Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
It doesn’t help that the house feels wrong. There’s no lingering scent of home-cooked meals or any worn-in furniture. Just…nothing.
We walk toward the living room, and I take it in—a charcoal-colored sofa, a glass coffee table, and a massive flat-screen mounted on the wall.
Everything is pristine, not a pillow out of place, not a single mark on the floor, not a hint of the man who’s taking over my life.
And my sanity.
Jude’s silent, controlled strides are my only tether to reality. He removes his leather jacket and throws it on the chair. His T-shirt stretches across his back, ink curls down his arms, the shadows animating the symbols and designs.
He faces me and I stop dead, swaying in place, then look down. His boots come into view, and I jerk my head up, covering my mouth with my palm.
I certainly don’t want to give the prick a chance to kiss me again.
His lips twitch, just the slightest bit as he flicks a glance to the sofa.
Sit.
No words. Just a single motion.
I hesitate, clutching my backpack tighter, then my shoulders hunch and I sit. On the edge.
Still gripping the straps.
Jude doesn’t join me, just stands in front of me, looking like a wall. He’s already tall when I’m upright, but at the moment, he’s ten times more intimidating.
“Now what?” I ask, remembering to look at him.
He doesn’t reply, just continues to stare at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking about.
“You brought me here for a reason, right? If we can reach it soon, that would be great.”
Jude tilts his head to the side. “In a hurry to go back to your unremarkable life?”
“Yes, actually. It might be unremarkable, but it’s mine and I’m happy with it.”
“Happy enough to write about how much you’ve thought about dying every other day?”
My throat dries, the emotions getting clogged in there. “You had no right to read my journal.”
“I think we’ve established that I don’t give a fuck what you think.”
“Fine.” I release a breath, feeling exhausted by just looking into his unfeeling eyes. “Can you tell me why I’m here? I’m tired and could use some sleep before my early classes tomorrow, so if you don’t mind…”
I start to stand up, but the look he gives me pins me in place.
Finally, however, he turns around and flips on the TV. “Don’t move.”
Before I can ask what’s going on, he pulls out his phone and sidesteps me.
My eyes trail after him, but he disappears around the corner.
Even with his absence, I don’t feel relaxed, not in the least. If anything, my shoulders are crowded with tension as I stare at the screen. I’m not in the mood to watch TV—
My lips fall open.
The scene playing before me is familiar.
The video is cut, set to vertical mode, showing only two people.
A man and a woman I’ll never forget for as long as I live.
My breathing comes out in harsh pants as the man stabs the woman.
Then he does it again.
And again.
And again.
Her blood spills on the pavement, on her beautiful white-and-yellow sundress, her blonde hair, and her eyes turn lifeless.
Bile gathers in my throat, and my heart nearly rips out of my chest, but I remain frozen. Just like the time I saw this same scene play out right before my eyes.
And just like then, Mama’s words play in my head like a mantra.
“Don’t meddle, you little bitch.”
“Do you think anyone would need the help of an ugly whore like you?”
“Who do you think you are?”
“Useless.”
“Useless.”
“Fucking useless.”
Tears stream down my cheeks and my fingers twitch, my entire body trembling so hard, I’m wheezing.
That’s when I hear it.
A muffled moan of pain.
A groan.
A bang.
It’s not coming from the TV since there’s no audio, and the woman, Susie Callahan, is lying in a puddle of her own blood, her empty eyes staring at nothing.
No, the sounds are closer.
Somewhere in the house.
I consider leaving, maybe…maybe calling the police.
But the police didn’t save Susie when I called them that day. Ever since then, I’ve regretted my cowardice and the way I let Mama’s voice freeze me in place.
I’m paying for my silence by being assigned an angel of death in the form of Jude.
So, I’ll never be a bystander again.
Standing on wobbly feet, I cast one last glance at Susie, then wipe my eyes as I try to find the source of the sounds.
Muffled groans.
No, they’re screams, I think.
My legs are still shaking as I go down the stairs, jumping a little when the lights switch on.
Damn. I really hate basements. I’ve watched enough true crimes documentaries to know this is where the shit hits the fan.
I pull out my phone, gripping it tighter as the volume of the sounds increases.
I pass by an open door and stop.
A large blond-haired man with bulging eyes is strapped to a chair in the middle of a sterile basement room. The walls are white and there’s a metal cabinet behind the chair.