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)
I sip my drink without touching my food while he eats, occasionally glancing out the hotel room window. We each sit on our respective beds for nearly an hour, backs parked against the headboard, legs stretched out long.
“Josie,” he exhales, breaking the droning rhythm in my ears of the air conditioner, “how do you know that? Did you see it online? I know you’ve researched this ad nauseam. You must have seen images. Videos. Something. It’s the only explanation. I know it. And if you really think about it, you know it too.”
If I really think about it.
I’ve thought of nothing else.
“What if the bodies are there?” I whisper.
“Where?”
Sliding my legs off the side of the bed, I tip my chin and stare at my bare feet. “The place we’re going tonight.”
“This is a class C felony punishable by up to ten years in prison and up to a ten thousand dollar fine,” Colten says as I choose my shovel in the aisle of the home improvement store.
“Then we’ll just get one shovel, and you’ll wait in the car. Isn’t being an accessory to a crime a little more forgivable in the eyes of the law?”
“I’ll lose my badge.”
Satisfied with the yellow shovel with a black handle, I head toward the checkout. “Then I’ll take you back to the hotel first.”
He mumbles something I can’t quite decipher. When I get to the checkout and set down my shovel, a second shovel slides in next to mine along with two pairs of leather gloves Colten grabs from a checkout display. I meet his gaze, and he shrugs.
When she gives us our total, I reach for my credit card, but Colten hands her cash and gives me a look.
Okay. No tracking this purchase.
As we maneuver the shovels into the back of the vehicle, I ask, “Why?”
He shuts the hatchback and shrugs. “You give a new meaning to doggedly chasing your dreams. And I’m your …” He sighs, sliding his hands along my face, fingers into my hair.
“You’re my ride-or-die?”
He nods slowly.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pull away and climb into the vehicle.
“Where are we going?” he asks, fastening his seat belt.
“Just drive.”
Again, without further questions, he drives. I give him directions. I don’t know where they came from, but they’re in my head. Every right and left come out of my mouth on instinct until we stop at an old cemetery.
I’m eerily calm given the fact that I could be in jail by the end of the night. Colten follows my lead as we carry our shovels through the graveyard to the far corner, using the lights on our phones to guide our way. It’s a magnetic feeling. The closer we get to the spot, the stronger the feeling gets.
I drop my phone and the shovel, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. “N-no … No. No. No.”
“Josie.” Colten drops his shovel and pulls me into his arms. “What is it?”
Panic slices through my nerves, acid in my throat, a hundred pounds on my chest. I’m not asleep, but I can see it so clearly.
Elizabeth Allen
“They’re close … so close.” I crack, choking on a sob as I see two girls, one halfway covering the other. Both facedown. Both with their heads shaven.
Dead.
“The dirt is … f-freshly tilled.” I grip Colten’s shirt. I don’t want to take a step closer, but I can’t force myself to go backward either.
“Josie, tell me what to do. We can go home. Let’s just go home.” He alternates between stroking my hair and kissing my head.
“I … can’t.” I want to. I so badly want to turn around and go home, but I can’t run from what’s in my head. It won’t let me hide.
Taking a step back, I wipe my face. “Look for Elizabeth Allen,” I whisper.
Colten picks up my phone and hands it to me. With the light of it between us, I see the horror on his face. He’s not afraid of what we’re about to find because he doesn’t believe there’s anything to find. That look is heartbreak. He loves a woman who is no longer the woman he remembers. Colten thinks he’s slowly losing me. I think I’m slowly losing me too.
“Elizabeth Allen,” I repeat taking back my phone.
He nods once, turning left while I go right because I’m being pulled right, each move no longer mine. Every decision is made before my consciousness has a chance to give it a second thought.
The rays of light from my phone drift from one headstone to the next until landing on Elizabeth Allen. Covering my mouth with my free hand, I stifle another sob. I’ve never wanted to be so wrong as what I want to be right now.
Why am I right?
Why do I know this?