Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 97: Lock Me Up Before You Go Go

[Erica’s POV]

As Emily talks to Jason, her voice low and somber, I feel the weight of Mom’s gaze on me from across the room. Her blue eyes are filled with a storm of emotions, anger, disappointment, and something that looks unsettlingly like fear. With a sharp jerk of her head, she motions for me to follow her to her office.

I trail behind Mom as we walk down the long hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. The air feels heavy, charged with an electric tension that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

As we enter the office, I take in the familiar surroundings. The large desk dominates the room, its surface cluttered with papers and files. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and family heirlooms.

I shut the door behind us, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence. The room is soundproof, a fact that suddenly seems more ominous than convenient. Whatever Mom has to say, she clearly doesn’t want anyone else to hear it.

I turn to face Mom, unable to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. There’s a part of me that’s been waiting for this moment, anticipating the confrontation. I’m ready to be yelled at, to face whatever accusations she might hurl my way. The adrenaline from earlier in the night still courses through my veins, making me feel invincible.

Mom stands before me, her posture rigid, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. For a moment, she just stares at me, her blue eyes boring into mine as if trying to see into the depths of my soul. Then, without warning, she explodes.

“Was this you?” she asks, her voice raw with emotion. Her carefully maintained composure shatters, revealing the turmoil beneath. “Goddammit, Erica! Tell me the truth! Did you do this?”

I don’t falter. My voice is steady, my gaze unflinching as I meet Mom’s eyes. “Yes,” I say simply. “It was me.”

The word hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. I can see the moment it truly registers with Mom, the way her face crumples, a mix of horror and disbelief washing over her features. Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over to trace glistening tracks down her cheeks.

“Why?” she screams, her voice raw and broken. “For God’s sake, Erica, why?”

I take a deep breath. The truth, as horrific as it is, needs to be said. “I found out Brooke was going to trade Jason for that baby out there,” I say, my voice eerily calm in contrast to Mom’s emotional outburst.

Mom’s eyes widen, shock replacing the anger and grief for a moment. “What?” she breathes, the word barely audible.

I nod, feeling a strange sense of relief at finally sharing this burden. “That’s why I had to get rid of both of them,” I continue. “Brooke and Lyra. They were a threat to Jason.”

Mom stands frozen, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. I can almost see the gears turning in her mind as she processes this information, trying to reconcile it with everything she thought she knew.

Finally, Mom moves. She brings her hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes close, a deep furrow appearing between her brows. When she speaks, her voice is low, tinged with exhaustion and a hint of desperation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her eyes still closed. “If what you’re saying is true, why keep it to yourself?”

“Because you would have stopped me,” I say matter-of-factly.

Mom’s eyes snap open at this, fixing me with a penetrating stare. For a long moment, she just looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. Then, slowly, she sinks into the leather armchair behind her desk. Her shoulders slump, the fight seeming to drain out of her all at once.

“Even so,” Mom says finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “we could have made it a much cleaner break. There were other ways, Erica. Ways that didn’t involve...” She trails off, unable to voice the horror of what has transpired.

I feel a flash of annoyance, hot and sharp, cutting through me. “Brooke had to die, Mom,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. My eyes narrow as I stare her down, daring her to challenge me on this point. “At best, you would have just delayed the threat.”

“You’re lucky I left Hope alive,” I say, my voice low. The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication.

Mom’s sharp intake of breath is audible in the quiet room. Her face pales, the blood draining from her cheeks as the full weight of my statement sinks in. For a moment, she looks like she might be sick.

“Fuck,” she whispers, the curse sounding strange coming from her usually composed lips.

“You have to adopt it,” she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You can claim it’s yours. Lyra kind of looked liked you after all. It’s the only way to-”

“Absolutely not,” I cut her off, my voice sharp as a blade. The very idea of raising Lyra’s child makes my skin crawl.

Mom opens her mouth to argue, but I press on before she can speak. “Give it to Rachel,” I say, the plan forming even as I voice it. “Say I birthed it with Jason because Rachel’s infertile or something.”

For a long moment, Mom just stares at me, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nods. Her shoulders slump slightly, a mix of relief and resignation washing over her features.

“Okay,” she says softly, rubbing her temples as if warding off a headache. “Okay, we can make that work.”

Mom looks at me suddenly, a nervous energy radiating from her. Her eyes dart around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers, even though we’re alone in her soundproofed office.

