved in those murders.”

“What evidence?” I laugh with a bitter edge. “I testified against my own fucking father. I brought him to you the day I lost my sister. If you have something against me, show it, but I know you don’t. All of you are playing into his hands.”

“Then why did you escape the Witness Protection Program?”

“I didn’t trust the police. They were aggressive and careless, and I didn’t feel safe in their company.”

“Or you wanted to run and hide.”

“If I wanted to run and hide, why would I come here of my own volition?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door cuts him off. Before he can stand up, it barges open, and in comes a man looking to be in his early fifties. He’s slim and short, wearing an elegant striped suit and carrying a leather briefcase.

“Who are you?” Joffrey asks.

“Alan Sheldon. I’m Ms Harper’s solicitor. The voluntary questioning is over, effective immediately, Dale.”

Wait. I have a solicitor? When did that happen?

“Ms. Harper was ready to answer more questions.” Joffrey doesn’t hide the irritation in his tone, but he also stands his ground.

“Not anymore. My client needs to rest before the trial.” Alan motions at me and I rise.

I was done anyway. I came here to urge them to investigate the other victims and to warn them of Dad’s manipulative nature, but if they’d rather play into his hands, then it’s all on them.

“Ms Harper,” the prosecutor calls when I’m standing beside Alan. “Mr Griffin said you were never innocent. What’s your reply to that?”

“You don’t have to answer that question,” Alan tells me.

“It’s okay. He should know that Dad doesn’t even know the meaning of innocence. He spent his entire life tarnishing it.”

And with that, I’m out of the room. Alan walks closely beside me. We’re about the same height, but since I’m wearing heels, I’m a bit taller than him.

“Don’t show up for any voluntary questionings anymore, and if it somehow happens, please call me beforehand, Miss.”

“I’m sorry, but who hired you?”

“Mr King.”

“Oh.” Of course, it’s Jonathan. Did I mention that he’s always one step ahead?

“Word got out that you were here.” Alan’s voice turns critical. “The press is just outside.”

Shit. Fuck.

Sweat trickles down my spine at the thought of facing them. I’m sure the victims’ families are there, too. Despite my pep talk, I can’t handle restarting the nightmare all over again.

“We can wait, then go through the back,” Alan suggests.

“Running away would mean I admit to doing something wrong. I haven’t.”

“Remember, you don’t have to answer anything.”

I nod, but I’m not in the right headspace. My feet hesitate at the revolving doors as dark memories of the trial rush back in.

It’s okay. I can do this. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore.

Snapping my spine into a straight position, I march right outside.

As Alan had forewarned, the press is waiting. As soon as I come out, a horde of people rush towards me. Cameras flash in my eyes as phones and microphones are shoved in my face.

It’s a complete shitshow and I’m caught right in the middle of it. Alan tries to shield me, but he alone can’t ward them all off. Bodies bump into me, and eager, slightly judgemental eyes bore into mine.

The questions rain on me from all directions.

“Ms. Harper, is it true you escaped?”

“Why change to Aurora Harper? Did you erase your family history along with Clarissa Griffin?”