Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
"I can help. What's your paper about?"
It's a misunderstanding; it has to be. But, fear knots in my stomach, even though I beg it not to. I am trying to wrap my mind around why he would have those papers, those precise details, things that I’m not even certain the police have. Has he just taken a great interest in the case and managed to gather them? Is it even possible to have such a detailed list?
It has to be the reason.
It’s the only one I’ll accept.
Yet I put that evidence in my bag anyway. But why? Is it because deep down, I just want to prove it isn’t him? Or is it something worse, something so deep it’s crippling – my father is a serial killer.
1
NOW – MERA
Climbing out of the taxi, I aimlessly hand the man my card, listening to the distant beep as he taps it. I’m not focusing on him; instead, my eyes are trained at the town before me, the streets lined with people, the bustling place that was once the home of my worst nightmares.
I didn’t want to come back here—hell, I would have spent the rest of my life running—but I knew it wasn’t going to help me move forward. Ten years later, and this place still makes my blood run cold. My therapist told me the only way to accept the past is to go back and answer the questions that remain unanswered.
Ten years ago, to the day, I was packed up in a police car as my father was arrested, and I never looked back. I could never face the people in this town when they found out he was a murderer, a brutal killer. It’s a fact that I still haven’t accepted, and I’m certain I never will.
But it’s time for answers, answers that I don’t necessarily want, but I know I need.
My life is at a standstill, and I can’t move forward. My memories cripple me, and my thoughts are all consuming. The only way I will ever find happiness is to find out what happened in this town ten years ago. I never got answers as to why my father did what he did, nor did I see him again. I ran, and I continued running until, finally, it all caught up to me.
This town holds deep secrets, and I’m here to find out what they are.
“Is that all?” the cab driver calls as I pull my suitcase from the back seat, my brain in a daze.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Nobody in this town would remember me, right?
I disappeared and never looked back.
That doesn’t stop the crushing fear in my chest that this is all a mistake.
It’s not like I don’t stand out; I’m as pale as the stark clouds in the sky and my hair is a deep red, so vibrant that it is like a beacon, calling people to me. My eyes, the exact same as his, are as blue as the sky. I’ve been told by so many that I am a rare beauty, the kind that is so often unseen. I struggle to see that, because every time I look in the mirror, all I see is him.
His prison is a mere half an hour up the road, a place I hope to never see, but I fear my questions may lead me there.
I need to know what really happened to my mother.
I need to know why he did what he did.
I have so many things I need answers for.
Shuffling down the sidewalk, I move toward a café, bustling with the morning rush. The café that my father and I used to come to every Sunday for breakfast. It has new owners now, and it has been so long I’m quite confident nobody here will recognize me. Hell, the old lady who ran it passed away two years ago so I have no doubt it is full of new staff.
Stomach grumbling, I rub my hand over it. I’m starving and in desperate need of a coffee. Dragging my suitcase behind me, the wheels clatter over the sidewalk as I approach the door. Hesitantly, I push the door open and am confronted with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. The café is abuzz with the murmur of conversation, and it seems nobody notices my entrance.
I breathe, just a little.
Maybe this will be okay after all.
My eyes roam the large space as I wait in line, and memories flash through my mind. Memories of the laughter my father and I shared, of the warm runny eggs and hot tea I always got. It was a happy time during my childhood, but I can’t help the way my chest clenches as I wonder if every good memory I hold dear was nothing but a lie.