“I don’t know, Cora. It’s still a developing story, but the professor checked out. His name was Matthew Gleason and he was one of the confirmed bodies found on the property.”

“I-It can’t be true. There’s no one else…” My breathing escalates as I lean back against the decorative pillows, staring up at the ceiling and clutching my chest. “There’s no one else.”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Dean replies. “There were eleven bodies found, yet he took his victims in pairs. I just figured there was either someone they hadn’t discovered, or he’d practiced his sick shit on someone solo first.”

“But… why wait all this time to come forward? So many victims could have been saved. We could have been saved.” I stand from the bed and start pacing the room. “She must be lying. She’s looking for attention, o-or money, or to see her name in history books one day. She’s a fraud, Dean.”

“Corabelle…” His voice softens, trying to soothe me through the speaker. “I’m sure more details will come out, but why does it even matter? What’s done is done. There’s no changing anything.”

“Because!” I exclaim. “Tessie and her stepbrother would still be alive, along with countless others. We wouldn’t have been abducted from your car in the middle of the night, shackled like dogs, forced to do…” My breath hitches, my fingers still curled around my neck, my emotions peaking. “Everything would be like it’s supposed to be. We’d still hate each other, you’d be married to Mandy, and I wouldn’t be standing here wondering how the hell I’m supposed to stop falling for you.”

I cup my hand around my mouth as a small cry breaks out, my eyes squeezing out hot tears. My strangled breaths echo throughout the small guest room, and I wish he’d say something, anything, just so my anguish isn’t the only sound humming in our ears.

“Cora… everything is the way it’s supposed to be. This is how the cards fell. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can heal.”

I suck in a calming breath, allowing his words to sweep through me. He’s right, of course. I’ve been stuck in a perpetual state of ‘what if’ and ‘what should be’ instead of accepting what is and working through it. This new development of a surviving victim is only heightening my warped thought process. I exhale through my nod. “Yeah. You’re right,” I whisper. I smooth back my hair and finish, “I should get going. Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean pauses, then lets out a sigh that sounds like disappointment. “You don’t think we should talk about last night?”

My cheeks burn from the memory. “Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Cora, I can’t do this.”

I bite down on my tongue and fiddle with the pendant on my necklace. “Do what?”

“This. Whatever this is.”

“I don’t know what this is,” I admit.

“Well, I can’t do it—this push and pull with you. It’s fucking me up.”