Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
What if what he’s saying is true? What if there really is somebody trying to kidnap me? Or…what if it’s not true? What if the cops are right to think the issue is in Zane’s head? Hell, what if he never even talked to the cops?
“And I’m supposed to take your word for all this?”
Those steel-blue eyes shift back to his plate, only a few crumbs left now. “There’s a lot I’m not explaining. Some of it you’re not gonna get answers to; other parts, I’m sure Detective Roth will illuminate, and then, well, the moment I walk out the door, you’re free to google the fuck out of everything I just said.”
“You think I didn’t google the fuck out of Zane Grayson already?”
Of course I looked up the guy who pulled a gun on me. Tried to find social media accounts. Any info I could. The most I came up with was that he was in the AV club in high school.
He smirks. “Looks like you’re gonna have to get more creative with your web searches. You’re a smart guy. You’ll figure it out. Now about my gun…”
“I should’ve already given that to the cops.”
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.”
I don’t know that it’s a smart idea to give it back to him, but I also don’t want that gun sitting around my house any longer. Makes me think of all the articles I’ve read about people getting hurt by the guns in their homes, especially since I don’t have a safe to lock it in.
“Maybe I don’t want to give it back,” I confess. “Guns are dangerous. You could hurt yourself or someone innocent.”
“I’m very good with a gun, Leif.”
He sounds confident, but that doesn’t make me feel much better. “If I give it back to you, are you still going to be watching me? Like you have been? With the cameras and being a creeper next door?”
He closes his eyes, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ve thought a lot about that after blowing my cover like that, but if you tell me right now to stop, I’ll pack my bags and be out of your hair.” He purses his lips, his hand balling into a fist. “But, Leif, I really don’t think that would be a good idea. And I don’t want the next time I see your face to be on some cheap Wyachet online news story.”
It’s hard not to believe a guy when he says something like that with such intensity.
I take a moment to consider all the shit he’s told me.
About last night.
The subreddit.
The letter.
The video.
The cops.
“I guess if you’re gonna be my personal bodyguard, you need a gun,” I say, and he looks taken aback.
Despite how wild this all is, in a fucked-up way, it makes some sense. Or maybe our chat has left me spinning to the point where the absurd suddenly sounds reasonable.
One thing seems apparent: Zane believes what he’s telling me. That doesn’t mean it’s true. He could be having a mental breakdown. Maybe that’s why the cops don’t believe this shit he’s talking about, but either way, someone was actually in my place, and he scared them off. Surely, even if he was suffering from a delusion, he could have happened to intercept a burglar.
And there are other possible explanations. He could know exactly what he’s doing. Maybe this is all some elaborate con worthy of a true-crime podcast. He wants to manipulate me with this story so he can rob shit from my parents’ house. Had a friend break in the other night to make these outrageous claims seem more plausible. Although, that seems like a lot of work when he could have just worn a stocking over his head, put that gun to me, and gotten me to do anything he and his friend wanted while they packed up shit from the house. Or use this con on a wealthier family.
On the flip side, everything he’s saying could be true.
Whatever the truth may be, I’m willing to take a chance on Zane’s version. At least until I’ve had some time to think it over, maybe come to my fucking senses.
I make him wait outside as I head upstairs and fetch the shoebox I stashed the gun in. When I return it to him, he says, “Thanks. Love Converse. Hope they’re my size.”
He glances around awkwardly, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Oh, see? You like my humor after all,” he teases.
“I think you’re very charming for being awkward as fuck.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them because his eyes are on me again.
There’s something about the way he looks at me. And he called me very attractive. Is he bi or gay? Or is he so damn awkward these kinds of looks and comments could mean anything?