Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
“It’s just the adrenaline,” I tell him, to try to calm him down.
He peeks up at me, the early morning light making his worn expression look that much more ragged. “I killed him,” he tells me again. I can’t count how many times he’s told me that tonight.
Nodding at him, I look in the rearview at the river where I ditched Dave’s body before putting the truck into drive.
“He was going to die anyway,” I tell Carter although I stare straight ahead at the dirt road rather than looking at him again. “His name was on the list.”
CHLOE
If Dave is dead, Andrea is next.
And then me.
There are no coincidences like this, and I can’t just wait around to be a sitting duck. I can’t ignore it any longer. I can’t pretend to be okay and walk through this life as if I’m only a ghost. It’s what I’ve done for as long as I can remember, and maybe weeks ago, I would have prayed for the end to come quickly and peacefully.
But I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die.
I want to run away from all of this.
I want to be free of it all.
I want more than this shit life.
More than anything, I want Sebastian to come with me.
The front door to his house opens, and I don’t wait for him to speak. “There’s something wrong with me,” I tell him, feeling every inch of my throat go dry and the pit in my stomach growing heavier and heavier. I heave the words up my throat. “Someone is killing them and if you don’t believe me, that’s fine.” The last word cracks as I feel myself unraveling.
Sebastian stays by the door, completely still and watching me, watching as I transform into a lunatic in front of him. I don’t know what he thinks of all this, of how often I’m nothing but an emotional mess. The nightmares, the list. I can’t imagine what he thinks, he always brushes it aside, but I can’t do it any longer.
“I can’t pretend it’s a coincidence.”
He finally speaks, low and with a note of apprehension, “What brought this on? The text?”
My body is ice cold as I sit on the sofa, pulling my knees into my chest and refusing to look him in the eyes. “I don’t think it’s someone messing with me.” I dare to peek up at him, willing him to feel the very real fear that keeps me on the edge of sanity.
“I wish I could kill him. Whoever it is that’s fucking with you.”
It shreds me inside to hear the pain in his voice. “I’m not crazy,” I beg him to understand.
“I wrote that list, Bastian. I wrote it.” The confession is so close, it’s begging to come out and be brought to life. With each word scarring its way through my chest, I give in to the weight of it. “And my name was on that list. I wanted them dead and I wanted to die,” I tell him as the tears prick at the back of my eyes and I hold myself closer.
Tears leak down my cheek as I rest my heated face against my knee. “I don’t want to die,” I repeat the one thing I know to be true right now, even if that hasn’t always been the case.
“Shh,” Bastian shushes me, coming closer and sitting next to me on his sofa. I’ll never know how he so easily comforts me, how he doesn’t hesitate to wipe my tears away and pull me into his arms. When I’m like this, on the brink of insanity.
“I’m not crazy,” I whisper and wonder if it’s true.
He rocks me as I gasp for air and try to force the crying to stop. “It’s my fault they died,” I whisper the harsh truth and his rocking stops, but then continues. My heart races, needing him to tell me something. Anything. To tell me I’m not crazy and that he’d run away with me. That’s what I want more than anything.
“Please,” I beg him, but I don’t have the strength to voice the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
“There’s nothing on the news about Dave,” he tells me after a long moment. My head shakes, wanting him to listen to me and believe me. I don’t care what’s on the news; I know what I feel in my gut.
“I need you to believe me.” I try to convince him as I say, “I can feel it. I know it. Whoever it is, they aren’t lying.”
I’m holding him so tightly; my knuckles turn white. “I can’t go to the cops, and I can’t run from whoever it is. I feel helpless, Bastian.” I’ve felt helpless for so long and there’s only so much a person can take before it turns to hopelessness. “I don’t know what to do.” The last words are barely spoken. All that lives inside of me now is true fear.