Page 138 of Unholy Masks

It wasn’t Trish’s fault, or maybe it was. I wanted to strangle her until my fingers learned the shape of her throat, until I felt blood dripping between the gaps of my fingers.

The red haze in my eyes grew and grew until I saw nothing.

The hunger came back… viciously, violently, to destroy, to ruin, to kill.

I hated thinking about the inevitable—if this was the Strangler, Irene might not have much time left. She might already be dead. But I didn’t want that thought in my head.

I had to believe she was still out there somewhere. I had to. Or I would go fucking mad and murder everyone around me.

“Yara? Red? Should we call the cops?” Ryden asked, placing a hand on me.

“What’s the use? They don’t know anything,” I said, looking pointedly at Trish. She was biting her nails, face pale, lips quivering. “And we don’t know what really happened.”

Should I just admit to my every crime and hand Patricia to the cops?

If I could save Irene by doing that, I would have done that. I would have done anything and everything. But it wouldn’t.

Patricia was smarter than the cops. She had been hiding for years. I had to be here. I was the only one who knew that fucking bitch, the only one who could find Irene and save her, if she wasn’t already dead.

That thought was like a rock in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down.

I whirled around to look at Trish, and I almost felt guilty, but I didn’t have time to coddle her. Not when Irene’s life was hanging by a thread.

“When was the last time you saw her? Time? What was she doing? Did you notice anything suspicious? Every fucking thing you can remember.”

“The Riddles.”

The Riddles was Irene’s favorite book shop, and we often went there together.

“What was the time you received the call?” I stared. Trish frowned before grabbing her phone.

“A little after six, I think,” she said.

“And?”

“I went out, walked back in…” She closed her eyes. “Gone.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Enzo?” I asked with a frown.

“My phone died. I was sure she would be around somewhere. I checked the whole shop, and then I realized she was talking about a cup of coffee. So I went to the nearby coffee shop. She was nowhere. Then I came home.”

It was eight now. It had been two hours. Two hours. Anything could have happened in two hours.

I closed my eyes, tugging at my hair.

“I can’t lose her. I can’t,” I whispered, taking out my phone. “I’m going to message Patricia.”

I stiffened.

“What?” Ryden whispered.

“I—I don’t know.”

My fingers trembled as I typed the word.

Please don’t hurt her. Let her go.

Ryden and I went to the bookshop. Enzo went to the coffee shop. Trish stayed back.