Chap­ter 35 begins with Patri­cia dis­cov­er­ing her daugh­ter Korey in a hor­ri­fy­ing and deeply trau­mat­ic sit­u­a­tion involv­ing James Har­ris. The scene erupts in chaos as Patri­cia fights to break their con­tact, using Korey’s own soc­cer cleat to strike James and sep­a­rate them. James, dis­play­ing some­thing mon­strous and inhu­man, recoils briefly but quick­ly over­pow­ers Patri­cia, throw­ing her against the wall and pin­ning her down. She real­izes in that instant how severe­ly she has failed as a moth­er. Her deci­sion to ignore the warn­ing signs, to ratio­nal­ize her sus­pi­cions, and to allow James into their lives has brought immense dan­ger direct­ly to her chil­dren. Patri­cia sees the phys­i­cal evi­dence of her daugh­ter’s repeat­ed victimization—marks of bruis­ing and punc­tures that make it clear this wasn’t a sin­gle occur­rence. Her heart aches with guilt and dread.

When Blue, her young son, hears the com­mo­tion and calls out, Patri­cia quick­ly com­pos­es her­self and lies to pro­tect him. She sends him back to bed with­out reveal­ing what has hap­pened, shield­ing him from the truth. James, com­plete­ly nude and cov­ered in blood, escapes out the win­dow, leav­ing Patri­cia alone with a daugh­ter who whim­pers as if trapped in a night­mare. See­ing the wound on Korey’s leg up close, Patri­cia rec­og­nizes mul­ti­ple signs of infec­tion, over­lap­ping injuries, and unde­ni­able proof that this preda­tor has fed on her child before. Every detail of that moment etch­es into her memory—the pain, the hor­ror, and most of all, her own com­plic­i­ty in allow­ing it to hap­pen.

Her mind reels as she mechan­i­cal­ly cares for Korey, clean­ing her wounds and apply­ing oint­ment. Though she wants to ban­dage the injuries, she can’t bring her­self to admit, even in silence, the depth of what her daugh­ter endured. It’s too soon. Every­thing around her feels wrong. The house remains still, too nor­mal in con­trast to the vio­lence upstairs. The porch lights flick off, the dog stirs gen­tly on the couch, and every­thing feels unchanged—except for Patri­cia. Inside, she is unrav­el­ing.

Patri­cia vom­its from the weight of her own emo­tions. That night, she can’t sleep. The real­i­ty of what’s hap­pened keeps replay­ing in her head. She knows she must act, but she also under­stands the com­plex­i­ty of the sit­u­a­tion. The next morn­ing, Korey behaves as if noth­ing has hap­pened. Still with­drawn and moody, there’s no indi­ca­tion that she even remem­bers or acknowl­edges what occurred the night before. Patri­cia is stunned by this dis­con­nect but tries to main­tain nor­mal­cy, send­ing both chil­dren off to school.

Soon after, the phone begins to ring. It’s James. At first, Patri­cia refus­es to answer. But when she final­ly picks up, her ques­tion is direct and burn­ing: “How long?” Instead of apol­o­giz­ing, James attempts to ratio­nal­ize what hap­pened. He explains it as a rare med­ical con­di­tion, liken­ing it to a form of organ­ic dialysis—requiring him to use oth­ers’ bod­ies to fil­ter his blood. He insists Korey wasn’t harmed and had agreed will­ing­ly, claim­ing he would nev­er coerce her.

Patri­cia sees through his manip­u­la­tion. His voice lacks remorse. It’s not guilt but self-pity that she hears. James begins to express his desire to replace Carter, to inte­grate into Patricia’s life per­ma­nent­ly. He presents it as an opportunity—a way to be val­ued and loved with­in her fam­i­ly. But Patri­cia knows the truth: this man is a preda­tor. Not in the metaphor­i­cal sense, but in every tan­gi­ble, hor­rif­ic way. He feeds off peo­ple, deceives them, takes from them, and dis­cards them.

He casu­al­ly men­tions dis­cov­er­ing Francine’s driver’s license in his car. A chill­ing admis­sion. Patri­cia real­izes with hor­ror that he found the evi­dence she had plant­ed in hopes of expos­ing him. Any chance of a quick res­o­lu­tion through law enforce­ment has just evap­o­rat­ed. Her one card has been played—and lost. His tone changes slight­ly as he reminds her not to keep him wait­ing. It’s clear he’s now watch­ing her close­ly.

After hang­ing up, Patri­cia col­laps­es under the full weight of her fail­ure. She did not keep her chil­dren safe. The mon­ster wasn’t just hid­ing in the shad­ows; he had been invit­ed in, wel­comed at her din­ner table, treat­ed like a friend. Her home had become his hunt­ing ground, and her fam­i­ly was the prey. Now, Patri­cia must grap­ple with what to do next—not only to save her daugh­ter but to ensure that no one else becomes his vic­tim.

What fol­lows is a trans­for­ma­tion with­in Patri­cia. Her fear evolves into resolve. She rec­og­nizes the need for action—not just as a moth­er, but as some­one who has been forced to con­front pure evil face-to-face. Chap­ter 35 clos­es on this note of grim deter­mi­na­tion. The bound­aries between ordi­nary life and unimag­in­able hor­ror have dis­solved. Patri­cia knows now that she can no longer wait for help. She will have to become the shield her chil­dren des­per­ate­ly need.