THE CHOICE
They didn’t arrest him immediately.
Vance stood up. Walked to the fire. Added another log.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said.
Maya turned. “I’m not interested.”
“Let me finish.”
She crossed her arms.
“I’ll confess. Everything. Every victim. Every death. Every manipulation. I’ll give you the names of every doctor who referred patients to me. Every cop who looked the other way. Everyone.”
“In exchange for what?”
“A book. Your book. I want to tell my story. In my words. Before I go to prison.”
Maya stared at him.
“You want me to write your confession.”
“I want you to understand me. Not forgive me. Understand me. There’s a difference.”
“I already understand you. You’re a monster who got off on watching women die.”
“I’m a man who was broken by his own childhood. Who never learned how to love. Who found a twisted kind of intimacy in the only way he knew how.”
Maya shook her head.
“I’m not writing your story. I’m writing theirs. The women you killed. The families you destroyed. The survivors who have to live with what you did.”
“Then you’re no better than the police who looked the other way.”
“At least I’m looking.”
She walked out.
Behind her, she heard Torres read Vance his rights.
She didn’t look back.
THE ARREST
The arrest was anticlimactic.
Vance didn’t fight. Didn’t run. Didn’t even raise his voice. He walked out of the cabin with his hands cuffed behind his back, his head held high, his eyes on the horizon.
The media was waiting at the trailhead. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. Vance said nothing.
Maya watched from a distance.
Danny appeared beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“He tried. He failed.”
Danny took her hand.
They watched the convoy of police cars drive away.
“What happens now?” Danny asked.
“Now we go home. And we wait.”
“For what?”
“For the trial.”