“Erica,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “Emily and Jason can never learn the truth about this. Never. Do you understand?”

“Only you, I, and Amelia know the full story,” I assure her, my voice steady and calm. “And it will stay that way.”

A frown creases her brow, deep furrows appearing between her eyes as she considers all the angles, all the potential pitfalls in our deception.

“Just calm down,” I say, leaning forward. The leather creaks softly beneath me. “Once the cops go through their phones, they’ll see the motive. Everything will fall into place.”

Mom’s eyes meet mine, a glimmer of hope appearing in their blue depths. Confusion washes over me, my brow furrowing as I voice the question that suddenly seems glaringly obvious. “Wait,” I say slowly, “why was Emily covered in blood?”

Mom suddenly looks exhausted, the weight of the night’s events visibly pressing down on her. She slumps back in her chair, her eyes closing briefly as she shakes her head.

“Her old cop friends let her into the scene, apparently,” Mom says, her voice heavy with disbelief and a tinge of anger. “I guess she saw what happened and just... lost it. Started stabbing Lyra’s body repeatedly, screaming about how she shot Brooke.”

I nod slowly, trying to process this new information. The image of Emily reduced to such a state of primal grief and rage is jarring.

Mom continues, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “And then... God, Erica. She was just screaming and sobbing while she held Brooke’s corpse. What were those cops thinking, letting her in there like that?”

She runs a hand through her hair, disheveling it further. “Emily ruined the crime scene,” she says, her tone a mixture of frustration and sympathy. “Blood everywhere, evidence compromised. It’s a nightmare.”

I nod again, feeling a pang of sadness for Emily. Despite everything, I never wanted to cause her such pain. “I understand,” I say softly. “It must have been horrible for her to see that.”

Mom takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as she gathers her thoughts.

“Erica,” she says, her voice low and strained, “no more killing. Please. We can’t... I can’t handle any more of this. The blood, the cover-ups, the lies... it’s too much.”

“No more,” I agree, my voice soft but firm.

A flicker of relief passes over Mom’s features, but it’s short-lived. I lean forward, my posture shifting subtly as I exude an air of authority that seems to fill the room.

“Once Jason and I are married,” I say, my tone leaving zero room for argument, “I’m locking him up. He’ll be safe, protected from the world and anyone who might try to harm him.”

Mom is silent for a long moment, her gaze searching mine as if trying to gauge the depths of my resolve. Finally, she nods slowly.

“Fine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “as long as he accepts it.”

A smile spreads across my face, a mixture of satisfaction and gratitude. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Her acceptance, her understanding of what needs to be done, means more to me than I can express.

Mom shakes her head, a rueful expression on her face. Her next words are soft, tinged with a mixture of awe and concern. “Erica, that boy loves you more than anyone I’ve ever seen love someone else. Please... stop breaking him.”

“Don’t worry, I never want to see him cry like that again. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe and happy.”

Mom nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looks like she wants to say more, but instead, she just reaches out and squeezes my hand gently.

We walk back out to the living room, the atmosphere heavy with tension and grief. The air is thick with the scent of whiskey and the faint metallic tang of blood that still clings to Emily’s clothes.

Amelia stands near the center of the room, her posture rigid and protective as she cradles Hope in her arms. The baby seems oblivious to the drama unfolding around her, her tiny fingers grasping at the fabric of Amelia’s blouse. Emily, her eyes glazed and unfocused from the alcohol, is reaching out towards the infant, her bloodstained hands trembling.

“Please, Amelia,” Emily slurs, her voice thick with emotion and liquor. “I just want to hold her. Let me hold my granddaughter.”

Amelia takes a step back, her eyes darting between Emily and the baby. Her voice is firm but gentle as she responds, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker, but you need to clean up first. You can hold Hope as soon as you’ve taken a shower and changed your clothes.”

Emily’s face crumples, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. She looks down at herself, seeming to notice the blood-soaked state of her clothing for the first time. A sob escapes her lips as she nods, accepting Amelia’s words.

As Emily stumbles towards the stairs, my attention is drawn to Jason. He’s curled up on the couch, his body wracked with sobs that seem to come from the very depths of his soul. The sight of him in such pain sends a sharp pang through my chest.

I settle beside him on the couch. My hand finds its way to his back, rubbing soothing circles as I pull him close. Jason turns into my embrace, burying his face against my chest. His tears soak through my shirt, warm and wet against my skin.

