"I am beyond good and evil. I will be avenged. Lucifer dwells in us all."
— Richard Ramirez
THIRTY THREE
I PUSHED AWAY from Banshee immediately. Before I could comprehend it, my back was pressed against the exit door and my hand was wrapped around the concealed handle. I now fully regretted the lack of restrictions Banshee had, and I wanted him to be chained, gagged and taken far away from me.
"You're lying."
Banshee took a moment to acknowledge the sudden distance between us. He glanced at my chair that had toppled over in the process and he tutted. "You have all the signs and all the warnings. You know what I am capable of. Yet, when I tell you the blatant truth, you refuse to take it."
"You are lying."
He looked incredulous, but ever so slightly. Banshee titled his head and soft curls hid his furrowed brows. "Do you love me?"
What? Taken aback my his question, I remained still.
"Because only a lover would go through this much to avoid the painful truth about the one they love."
"I don't love you."
His brows dropped closely over his swollen eyes in a questioning expression. "You don't?" He repeated, his voice spilling with such an incredulous edge; with such disbelief that his face mirrored every ounce of it.
"I don't." I hissed.
"Liar. I have been incarcerated for the brutal mass murder of several innocent people and I feel no remorse. I have told you countless number of times that I am sick. I feel absolutely nothing. I lie like the son of Satan, and I feel inclined to impale anyone who crosses my path." Banshees eyes sat underneath the harsh slant of his brows, and he looked —concerned. "Why on earth would you trust me?"
And it dawned on me that he was absolutely right. Frank had done nothing wrong to me yet I had spent the entire time disliking him and pushing him away. I had been warned that Banshee was dangerous. But the harrowing thing about him wasn't that he could easily kill me, it was that he could make me believe that his killing me was something I had asked for.
I had thought I had everything under control but God, was I wrong. Nicholas Dementia had deceived us all.
"Because you're a master manipulator."
Banshee was silent for a moment, and then he gave me a beautifully tragic smile. "No, Aria, I didn't do anything you didn't ask me to."
I couldn't respond to him even if I wanted to.
"The point is you killed your parents, and your brother." Banshees voice hushed to a sordid whisper. "You told me that with your body language, your words and your eyes."
My hands left the door handle and reached up to my throat. It felt unbearably tight. I hated that he continually reminded me of the one thing I wished away from my life. "Please, stop."
"Christ." Banshee sighed. "I'm only bringing that up because of Mirabel."
My hands fell limp against my sides and I felt like he had just punched me in the gut. I couldn't help my slacked jaw. "Is that why she wants revenge? For what happened to them?!"
Banshee furrowed his brows as though he couldn't quite comprehend my reaction. There was an emotion within his shadowed eyes that I couldn't pin point. "What do you think?"
Confusion washed over my entire being and I felt weak. My knees shook and I braced myself against the wall to keep myself from falling. "But why?" The memories of that night flashed against my eyes and I felt sickened. "God..Jesus..Fuck."
My secret was out. The cat was out the bag. My life was in his hands, and I was the one that had willingly given it to him. "Why would she?"
He remained silent in the midst of my trepidation.
His words didn't make sense to me so I blinked up at him with reddened eyes. "Why should I believe you? I don't even know who she is."
Banshee didn't make a move towards me, his brows tilted a little. His bruised eyes made him look tired. "You don't know or you don't want to know?"
A whispered plea. "Please, Nick."
"For someone so smart..." He heaved a sigh. I noticed him wince when his cuffs glided against his purpling wrist. "I was told you were a prodigy."
"This isn't the time." I muttered.
"Yes, it fucking is." Banshee cut me off so harshly that I gasped. His lips pulled into a annoyed straight line and his eyes found the ceiling. Whatever barriers Banshee had put around his whirlwind emotions were unravelling. "Think, Aria. Use the brain in your thick skull to fucking think." He spat, impatience lacing every syllable. "Who's Mirabel?
Petrified, I shook my head. "God knows I have no idea."
His voice dropped, a complete juxtaposition to the harshness of his earlier words. It was an apology of the mind. "Maybe if we call her M it'll trigger your memory. What does that M mean to you?"
"M?" I whispered.
Who was M? I was aware of how familiar that single letter seemed to me, and I dug deep in my subconscious to check where I had seen that letter in my lif—Oh, God.
For someone who had been a prodigy all her life, it was incomprehensible how the petulant dots hadn't connected quicker for me. I vaguely remembered Diana showing me a perfumed letter with an M on it. It was the day I had realised my Dad was having an affair with another woman. A woman who had signed the letter with an M.
I hadn't ever seen her. I hadn't ever met her. I just knew she had been the reason my dad left, and I had hated her. But now, the woman had a face. A woman who Banshee was now telling me is Mirabel.
I had spaced out completely, and when I refocused onto Banshee, my eyes were blurry with unshed tears.
My life was unravelling before my very eyes, and I was losing all my balance. My entire life had been reduced to Jenga in that moment, and Banshee had just pulled out the piece that had kept me standing.
