Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Could be, but I like to imagine it was one of his victims. That gives me the warm and fuzzies. Like in his last moments, he knew why he was dying.”
I laughed awkwardly and was tempted to tell him—I did it! I helped murder the sick bastard! I did it for you!—but I didn’t think he’d like that, and besides, I couldn’t make him carry that burden if he didn’t have to.
“Weird way to come out of your depression though.”
“I guess so. I mean, it’s not gone, it’s just sort of…” He trailed off, waving a hand in the air.
“Dormant. I think I know what you mean.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He stared straight ahead and it broke my heart to see him like this. “I have it good, you know? People like me. I get decent grades. We’re not starving or whatever. Life’s comfortable. So why the hell do I still feel like this?”
“There’s nothing logical about it. You’re depressed, and there’s not a lot you can do except get help.”
“Talk to a psych, you mean?”
“That’s a good option.”
“Mom and Dad would never let me.”
“I think you’d be surprised. They took us to a chiropractor when we were little kids, after all.”
He laughed but it was hollow and pained. “I’m okay right now, but I’m not against the idea.”
“I’m here for you no matter what. You know that, right?”
“I know you are. I appreciate that.”
“And hey, if there’s anyone else that wronged you in the past, now’s the time to pray for revenge.”
He grinned and his eyes gleamed. “I can think of a few very rude teachers.”
“Easy now. Big wrongs only.”
“Ah, all right, that’s fair. I guess Mr. Clear doesn’t need to die for giving me a C on my history final, even though I totally studied, that asshole.”
I laughed and hugged myself, trying to imagine a life where grades and teachers and all of that mundane stuff mattered anymore. Ever since killing Dr. Silver, I couldn’t bring myself to worry so much about the small things that used to occupy my time. I did something terrible—witnessed something life-changing—and knew that I was capable of a lot more than anyone gave me credit for.
“I have sort of an odd question.”
“Go ahead,” he said, stooping to pick up a stick. He cracked it in half and tossed a piece onto the grass absently.
“Did any detectives get in touch with you?”
He hesitated, tossed the other piece. “No, they didn’t, but Mom told me about the one that stopped over at our place.”
I nodded slowly and let out a breath. “They found a list of names on Dr. Silver’s computer. Apparently, both our names were on it.”
Sam’s face contorted and went through several emotions too fast to follow before he finally settled on bitter amusement. He laughed, shaking his head. “What a sick piece of trash. He kept a freaking list?”
“I think so, yeah. I don’t know what motivates a person like that, and honestly, I really don’t want to find out.”
“Me neither. God, what a nightmare. At least now maybe some of these people will come to light and everyone can find out what a monster that man really was.”
“That’s what I said.” The roar of an engine nearby grabbed my attention. I looked toward the street as an old, beat-up truck drove toward us. I slowed and stopped as Sam continued on for a few paces before looking back.
Jarrod pulled over at the curb. He rolled down the window and nodded at my brother then looked at me.
“Came looking for you,” he said.
“You could’ve called.”
“Didn’t feel like it.” He nodded at the passenger side. “Get in. Let’s talk.”
I looked at Sam. “Do you mind?”
“Nah, it’s fine. What’s up, Jarrod?”
“Hey, Sam.” Jarrod squinted at my brother. “You play football?”
“Nah, man. I’m more of a soccer guy.”
“You should.” Jarrod looked back at me. “Come on. Get in.”
“Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be back in a bit.” I walked around the truck and climbed inside.
Sam stared at me with something like confused awe. He looked up to Jarrod in a way I’d never understand. Young guys all saw Jarrod as something to strive for—popular, good at sports, handsome, able to get any girl he wanted—but they had no clue what lurked beneath that facade.
Jarrod pulled away. I glanced in the mirror at my brother, then looked at Jarrod’s finely sculpted nose and lips and chin, and wondered how a man like that could be so sick.
Or how I could like it so much.
“So you’re just showing up at my house unannounced now? Are you turning into a stalker?”
“Don’t need to stalk you,” he said, staring straight ahead as he drove. “I can have you whenever I want.”
I let out a breath. It was true, but he didn’t need to shove it in my face like that. “What do you want?”