Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Della had been running at a track when she’d been abducted, tortured, and then killed before being dumped into a dumpster behind the school.
That’s when I knew I had to do something.
I had to tell them about my brother.
That fear that he’d instilled in me was something I would have to overcome.
There was no way he could talk himself out of this one.
At least, I hoped not.
After reading about Della’s death via a Facebook post, I snatched my keys off my desk and headed to the police station.
Only, none of them took me seriously.
Not the woman behind the front desk.
Not the police officer that came to calm me down.
Not even the police detective that decided to be nice and listen to what I had to say.
Why? Because I’d established a reputation for myself over the years as being ‘extra.’ Or, what my brother liked to accuse me of, an over-reacter. The few times that I’d gotten the police to listen to me about my brother, were the few times that my brother then turned things around on me and shared that I was ‘sick.’
I wasn’t sick.
He was.
Yet, nobody thought that.
Everyone knew my name.
Everyone knew my MO—modus operandi—my usual way. As in, they knew that I complained, they knew that I ‘made things up.’ And they knew that I was one to always make a big deal out of nothing.
I guess calling the police on your brother hundreds of times over the course of your young life would do that for you and your reputation.
But this time… I had to convince them.
“Listen to me,” I pleaded. “He’s going to hurt someone else. Some guy.”
The cop looked at me like I was nuts.
“Honey,” he said soothingly. “Go home.”
I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t until someone listened to me.
At least, that’d been my plan.
Except suddenly, my brother was there to take me home.
And that scared the absolute crap out of me.
I looked out the windows of the police station and saw my brother pull up in his expensive vehicle. A vehicle I had no clue how he could afford, yet he did.
He stepped out in his polished shoes, and his impeccable suit, looking like a million dollars.
And I realized that nobody would believe me.
I’d have to show them instead.
• • •
“Mimi,” I said softly. “I know you don’t know me all that well. But you remember when we were talking about our worst fears over dinner the other night?”
She looked rough.
As in, she looked like she’d had her heart ripped out of her chest.
“Yeah,” she squeaked. “And it’s come true. He’s missing. Something happened to him. There was a car accident. They found his car, but they can’t find him.”
I closed my eyes and realized that I was too late.
My brother had already made his move.
CHAPTER 3
A very effective way of ending an argument is asking the other person for a piece of their hair.
-Bram to Dory
BRAM
I woke up with a headache from hell and the knowledge that something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
“Wake up,” a whispered voice said urgently.
I cracked open my eyes and felt like I had a pickax through the brain for my accomplishment.
I quickly closed them just as fast as I’d opened them, but it didn’t matter.
The damage was done.
“No, open your eyes,” the whispered voice continued. “Please.”
I did, but only because she said please.
I rarely ever heard that.
Not even from Mimi.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Was that my voice? Why did it sound like it’d been sent through a cheese grater?
“My brother kidnapped you,” she whispered. “And it looks like he’s hurt you. A lot.”
I felt like I’d been hurt. A lot.
“Your brother’s the psycho?” I rasped, feeling like even that little bit of discussion was quickly taking my strength.
“N-no.” She poked me in my wounded shoulder, and I nearly saw stars.
“Ouch,” I hissed, opening my eyes enough to glare at her. “That hurt.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve had a dislocated shoulder before myself.” She hesitated. “I can put it back in for you.”
Was that what I had?
“Umm.” I hesitated, unsure that she should be doing anything to me at this point, let alone setting a shoulder. If she even could. She was a little slip of a thing from what I could see. “I don’t…”
Just as the last syllable of ‘don’t’ left my mouth, I felt her grasp my shoulder, do something to it that sent shards of agony through me, and then heard a pop.
I gasped for breath like a fish out of water as I stared at the dirty ceiling of whatever underground system I was in.
A cave is what it looked like, but without confirmation, I wouldn’t exactly know, seeing as I wasn’t conscious when I’d been brought here.
By the psycho brother.
“You call the police?” I asked hopefully.
“Of course, she didn’t call the police,” the psycho drawled. “My sister is scared shitless of me. She knows better.”