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)
“I wasn’t doubting it,” I assure him. “I’m just listening.”
His expression relaxes. “Yeah. Sorry. I was remembering how Roth pushed back when I told her that was my reason for being suspicious. Was frustrating trying to explain Mike to someone who’d never met him. But after that, long story short, I had some experiences that led me to think he could have been involved with my bro’s disappearance. And since I wasn’t taking my meds, it got bad. Even thought I was seeing the guy around town. Like total strangers would look like him for fractions of a second. I convinced myself I was right. But I didn’t have enough to convince Roth, so as I figure she probably already told you, I made up this blog to make it look like Tolle was obsessed with Mike. I wrote journal entries about my brother, as though I were Tolle. I even borrowed pieces of his profile and website to make it seem legit. I found this quote: ‘I think the devil doesn’t exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness.’ It’s from the author of Crime and Punishment. I don’t remember his name, something Russian…”
It’s Dostoevsky, but I don’t want to interrupt him.
“I know it’s fucked up,” he says, “but I was so fucking manic, it seemed like the right thing to do, and you know, part of being manic is some ideas you’d know are total crap when you’re fine seem real fucking brilliant. I thought I’d cracked the code. They’d look into it and find my brother…or find out what happened to him, at least.”
I know what he means. To find out if his brother was murdered. I can’t imagine what it must be like for him to even express that…to have to entertain the possibility.
“Then maybe I could have some peace of mind,” he adds. “Not sure that’s true, but it’s what my fucked-up brain convinced me of.”
Even without his confession, since I spoke with Detective Roth, there’s been plenty of doubt in my mind. But now that he’s shared the truth with me, I can see why that’s not something he could’ve led with when trying to convince me I was in danger. Although, I have to keep in mind that, regardless of my doubt, someone did break into my parents’ house that night.
A coincidence? Possibly.
Or as Detective Roth suggested, someone Zane hired to cause a stir and persuade them to reopen the investigation? I’m not buying it.
Zane closes his eyes. “And now you don’t believe any of this shit, do you?”
“Would it be difficult for you to understand why I have doubts?”
“Yeah. I think there’d be something really wrong with you if you just took my word for it.”
It’s a relief to hear him say that—assures me he’s at least being reasonable. We’re quiet for a few moments as I process everything he shared.
Doing that a lot lately…
Finally, he asks, “What are you thinking?”
“A lot of things.”
“I’m on my meds now,” he tells me, as if to keep me from worrying. “I’m not going to let that happen again.”
I gaze into those steel-blue eyes. Is it strange to trust this guy? Even when I don’t really know him?
There’s something else there too. I like looking at his eyes.
“It’s still on the table, though.” I’m not sure what he’s referring to until he goes on, “Say the word, and I’ll be gone.”
If this is all a delusion he’s suffering from, it’s because he’s grieving the loss of his brother. And if he wants the cops to take him seriously, it might be shitty to be using me, but I’d actually get that too.
The way he looks at me, I can tell he’s waiting for me to tell him to get lost.
Maybe that’s what I should say, but instead I say, “I don’t really know what to think, but I’d rather you stay for now, and we play it by ear.”
His expression relaxes and he takes a breath, like he’s been holding it until my response.
“Thank you, Leif. I know you’re in a real spot here.”
“It’s okay. I’m becoming increasingly intrigued by you.”
That seems to catch his attention, and I notice him glancing at my mouth in that way that reminds me of how he looked when he first came to chat with me.
When he called me very attractive.
“Anything else you wanted to ask me about?”
I wonder if I should go there, but it might lighten the mood, so I just go for it. “You’ve made some comments in the short time we’ve known each other…about me being attractive, and then the way you look at me, you have this very determined expression on your face.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Do you need me to make it one to give me an explanation?”