When Olivia left the Gaines Estate on that night, she made sure to be the one in possession of the storage unit key.

She and Jason had walked out of the house in almost complete silence. He looked like he was in a trance, but that wasn’t what Olivia was focusing on. He had the envelope their father had given them in the pocket of his jacket and hadn’t made any sort of move to give it to Olivia. She was pretty convinced the stupid son of a bitch was just going to take it home and let the envelope sit there in his house collecting dust, while he tried to come to terms with what he’d been told. And Olivia couldn’t have that. She needed to get into that storage unit tonight. Preferably without Jason knowing she’d done it.

They reached their cars and Jason cleared his throat, about to say something to her, but he just went silent again. He then burst into tears and Olivia seized her opportunity. She threw her arms around him in a hug, and he hugged her tightly back, sobbing into her shoulder. She rubbed his back and tried to ignore the fact that he was probably getting his tears and snot all over her new blouse, before lowering her left hand down to where the envelope was sticking out of his jacket pocket. She slowly prised it out of the pocket and moved her hand around to her back, tucking the envelope into her pants. She adjusted her blouse so it was covering up the envelope, and then brought her left hand around again to Jason’s side.

She smiled to herself. He hadn’t noticed a thing, the poor sap. Too wrapped up in bawling his eyes out. She felt the heaving sobs begin to slow down after a few minutes, and eventually he pulled himself away from her, wiping his cheeks with his hands and making a joke about being embarrassed to cry like that in front of her. She told him not to feel embarrassed (even though she definitely believed he should be); she was his sister and would always be there for him. Then she managed to squeeze out a few tears of her own and that seemed to settle him down somewhat. Eventually they agreed to give each other a day to try and process everything, and then she would come over for breakfast to talk it out. She went and sat in her car, waiting for Jason to drive away in his. When he was safely out of sight, she removed the envelope from her pants and opened it, dropping the key into the palm of her right hand. She then looked at the piece of paper which was also inside. Upon it were address details for the storage facility and the number of the unit. She could feel the excitement being to rise inside her.

Knowing Jason as she did, he would react one of two ways: either he wouldn’t want to see what inside the storage unit at all, and would bury his head in the sand, or he would float the idea of doing something idiotic like calling the police. She was sure she could talk him out of that second option by appealing to his sense of self-preservation; Jason Gaines was never one to do something that would hurt his reputation, even though he’d make all the right noises about doing the moral thing. But if he decided not to look inside the locker, that would be a harder one for her to overcome, because he’d likely insist that she didn’t go there either. He’d not understand why she’d want to see evidence of the awful things Winslow Gaines had done and she wouldn’t be able to talk him around without revealing a side of herself that he’d never seen.

So, she figured she had a day to go to the unit and satisfy her initial curiosity. She’d then get a copy of the key cut and put the original back in the envelope, before surreptitiously leaving it in Jason’s house for him to find after he’d wallowed for a day or two. She’d had a copy made of his house key a year ago, so could pretty much come and go as she pleased. From time to time she would go there when he was out, eat his food and drink his booze. She’d use his shower and sometimes masturbate in his bed. She wasn’t sure why she did that; she had no sexual desire for her brother at all, so theorized that what got her off was the thrill of doing something so personal in a place she shouldn’t be. A few times she’d even been in the house at night while Jason and Staci slept. She’d walk around the house, going in and out of their bedrooms, watching them sleep and moving shit around to fuck with them. Jason was a very heavy sleeper, but Staci seemed more restless. There had been a few close calls where Staci had nearly seen her and Olivia wasn’t sure she’d be able to come up with a rational explanation for being in their house in the dead of night.

It was past midnight by the time she made it to the storage unit facility. She signed in with the night guard (making sure to use a fake name and writing down a unit number different than her father’s) and then followed the signs for Unit 32. She walked down the dimly lit hallway, passing a series of identically sized units with identical green paint on the shutters, before reaching 32. She took a moment to ponder how banal and nondescript it looked, especially considering the macabre treasures that were inside. Then she put the key in the lock, turned it, and pulled the shutter up. She slowly entered the unit and found the light switch on the wall. She flicked it and the room was illuminated with sickly artificial glow from the florescent tube lighting on the roof.

It looked like what she imagined a police evidence room would be, with boxes piled high on metal shelving units against the left and right walls. Some of the boxes had labels on them and some didn’t; some were overflowing with papers and other paraphernalia; some were neatly packed, the lids sealed with tape. At the back of the unit was a bookcase, filled with journals on the first three shelves, and some other literature along the bottom shelf. In front of the bookcase was a leather chair and side table adorned with a reading/writing light. A fresh journal and pen lay on the table, just waiting patiently to be written in.

Olivia moved closer to the bookcase and began to look at the spines of the journals. Each one was labeled with a year and nothing else. Olivia could see that the first journal was from 1978 and there was one for every single year, right up until 2017. The older journals showed signs of wear and tear and smelled slightly musty, but overall she could tell her father had done his best to keep them in as good condition as possible. The bottom shelf was filled with various medical books, non-fiction investigator’s memoirs and explorations of serial killer pathology. In that moment she felt very close to her father; he had conducted research into other people like them, just like she had.

All in all, she was happy with the storage unit. On the drive over she’d been imagining what it would be like and thoughts of a house of horrors did enter her mind. She’d wondered if there’d be eyeballs and fingers in jars, lampshades made of human flesh, words scrawled in blood over the walls, a mannequin with a patchwork skin suit that he’d been putting together. It all sounded silly in her head and she had a feeling her father wouldn’t be that...gauche. He wouldn’t be predictable and cliche like something out of a bad novel or grindhouse film. She figured her dad would be organized and classy; a gentleman’s serial killer. And she was right.

She sat down in the leather chair and cracked open the journal on the side table. It was 2018’s edition, and was filled to the brim with writings. She felt a giddy thrill, excited to find out exactly what her 70 year old father had done and to whom over the past calendar year.

She began reading.

Next Chapter: Chapter Five - Jason