The gentle tap of glass on wood pulled me from my thoughts as Mickey set the drink down in front of me. I’d been so distracted, I hadn’t even noticed him torching the wood, my favorite part. I reached forward and gave his hand a quick squeeze before turning my attention back to my screen. I scrolled down to the end of my piece, wanting to read over it one last time before I sent it off to Beccah for feedback. My deadline to turn it in was just a few days away. The focus of my article had been the impact my innocent venture into 23andMe had on my life, and how my journey to discover TSK’s identity had changed my path forever. It was the most personal writing I’d ever done. As I got to the end, a swell of pride washed over me.

‘All the women my grandfather had taken and killed were a part of me now. They came to me in dreams, they whispered their names in my ear, their faces passed through my mind every day. I felt them around me and sometimes I even felt my mother with them, keeping them safe, keeping Frank Dominio’s spirit at bay. I was connected to these women by a tragic web woven by a man I’d never met, all because I’d done a DNA kit. They were part of my story now. The 25 and me.’

EPILOGUE

The wooden walls were rotted in spots and the cement floor of the basement had a river of cracks flowing across it. None of that really bothered Jack though. It was still his special space. He kept it locked, away from the prying eyes of his wife who was never permitted to enter. She thought of it as his mancave, a place he tinkered with tools and cleared his mind after a long day; somewhere she had no purpose or desire in being. She also knew that if he told her to stay out, she must obey. On the wall in front of him, a framed black and white photo of Rodrigo, Frank and himself standing in front of the cabin holding fishing poles stared back at him. How he missed Rodrigo, and now Frank. Jack reached out, delicately dragging his arthritic fingers across its shiny, faded surface.