I was a mess.
I glanced at the cameras. "So they were listening."
"No, Aria, I told you before. They weren't the ones listening." He tapped the side of his head, close to his ears that hid underneath his long curls. "I was."
_______
I SLAMMED THE DOOR behind me in a haste and spun to address Frank and fill him in on everything. When I turned my back towards the door, what I saw stopped me in my tracks. I opened my mouth to question the scene before me but no words left my lips. My fight or flight response had deserted me and I could only freeze. Pathetic, as usual.
She wore a pristine white gown that sat below her knees. Her lips were red stained with expensive lipstick, and her hair was coiffed to perfection. She looked beautifully terrifying. A little too put together. A little perfect, a little maniacal.
"Hello, Aria." The smile on her lips was plastic. Within her amber eyes, I could see that she knew everything that I now knew and much more. Banshee had held mayhem and madness in his eyes, but the cool bitterness within hers was far more terrifying.
The atmosphere between us oozed and bled out tension from its gaping wound. I suddenly felt cold, and my arms wrapped around my middle. I had always been wary of Mirabel but now, it became palpable why I had felt that way. I could now taste it. I could feel it. I could see it. I could fathom the power that her desperation held. I could see why Banshee — if words would permit me use blasphemy— adored her like he did.
"Mirabel." I whispered in response to her chilly greeting. Quite suddenly, I felt unsafe. I glanced around quickly and realised Frank was no longer in the room, and I feared that she had something to do with it. "Where's Frank?"
She was quiet for a moment, gauging my every expression. Her face was a mask of cool impassivity but I knew better than to think she was indifferent to the entire situation before her. Mirabel took a step forward and closed the distance between us. "Frank couldn't do his job."
"What does that mean?" I queried, frightful of her response. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place figuratively and literally. Banshee was sat at the door behind me, and Mirabel stood before me. I had put myself in a position that I couldn't escape from.
I blamed myself entirely.
"You look so much like your father, it's uncanny." Mirabel said softly. Her eyes dragged across my facial features and her hand fiddled with a string of pearls that graced her collar bones. "It's almost stopped me. So many times."
I was trembling. I was certain she had heard every word of the interview because everything she was saying was confirming Banshees words.
If this was the one and only time Banshee was telling me the truth, it was safe to say that my heart had been completely and utterly shattered.
"I'd like to go to my room now." I whispered.
Mirabel smiled stiffly and shook her head. "I'm afraid you can't do that."
Boom. Boom. Boom. My eyes widened a fraction and I quickly began to feel trapped.
When Mirabel had smiled, I felt a pang of familiarity. I remembered feeling like she looked familiar when I first saw her but I hadn't been able to place my hands on it. Something was awfully familiar about her and I hated it. I hated her. I felt a vicious amount of emotion course through me and I couldn't control it.
I felt my hands ball into fists. "I want to leave."
"Aria, you're wasting your time."
"My contract said I could quit whenever I wanted. Excuse me." I willed my emotions to banishment and pushed past her. When I pulled open the exit doors of the white interview room that I had become very familiar with, I slammed into someone.
"Hey, slow down, Miss Black." The voice said, and sturdy hands rested on my shoulders. They steadied me. I recognised the voice and shrugged the hands off my shoulder almost immediately.
"Excuse me, Hank." I repeated. It was as though no one was listening to me, or no one even cared to. "You're blocking my path."
Hank didn't budge. If I had once thought Hank disliked me, I knew now that it was hate. Rather than move, I could hear traces of humour dash his words as he spoke. "Where are you running off to?"
I shoved at his chest slightly. "Where's Frank?"
At that, Hank glanced at the end of the corridor as though he knew exactly where Frank was. He grinned as though he could smell and feed off my fear. His bulky arms crossed against his wide chest and he shrugged. "He's being taken care of."
It was the way he had said it. It was the way his bushy brows slanted with darkened amusement. It was the humour behind his words. It was the way he stepped forward, and the slight shove he gave me. It was everything.
I turned to Mirabel with a sordid gasp escaping my lips. "What did you do to Frank?"
"We have quite a lot to talk about, Aria." She responded, sitting cross legged atop the wooden desk. "It'll do you well to keep your questions at bay."
She stood, straightening her bleached dress.
"I've told you before; curiosity doesn't sit well in SSCD."
______
AN: Let's pretend I didn't disappear for weeks and you guys forgave me ages ago. Guess who's back in the house! Hope you enjoyed the short chappie, more to come sooner rather than later! xoxo, bincus.
QUICK MATHS:
The DMs about Franks age keep coming so we're going to do a little maths. Listen up, peeps! Frank is 39. He and his wife were high school sweet-hearts (this is stated in a chapter that hasn't been published so mini spoiler alert! because everyone wants to kill me) — They had their son at 18. This son was 9 when he was murdered (as stated in the file) and so if his murderer (Banshee) was jailed 12 years ago, that means Frank is 39. 18+9 = 27, and 27 + 12 = 39.