The carpet was shredded. The once unblemished leather couch was torn into thin ribbons, with blood soaked clean through to the cotton and down that poked out from the cushions. There were bits of fur—five-to-six-inch locks of dark downy hair—that I tried to examine. But when I reached down to poke at them with my gloved hand I almost couldn’t stop the burn of the bile as it rose up my throat. The bits of fur were matted with rust-colored, congealing blood and—and this is where my esophagus betrayed me—chunks of Tia Shively’s skin. Its edges were already curling as its moisture evaporated. A crosshatch pattern of wrinkles and scratches were already beginning to show.
I don’t remember backing away, don’t remember stepping away from the scene, but suddenly my burning skin was awash with the moist cool of the city night and I was in the backyard, doubled over, hands on hips, my boots making the leaves and twigs crunch underneath me. Alex’s hand burned at the small of my back and he was murmuring something that was probably meant to be soothing, but all I could hear was the crash of blood as it pulsed through my ears, and all I could see were those emotionless eyes, caught on camera, daring me to catch the monster that did this.
“Tell me you have some sort of lead,” I remembered saying to Alex. “Tell me some band of terrorists or drug dealers or gangbangers or geo-cachers have taken responsibility.”
But when I looked up at Alex he wouldn’t look at me. “Your guess is as good as mine is, Lawson.”
His words came burning back into my mind now and my hand went limp at my side. I’d known Pete Sampson most of my life. He couldn’t have done something like this.
He wouldn’t have.
If he’d known.
I turned away from Will’s door and went to my own, slamming it hard behind me and sinking down on the carpet. When I’d worked for Mr. Sampson, one of my most significant job responsibilities had been chaining him up at night. Not just on moonlit nights, but every night, because, according to Sampson, one could “never be too careful.” I had considered him noble then and my responsibility simply part of the job. I never considered that there were things that Mr. Sampson might want to do, might need to do, might not be able to stop himself from doing if not for the chains. I looked mournfully over my shoulder, my heartbeat fluttering. Since he’d returned, Mr. Sampson had never asked me to chain him up. I swallowed down the lump that was growing in my throat.
“You know we have a couch, right?”
I blinked up at Nina, who had soundlessly appeared in front of me. She was barefoot and dressed in one of those adorable retro jumpers that showed off her pale, flawless thighs and proud shoulders. Her dark hair was clipped into two long, glossy pigtails and with her pursed, coral-pink lips she looked like any other twenty-something enjoying the sudden burst of San Francisco heat. If you didn’t know, it was impossible to tell that should she step one perfectly pedicured foot out onto the sizzling sidewalk, she’d burst into flames.
And if you didn’t know that Pete Sampson’s wide, Crest-white human smile could turn into snapping jaws with the shade of the moon, you’d blindly trust him, even when the evidence to the contrary was staring you right in the face.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them, then blinked up at Nina. “I think I may have made a huge mistake.”
Just saying the words made my muscles twitch. I felt guilty—for doubting Sampson and for not doubting him.
Nina flopped down on the carpet across from me, folding her legs underneath her. “I was wondering when you were going to bring this up.”
I swallowed. “You knew?”
Nina nodded. “It was impossible not to, Sophie.” She reached out and brushed her fingers over my kneecap. Her fingertips were icy, but the gesture was warm. “Did you really think you were fooling anyone?”
I flopped my head back, letting my skull thunk against the door. “I guess I was fooling myself. And now”—I closed my eyes—“and now people are dead.”
Nina blinked.
“People are dead?” she repeated, her lips moving slowly.
“Alex and I went to two crime scenes. The teens on the Sutro Point trail, and then one at a house in Pacific Heights tonight.” I tried to suppress and involuntary shudder. “It was one of the most horrible things I’ve ever seen.”
Nina looked genuinely stunned—and horrified. “How did that happen? I mean, it’s been a long time for me—a very long time—but from what I remember, people don’t usually die.”
I frowned at Nina. “What are you talking about?”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Sampson.”
Nina’s coral pink lips dropped into an astonished O; her coal-black eyes followed suit. “You slept with Sampson, too?”
“What? No!”
She splayed a hand across her chest. “Oh, thank God. I know I told you to loosen up a little bit, but I didn’t mean that loose.” She blinked. “Wait. What are we talking about again?”
I pushed myself off the floor and splayed my fingers over my chest. “I was talking about Sampson coming back and three people dying. Four, if you count Octavia.”
“And I was talking about you having sex with Will.”
I felt all the color drain from my face. “What?”
Nina shrugged, eyebrows raised in that Yeah, so? look.
“You know about me and Will?” I stumbled forward when I got goosed by the doorknob as the front door opened.