Just a thought I had one night after binge-watching The Fall. Obviously, the characters are not mine, just borrowing them for a bit.
"Little Stella, in the night… make you his? If he didn't, you sure as hell wanted him to."
Spector's confidence in his assessment of the writings he had perverted sent Stella into a private tailspin she only barely kept from bubbling out of her. Had she not spent years perfecting and strengthening her personal walls she may have fled from the interrogation room, ran frantically down the hallway toward the nearest bathroom and left that breakfast she didn't eat in the bowl. No, she would wait until she was in the privacy of her now tainted hotel room before she'd allow herself to break down, vomit, and then head for the pool to shed the slimy feeling Spector seemed to radiate. She had him though, with those vile words, she knew she had him and she didn't even need to deny them. He thought he knew her; thought he was smarter and could psycho-analyze her out of her well-kept shell. He was wrong. She could see how someone might come to the conclusion that Spector had, that her father had violated her in the most sickening possible way a father could violate his child. It was wrong, though, to try to enrage her emotions and make her react like he did, like a wild animal. If he had his own emotions as in check as he believed he did, he would have realized. No, her daddy had never hurt her, not like that, but in the same way that Spector hurt his own daughter, his Olivia. Should she strike back and tell him that she, Stella, was what Olivia would be in thirty-five years' time? It was tempting, but she didn't, she wouldn't.
Olivia, who just wanted to protect her daddy, no matter what. For Stella, she may have been watching her younger self; lying straight faced to the police. She had truly thought they believed her when she'd been there, the officer she was now realized they'd seen through her attempts to protect him without any question. No, she was the one with the insight because she'd been Olivia, she could break him with very little if she wanted to and she enjoyed that power. No, Daddy never fucked her, just as sweet Olivia was not a victim to Spector, she was not a victim to her father. However, Daddy did like toying with the dark-haired ladies in the night, and he'd come home, smelling like soap and chlorine to kiss her face after he was done. How many times had Spector done just that, crept quietly into Olivia's room, his heart still pounding from the murder he'd committed, watch her for several moments, smooth her blonde hair, kiss her forehead, straighten the covers… Just like Olivia's daddy, Stella's daddy had been a sado-masochistic serial murderer of dark-haired women who thought his blonde haired little girl had hung the moon.