“It’s okay, Jason,” I murmur, my voice low and comforting. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Through his sobs, Jason’s voice comes out muffled and broken. “This... this is all my fault,” he chokes out, his fingers clutching desperately at my shirt.

Confusion washes over me at his words. “What?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “How could this possibly be your fault?”

Jason pulls back slightly, his hazel eyes red-rimmed and swollen as they meet mine. The pain and guilt I see there make my heart ache. He takes a shuddering breath, seeming to struggle with the words.

Jason pulls back slightly, his hazel eyes red-rimmed and swollen as they meet mine. The pain and guilt I see there make my heart ache.

“Lyra,” he chokes out, his voice thick with anguish. “She... she killed Brooke. And it’s all because of me.”

Jason continues, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Lyra only went crazy because of me. It’s like... it’s like I’m cursed or something.” His eyes wild with a frantic energy. “All these fucking insane women. Eliot, Lindsey, Lyra, Tessa... they all get one whiff of me and turn into psychos.”

I bite my tongue, holding back the truth that threatens to spill out. He doesn’t even know that Brooke was one of them too. The irony of it all is almost too much to bear.

“It’s my fault Brooke died,” Jason whispers, his voice breaking on the last word. Fresh tears spill down his cheeks, glistening in the soft lamplight of the living room. “If I hadn’t... if I wasn’t...”

I can’t bear to see him in such pain, especially not over something that isn’t true. I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Honey, no,” I say firmly, my voice filled with as much love and reassurance as I can muster. “You didn’t do this.”

Jason tries to shake his head, but I hold him steady. “Listen to me,” I continue, my thumbs gently wiping away his tears. “You are not responsible for the actions of others. You didn’t make Lyra do anything. You didn’t cause this.”

I pull him close again, feeling his body shudder against mine as he cries. My hand moves to the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft hair. “You are kind, and loving, and good,” I murmur into his ear. “The fact that some people can’t handle that, that they become obsessed or unstable, that’s on them. Not you.”

Jason’s eyes meet mine, and the depth of pain and despair I see there is almost unbearable. His hazel irises, usually so full of life and warmth, now seem dull and hollow, like shattered glass catching the fading light.

His lower lip trembles as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Erica,” he says, the word catching in his throat. “I can’t... I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be out there, in the world, hurting people just by existing.”

Jason’s hands grasp at my shirt, his fingers twisting in the fabric as if he’s afraid I might disappear. His whole body seems to curl in on itself, making him look smaller, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him.

“Please,” he begs, his voice cracking with desperation. “Lock me up in the house. Keep me away from everyone else. I don’t want to cause any more pain, any more death.”

A wave of bliss washes over me at his words, a heady rush of satisfaction and triumph that I struggle to keep from showing on my face. This is everything I’ve wanted. Jason, willingly asking to be kept safe, protected, isolated from the dangers of the world.

‘Granted, he’s been asking for it for a while.’

I school my features into an expression of loving concern, pushing down the elation that threatens to bubble up. “Jason,” I say softly, my hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I would do anything for you. If that would make you feel safe, of course, I will.”

Jason collapses against me, his body wracked with fresh sobs. His tears soak through my shirt, warm and wet against my skin. “Thank you,” he chokes out between gasping breaths. “Thank you. I love you. I love you so much.”

He repeats the words over and over, a mantra of gratitude and devotion that makes my heart swell. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close as he cries. My hand moves to the back of his head, fingers threading through his soft hair.

I press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. “I love you too, Jason,” I murmur against his hair. “More than anything in this world. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Jason’s sobs gradually subside, his breathing becoming more even as he nestles against me. The room falls into a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or hiccup from Jason. The air feels thick, laden with the weight of grief and unspoken truths.

As Jason’s tears slow, he slowly lifts his head from my chest. His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, drift across the room, taking in the somber scene. They land on Amelia, still standing protectively with Hope cradled in her arms.

The baby, oblivious to the emotional turmoil surrounding her, coos softly.

Jason’s gaze fixes on Hope, his brow furrowing slightly as he takes in the infant’s features. Through sniffles, he asks softly, “What... what are we going to do about her?”

“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” I say firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument. I stand up from the couch, my hand finding Jason’s and giving it a gentle tug. “Come on, let’s head back upstairs.”

Jason hesitates for a moment, his eyes still locked on Hope. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, questions and concerns battling with exhaustion and grief. But then he nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as the fight drains out of him.

“Okay,” he says softly, allowing me to pull him to his feet.

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