Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
That the other wasn’t gone, but I knew Vicky and the rest were also scared.
Scared of how I’d react.
Scared that I’d shut down.
Scared I’d run away.
Scared I might collapse.
Vicky. Howard. Lo. Roger.
They all watched me.
I supposed I’d do the same in their shoes.
It was the worst during Dee and Martell’s funeral. Martell’s daughter and both of their extended families wanted to have their funerals together. Identical closed caskets were at the front of the church and Martell’s daughter married them in death.
I lost it.
It was my fault—no. It was the killer’s fault. It was the Midwest Butcher’s fault. Martell’s daughter didn’t blame me. She made that clear to me, but it didn’t matter because my mind knew where the blame should logically go, but my heart didn’t.
They died because of me.
Brett slept at my place that night, and I just wanted all the emotions to go away. Every single one of them. I wanted no memories. I wanted no feelings. I wanted no thought. He helped erase them by fucking me until I was either burning from his touch or I was sleeping, passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Today was Sunday, and Vicky had decided to have a couple friends over—Travis and a few of his cop buddies. Roger was in heaven. Howard knew how to instantly man-speak to them, so there was a lot of that happening outside.
As I washed the dishes, I watched them from the kitchen window as they walked down the driveway, poking in the dirt.
“What are they doing?” I asked Lo, as she was helping dry the dishes.
“They’re laying down wires for sensors.”
“Sensors?”
“Yeah. You know, in case someone comes during the night. I think Howard’s just trying to get better security.”
“Mom!” a voice yelled from the other room.
“Hold on, baby. One second.”
“MOM!”
“Agh. Okay. I’m coming.” Lo gave me a look. “I love my children. I love my children. I love my children.” She kept repeating this to herself as she went into the other room. That had to be the fortieth time either Charlotte, Cynthia, or Luna had called for her. They’d been fighting since they got here, and I was pretty sure I saw Luna put Cynthia in a takedown hold at one point.
Lo had called me yesterday after Travis had been over to question Luna and the others about whether they’d seen anything that day last month when they were riding bikes outside. According to Lo, Luna had seen the guy in the truck, but being questioned hadn’t bothered her. She just thought it was a fun new game of testing what she’d noticed at random times, and she was convinced Travis was going to question her again about other things. So all day she’d been studying every person, dog, child, and vehicle they came across.
I still couldn’t help but wonder if the girls subconsciously knew something was wrong. That would explain their behavior today.
Feeling a presence come to stand next to me, I assumed that Lo had come back. “Are we overreacting? Could it just be a coincidence?”
“Not one fucking bit,” came a low voice in response.
It wasn’t Lo.
Travis stood there, his back to the counter and a dishtowel in his hand. His eyes were hard, his jaw tight, and even if there hadn’t been those tells, I would’ve felt the tension coming off him. He reached for a plate to dry.
He was here to check on me. I knew it was going to happen, and considering it was his job, I went back to washing. He continued drying until we heard the girls scream again from the other room. The screen door banged shut, and the girls spilled out into the backyard with Lo following. Vicky was out with the chickens, so for the moment, Travis and I were alone in the house. The television had been left on in the living room. The Kings were scheduled to play in the seven o’clock central time slot, but a different earlier game was currently playing.
“I’m not supposed to officially tell you this, but we found a trail,” Travis said. “Similar families. An engaged couple with an adult child out of the house. All murdered in the same fashion, all with the telltale signs of the Midwest Butcher.”
I went still. “Here?”
“The first was a small town outside of Kansas City, starting a path down here.”
No…
“He’s been doing a murder a day, but he took his time.”
No.
Travis kept his voice low, and he turned toward me. “They’re watching to see if he’ll keep going. Maybe this was just a stop on the way.”
“Was it?”
His chest deflated. “No. There’s been no one since.”
“Right,” I said dully. “This was his destination. How many murders?”
“Does that matter?”
“How many?”
His lips thinned. “Seventeen.”
Seventeen?
My blood ran cold.
“Families or people?” I whispered.
“People. Ten families. He’s crossed state lines, so the Feds are coming in, but since you’re here and there’s no sign he’s moved on, they’re thinking he’s staying put.”