Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
“Mentally or physically?”
“Uh …” She chuckles. “Both.”
“Physically, I’m doing really well. I’m ready for work.”
“Are you lifting heavy stuff?”
“Not yet.” I grab plates while she pulls the containers of tacos from the sack.
“There’s no way Cornwell will let you come back to work before you can lift heavy things. Last week, we had a four-hundred-pound man whom we nearly flipped onto the floor while trying to turn him.”
“I’ll lift with my legs.”
“Pfft.” Alicia rolls her eyes as we take a seat on the sofa with our plates of tacos. “How are you doing mentally? Any PTSD?”
“That’s a really complicated question.” I lean forward, biting into the soft shell fish taco.
“How so?”
I press a paper napkin to my lips and swallow. “I see things.”
“Vision issues? Floaters?”
“No. I saw something; I had a vision, when I was unconscious or when my heart stopped.”
“What did you see?” she mumbles over a mouthful of food.
I stare at her while she stares at her next bite of taco. Is she ready for this? “I saw long locks of hair hanging from trees in churchyards. I saw young girls having their heads shaved. I saw their bodies being buried on top of other dead bodies in cemeteries.”
Alicia’s taco drops from her hand back to her plate, eyes unblinking, lips parted with a little sauce smudged on the side of her mouth. After a few seconds, she swallows hard and licks the sauce. “That’s uh … weird. I mean … probably not unheard of for people in our line of work. Is it related to a case you worked on? Is it the serial killer you were asking Cornwell about?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure anymore. If it would have been just once, I would not be thinking about it. I see disturbing things all the time. I don’t have an issue letting them go. But I keep seeing things. The hair. The girls. The graves. I see them when I sleep, but the visions are equally as clear when I’m awake. So tomorrow, I’m going to Tennessee because I feel this clawing need to go there since the only thing I can find online that matches my visions is Jeffries. He was a serial killer who was executed in the early 1900s. He shaved the girls’ heads. Tied their hair to churchyard trees. And buried the bodies in cemeteries over preexisting bodies. And since I can’t find anywhere that says the bodies were ever found … well, I just need to know.” My words come out in a long trail, building momentum and leaving me breathless.
Alicia waits to respond. What’s there to say? I’m mentally struggling. It’s not a side she’s seen of me because it didn’t exist before now.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to Tennessee by yourself.”
“I’m not.” I take a bite of my food. Then another bite. And another bite.
Alicia waits.
I chew, avoiding eye contact with her.
“So … who’s going with you?”
“Colten,” I mumble.
“Detective Mosley?”
I nod.
“Are you on good terms with him again? I thought you held some animosity from the past. Are you friends again?”
“I think we’re getting married.”
“WHAT?”
Glancing over at her, I give her a sheepish grin. It’s all I have to offer.
“Why?” she asks.
It’s a valid question.
“I think the love part of our love-hate relationship might be more powerful than the hate.”
She coughs a laugh. “Oh my gosh … you’re serious?”
“I think so. Right now, I have bigger things occupying my mind, so—”
“Where’s the ring?”
“What?” I ask before taking a drink.
“The engagement ring. He didn’t propose without a ring, did he?”
I stare at my left hand for a split second. “Oh, no ring. It wasn’t that kind of proposal.”
“Um … what does that mean? I didn’t know there were different kinds of proposals.”
I wave my hand as though I can brush off the skepticism in her words. “It was spontaneous. Which is really more romantic, right? And I wasn’t keen on the idea since I’ve never wanted to get married. But Colten has been the exception in my life for just about everything. Then, one day, he said some incredibly nice and heartfelt things to me, and I realized being married to him wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. So I agreed to marry him.”
Then he fingered me until I nearly fell off the kitchen stool. And they lived happily ever after. The end.
“That’s …” She grapples for words.
I point to the last bite of my taco. “These are the best tacos. Why haven’t we had these before?”
“You see dead people and you’re marrying Detective Mosley. And you want to talk about the tacos?”
“They’re really good.”
Alicia shakes her head a half dozen times. “When’s the wedding? Did you tell Cornwell? Have you told your parents? What are you going to do in Tennessee? Dig up graves?” She sets her plate onto the coffee table and runs her hands through her hair. “Shit … what are you going to do if you find the bodies? They’ll arrest you. Quarantine you. Torture you with tests and experiments and then dissect your brain.”