𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝

John Crashaws pov (murderer #2)

I was never the type to fall for someone who didn’t belong to me. My unwavering self-confidence and inflated ego wouldn't allow me to invest my heart in anyone who didn’t meet my standards, and those standards were rigid, often unyielding. I had cycled through multiple relationships, each time grappling with the bitter sting of betrayal, half of my partners choosing dishonesty over loyalty. Each heartbreak had taught me to guard my heart fiercely, to never fully surrender it because I had come to know that no one was worth the risk of breaking it. Actual love felt like a myth to me, a fleeting concept that danced just beyond my reach, a dream I knew I wouldn’t experience until I found someone with whom I could truly be myself, lay bare my soul, and feel safe in doing so.

“Are you alright?” Travis’s voice broke the suffocating silence later that night. I had taken a drive away from the house, seeking to escape the deafening quiet that had settled over me. The stillness was unbearable, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I had tried to convince myself that I didn’t care that she was ignoring me, yet inexplicably, I was hurt by what she had done with my brother. Why did it sting so much? The answer eluded me, slippery and indistinct, like smoke under my fingers.

“Yeah…” The word felt hollow as it escaped my lips. I wasn’t angry at my brother in particular; instead, I felt a mix of disorientation and rage that I couldn't seem to shake. I couldn’t let it go, not for some odd reason. When I had seen Cara’s father last night, he had looked like a shell of the man he once was, and I knew I was partly to blame for that bleak reality. But the truth was, I didn’t seem to care enough to change it. What had happened with Rory was a dark secret, one that was bound to crush Cara if she ever learned the truth.

“Do you still want to go through with this?” Travis had asked me earlier that day. For the first time in months, I found myself at a loss for words, my mind a swirling mess of uncertainty. We had made plans, but what was I hoping to accomplish? Rory was dead—an unfortunate fate I had learned was intertwined with my own actions, for he had been there for Cara while her actual father had all but vanished. Charlie, her real father, was physically failing, deteriorating before everyone’s eyes. My motives felt blurred, self-serving and twisted. Everything was playing out just as I wanted, but how long could I continue this charade without confronting the deeper issues simmering just beneath the surface?

After an uncomfortable conversation with Travis, a sinking feeling coiled in my stomach as I descended the basement stairs, my mind drifting to thoughts of how it would feel if this house were a different kind of space—one where love could unfold, where I could share a life with someone special.

But the reality remained; my brother rotted in prison for years while I lived my life recklessly free. Charlie was suffering in ways I had secretly craved, and there was no going back—there was no chance for redemption now, not ever.

I closed my eyes and let the truth wash over me like a cold shower, and it hit me hard: no one could truly fall in love with someone as rotten and cruel as I was. I was twisted, manipulated by dark thoughts, my mind a crowded maze of intrusive ideas. I had led a man to his death and was now watching another slowly succumb while his daughter languished here in ignorance. Was this how I had envisioned my life turning out?

Unlocking the basement door, I pushed it open gently and froze at the sight before me. Cara lay on the mattress, humming a soft tune to herself. Her voice, light and airy, filled the empty room, striking a stark contrast against the stark white walls that suffocated the space. The quietness enveloped her, the boredom palpable in the air. I leaned against the door frame, entranced by her soft humming, my heart aching to capture this fragile moment where she seemed so untouched by the world’s cruel realities.

“Love is a beautiful thing…” she whispered, turning to meet my gaze. Had she sensed my presence all along?

“Cara…” I murmured, bracing myself. I knew I had to break the news to her, and it would shatter her, leaving her utterly destroyed.

“What?” she asked, reclining against the wall softly, her hair a messy bun that mirrored the chaos swirling within her. Her eyes, dark with a haunting depth, stayed locked on mine. In that moment, I could see how much she had changed from just a few months ago; it was like looking at a stranger I had once known.

“I need to… tell you something, and you’re not going to like it,” I warned, dread pooling in my stomach. I was painfully aware that the truth would alter everything between us. I hesitated, knowing she would resent me for delivering such news.

She remained silent, simply staring, her gaze unwavering, as if she was waiting for the inevitable blow.

“Rory is… dead.”

Her reaction was instant; she shook her head in disbelief, a small, hollow laugh escaping her lips.

“Funny…” she whispered, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Forty-year-old Rory Mickelson, apparently known as the nanny of Cara, has been found dead in his hom—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, indecisiveness flickering in her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to process what I was saying, caught in a web of confusion and disbelief.

“Police officers say he was found in the tub—”

“Stop!” she yelled, tears spilling down her cheeks, carving trails in the smeared makeup that had barely held up through her confusion. My mind replayed the details of the report, the heavy facts hovering there like shadows that refused to leave.

“I’m…” I began, wanting to offer some words of comfort, but a lump lodged in my throat. Apologizing felt wrong; regret pulsed against my conscience, but deep down, I questioned whether I should have felt remorse for the truth I had just thrust upon her.

“Rory…” she broke down, tears cascading freely as she curled into herself, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the floor as if it could somehow swallow her pain whole.

In that moment, I knew the truth would change her irrevocably; she would never be the same again, the fracture deepening while innocence slipped further away.