Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
There were even bigger questions than all of those. Like how I ended up lying next to the grave of a stranger. I wish I knew.
“The day I found you is still fuzzy,” I said. “After Gran’s death, something in me snapped. When they talk about going off the rails, they’ve got a photo of me in the case study. I was not doing okay, and wound up with a doctor and a bottle full of pills.”
I latched on a cookie-shaped cloud and followed it through the sky.
“That’s the real reason I didn’t go away to college. The pills Doc Nash put me on were supposed to balance my emotions. Some days they mellowed me out so much they took my brain offline. I’d have these blackouts. Hours would go by, and I’d come to somewhere else, not knowing what I’d done in that time.
“But the day I found you...”
I stopped, digging the heel of my palms in my eyes. It didn’t work. Visions of the blood, the body, and the terrible scene I stumbled into shone in stark clarity. The only thing about that day that was clear.
I recalled bits and pieces of dragging the body from the barn and taking them out into the woods. A blank eroded my memory, skipping over the time I must’ve gone back for a shovel. The last thing I vaguely remembered was scooping dirt into the hole I dug for them.
Maybe if I’d been in real control, I’d have checked them for ID, called the cops, gone about it in the right, sane way. But as it was, I couldn’t even say if they were male or female.
“That was my last day on those pills,” I said. “I wish I could say things started making sense afterward, but nothing did. Gran is still gone. Ivy’s gone. And I’m no closer to remembering if I— if I was the one—”
I cut myself off, got up, and left. Why did I think coming out here would make me feel better? Why did I think for a second I was regaining control of my life? Being with Cairo and the guys may have helped me not feel guilty. They didn’t help me forget.
I returned to the bare farmhouse and found the letters where I left them. Sitting down on the past living room floor, I opened the first one.
I stood outside the police station today, thinking all I had to do was go inside and point Sheriff Jack in the right direction. Tell him I saw a girl go inside Westchester Drumlins carrying a bow.
How much would you love that? Sitting in an interrogation room across your old friend Jackie Boy.
Don’t test me, bitch. You can’t ignore me.
I let the note flutter to the floor. That must’ve been letter number three, left when they found number one and two still sitting there unopened.
I can’t wait to see who you’ve chosen. Use another arrow.
The medieval Braveheart thing you’ve got going on is such a turn-on. I’ve masturbated twice to Scott’s death video. If you slow it down just enough, you can almost make out the slim piece of wood flying toward him.
I wonder why no one else has thought to do that? Maybe I should plant the idea in the sheriff’s head.
I will if you warn them, or tell anyone about me. The sheriff will know about EVERY death stacked against your name. He may let you slide on Cavendish, but what about the sweet little innocent you threw in a hole and covered with dirt?
You’ll be thrown in a cage, and I won’t stop killing the people you love. I’ll never stop. I’ve been here since Bedlam began, I’ll be here long after it’s ash.
I want that name.
Stay psycho.
XOXO
The final letter lay flat on my palm. The one I assumed would tell me what my new tormentor was referring to. The letter that was bound to demand more than I’d give.
I set it down in front of me.
I had to decide right then what I’d do. They said they didn’t have Scott Cavendish’s death wish, so I suspected they weren’t going to order me to kill them. They also said they’d put someone I care about in danger.
I won’t let it happen this time. No one is going to wake up in a freezer, and I won’t be forced to hurt anyone.
I’ll take these letters to Hunter’s Crest. I won’t go anywhere near Jack Sharpe, but someone there is bound to be a decent cop who’ll take the steps to catch this lunatic. Possibly set up a real sting to catch them leaving these notes by my door.
Mind set, I picked up the letter.
I promised you no more silly rhymes or games. I figure old friends like us can skip the tricks and get straight to the point. We deserved that.