“I don’t care who catches him, so long as he gets caught.”

“But think about it, Emma. You’d be securing your reputation with the bureau. And aside from all the professional kudos, think of the personal relief. No more anxiety about the deaths of other people hanging over your head—you’ll save a fortune in therapy bills.”

Simon steps down off the chair to approach the bars. The sun haloing him now turns his red lips dark and his white hair into fire. He looks like a figure in a Russian icon, bestowing blessings with the same harsh mercy.

“Do you think you understand your emotions enough to be a worthy opponent for the Butcher?” he asks. “He’s not just going to walk into your arms, you know.”

Emma straightens. “I don’t know if I ‘understand my emotions.’ It shouldn’t be about that. It’s about following the evidence, being methodical—”

“Oh, come on, Emma—you’re no plodding FBI sleuth. You’re a teenager! Teenagers feel things. If you’d just let go of guilt, you could feel things, too. If nothing else, you’d have a proper awareness of what it was about these teenagers that made them so appealing to our Butcher friend.… Ah, you’ve been trying to figure that out, haven’t you?”

“Yes. It’s… difficult to hold on to.”

“Do you know why you can’t see through the eyes of the victims, Emma? I mean, you should have total understanding. You’ve been a victim—it makes no sense at all that you’re blocked.”

Emma wets her lips. “Why am I blocked, then?”

“It’s obvious, really. It’s because you can’t stand to look at yourself.”

She startles. “No. I’m recovering from—”

“You’re not recovering from Huxton, Emma.” Simon waves a hand. “Oh, you tell yourself you’re making progress, returning to normal, but you know in your heart it’s not true. You’re still that scared, wretched girl in the basement—the one you don’t like very much. The one you hate to see in the mirror.”

“That’s not—”

“The one who ran.” His blue eyes arrow to their target, unerring. “Ran away from all the horror and the fear, and left Huxton and the other girls behind. Ran to the police and became a hero by accident.”

Her throat is thick. “I’m not a hero. I never said—”

“You’ve tried to bury her with drugs, and therapy, but it doesn’t work. That’s why you can’t see the victims. Because you refuse to see yourself. To acknowledge who you’ve become.”

“I haven’t…” Her breath stutters. “I know I’ve changed, parts of me have—”

“Parts of you?” Simon grips the bars of his cell. “Emma, it’s all of you. You’ve been inextricably altered by what you experienced in Huxton’s basement. Like a chemical reaction, from the inside out. The sooner you accept it, the more free you’ll feel.”

She doesn’t feel free. She feels like she’s choking on bile. “That’s a lie.”

Simon’s expression is kindly. “I’ve never lied to you, Emma. Not like the FBI. I’ve only ever told you the truth. If you want to catch the Butcher, you’ll have to embrace your past. That scared little girl who you keep pushing away.”