Because I’m a Samhattanite, through and through. I was born and raised here. And I’ve lived my whole life with this really big issue that nobody wants to talk about.

Don’t talk about her, they say.

But…

Don’t think about her, they say.

But…

Bravery.

And facing the things you were told to ignore.

So, this is it, Jolly.

Time to go address it.

Time to talk about it.

Time to look it in the face.

Here, I’ll start by leaving this, big as I can:

DAPHNE

And may you, reader, never keep quiet about the things that need talking about.

It’s the only way to solve them.

Okay?

Now, wish me luck.

Oh God.

Here I go.

Into the brave.

Me

Brave.

McGowan enters Hi-Fi Grocery at a fast clip. She’s sweating and she’s still wearing her police jacket and she’s already two steps in before she tucks the gun deeper into the pocket. Maybe somebody saw it. Maybe not. Maybe the people are scared of what they see. It crosses her mind that the last time she was here was for a carton of eggs. This time: a killer. Can they tell? These Samhattanites? These people who kept and still keep mum about the woman who kidnapped children and ate them in her suburban home? Do they find her, McGowan, scary, despite believing in things so much worse? Like ghosts? Like the ghost of the worst person to ever call this city home? In the box Principal Taylor gave her, in the journals of Kell Darren and Nicole Welsh, McGowan read about Daphne’s grave, unmarked but unmistakable, located at the deep end of the cemetery, under the lowest-hanging trees, where the girl Kennedy Lichtenstein was killed. McGowan doesn’t know if what the girls wrote about is factual or not. But the girls sure believed it. They sang dark folk songs and poured red wine into the dirt and repeated her name, Daphne, Daphne, Daphne, in a celebratory attempt to raise the dead.

McGowan is just trying to find a killer.

She doesn’t even pretend to keep a low profile. Moving as fast as when she entered, she takes the large center aisle straight to the back, where she knows the push doors lead to the storage freezers, the stock shelves, and, yes, the breakroom where the sniveling Zach Gold first saw the bogeywoman’s name. She pays zero mind to the locals who back up, who step out of her way, who open their mouths to say something but do not speak. They no doubt tie her presence to the killings, know she’s trying to outpace a monster in Samhattan.

She thinks of Chief Pollen talking about Daphne like she was having an episode. Saying she would likely forget their conversation soon after having it. It’s difficult not to imagine these locals in the same light: Do they think of Daphne? Or is the name out of reach for them like it had been for Pollen for so long?