Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
His hands stroke over my face. “I’m sorry.” “Shh, it’s okay.” He smiles. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I nod and sniff as he wipes tears from my face.
“Caleb. Go.” Jude’s rough voice rumbles behind me. Caleb rises to his feet, flashing me one last look before he turns away.
“Tor,” Jude says my name quietly.
I meet his eyes, and he studies me for a long while. “I’m...I can’t…” My voices trembles as I try to process what just happened.
“Tor,” he says, more sternly this time. “Look at me.” I can’t look at him. “Look. At. Me,” he demands.
I drag my eyes to his, expecting his anger, but instead understanding. “It’s okay,” he whispers.
I nod, and whatever emotional barrier that I had in place snaps as tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know whether I’m losing myself or finding myself. The old me would never have taken a knife to someone, she would have recoiled in horror. This damaged version needed to cut Bob, needed revenge and Jude could helped me with that. I close my eyes as shuddering sobs wrack my body. One minute I’m falling apart, and the next, strong arms are wrapping around me, holding my broken pieces together.
I shouldn’t let him hold me, but I do.
I shouldn’t like the way his warm chest feels pressed against my cheek, but I do.
This should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.
Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.
I sit at my desk taking bets, but I’m distracted. I can’t get her out of my fucking head. I start to light a cigarette when the phone rings and I answer it.
“Go ahead.”
“That missing person’s report came in,” David pauses. I can hear the muffled noise from his police radio on the other end. “I cancelled it twice already. Can’t do it again. You’re gonna have to do something to make this disappear.”
I twist the cord between my fingers, scraping a film of nicotine from it. This is all I’ve been able to think of. What I’ll do with her. I can’t let her go because I fear Joe will kill her. To me, there’s only one logical solution. I inhale. “I need your help.”
“Yeah?”
Cradling the phone with my chin, I bury my face in my palms. I’m tired. I’m worn out from dealing with this shit, from all the fucking guilt I’ve had over her. “I need a body,” I say.
I hear David draw in a long breath. “A body, huh? How tall is she?”
“About five four…”
“She have anything on her that could ID her?”
“A necklace.” I bend a paperclip, then drag the end along the edge of the desk. “We’ve still got her boyfriend’s car too.”
“All right. You’re gonna have to help me though. Shit’s a lot of work.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ll go around to some of the abandoned houses on the North side. Give me a few days and I can probably find a dead transit we can use.” I hear static from the radio calling for back-up, which causes David to groan. “I’ll handle it later. I gotta go,” he says quickly, and hangs up.
I open the desk drawer and pull out her necklace. There’s still dried blood in the tiny crevices of the chain. She’ll never really appreciate why I’m doing this, but that doesn’t matter.
Three days later, David and I cart the corpse through the pitch-black abandoned lot. I tuck the legs under my arm as I open the door to Euan’s BMW, and we set the body behind the wheel. David found her early this morning when he was on patrol, and by the look and stench of her, she’s been dead for a few days.
“This is sick, even for me,” I mumble, my fingers trembling as I pull Tor’s necklace from my pocket. I loop the chain around the dead woman’s neck and fumble to fasten the lock. A light breeze blows, causing the rancid smell of rotting flesh to waft up to my nose, and I gag. I have to step away to catch a breath of clean air before finally clasping the lock.
David tosses me a pair of pliers. “Pull out her teeth.”
“Are you serious?” I furrow my brow, then glance back at the corpse. “I’m not fucking doing that!”
“Dental records won’t match. You want them to believe this is her, the only form of ID you can leave is that necklace,” David pats the hood as he leans against the car, “and this car. You want to make people think she’s dead, this is what you gotta do.”
I catch another whiff of death and feel my stomach churn. I swallow the bile eating its way up my throat as I lean into the car, placing my palm on the woman’s chilled forehead. What’s underneath my palm no longer feels like skin; instead, it’s wet and waxy. I gag and cough, spitting out mouthfuls of saliva as I clamp the pliers over one of the few teeth in her head. It takes more force than I think to wiggle it from the socket. Each time I pull, the cracking noise it creates nearly makes me vomit.