Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Poor May.
She’ll never get to have a husband. Grow old. Have kids.
An anvil sinks in my stomach.
Is this… Is this my fault?
I was the one who got her in trouble. She broke the rules and spoke to me while she was working.
Of course, no one could have known that this was the penalty for breaking the rules. Rouge certainly seemed a little odd—though she’s normal-looking compared to Chet or the bartenders—but I could never imagine that she would be capable of committing such an act of evil.
Then again, maybe she wasn’t the one who did this. Maybe it was someone else. That riddle probably came from one of May’s fellow employees. Someone who would have been able to discreetly slip it into Maddox’s jacket while his attention was on something else.
But I can’t shake the thought that this is Rouge’s doing. She was the one who was so angry about May talking to me.
And I was the one who spoke to her. Invited her to speak to me. Despite knowing the rules.
So in a roundabout way, May’s head is in that hatbox because of me.
I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t know my actions would lead to her demise, but the fact remains that if it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive, working at Aces, earning money to live the American Dream.
And I can’t help it.
I start crying again.
Maddox turns around—he’s placed the bush back into the ground by now—and walks over to me. “Alissa, baby, what’s wrong?”
I whip my gaze up to meet his. “What do you think?”
He scratches his head. “Good point.”
“Oh, Maddox.” I grab his hand. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
“But I was the one who spoke to her. Who got her to speak to me.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth.” He crouches down next to me. “First of all, we don’t know that May’s death has anything to do with her breaking the rules of the club. Second of all, even if that is the case, you had nothing to do with killing her. No one could have foreseen something like this happening.”
Then his eyes twitch slightly.
“Maddox, what is it?”
“What is what, baby?”
“That last thing you said.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Your eye twitched.”
He frowns. “Did it?”
I slowly get to my feet. “Do you know something I don’t know about this?”
He gestures to the hatbox on the picnic table. “About May? Of course not. I was as surprised as you when I opened that box.”
“But you’re not shocked, are you?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “I mean… Let’s just say, I’ve had a feeling about Rouge for some time.”
I widen my eyes. “Then why do you still keep going to her club?”
He blinks. “Because it was just that, Alissa. A feeling. I had no evidence to back up my thoughts about her. Innocent until proven guilty.”
“I think you’ll find enough evidence in that damned hatbox.”
“Of course, baby.” He grabs my hands. “And now that we have proof that Rouge is evil incarnate, we’re going to take the bitch down.”
I can’t believe it. The day has finally come.
I’m going to be free of my mother forever. The wicked witch who made my childhood a living hell will no longer have any power over me.
Yes, I understand that she’s sick. She has OCD and a personality disorder.
An explanation isn’t an excuse.
Things have never gotten quite as bad as the day she broke every dish in the kitchen, but they’ve come close.
For instance, the day I told her that I had decided to pursue a degree in flute performance at university, she broke a window.
Just one window, not every window in the house. So I suppose that’s progress.
She’s been trying to talk me out of it ever since. We finally came to a compromise. I told her I’d fill in my extra credit hours with classes for an anatomy minor. I was decent at biology in secondary school, and I’ve always found the human body fascinating. And the anatomy minor won’t require any labs, so I won’t have to dissect anything.
But the flute is my calling. That I know. Dad started me on lessons five years ago. He said he had read that learning to play a musical instrument was good for my mental development, but honestly? I think he just wanted to give me an excuse to get out of the house once a week. My teacher, Mrs. Beach, used to play with the Royal Philharmonic, and she’s been very pleased with my progress, said I had real career potential, especially if I could get into a school in the States.
But even more than that, something takes over me when I perform. It’s like a light from within envelops my entire body. A light that my mother did her damnedest to snuff out the first eighteen years of my life, but it never quite dissipated.