Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Once I’m done with the food, I get up promptly, because there’s no point wasting any more time with my mark. I have to face the reality that he’s not a suitable stand-in for a partner.
Daryl tries to crawl away, making jerky motions in the chair he’s tied to, but even he must know it’s hopeless.
I open the little case containing a syringe and the tiniest of needles, and then hold him still as the point goes into his ear. A moment of struggle, and then it’s over. I leave him on the floor as he drifts out of consciousness, and take my time putting all the dishes into the washer, then clean every surface. By the time I’m done, he’s gone, and I remove all the signs of his untimely death being anything but a sudden-onset medical issue.
It’s not always the way I do things, I like my guns, and most of all, to make things personal with a knife, but Mrs. Walker “didn’t want to make a fuss”. Who am I to question her wishes when her money swells my bank account?
When I leave the apartment, a hollow feeling settles in my stomach despite the delicious meal I’ve just had. The person I revealed a bit of myself to is dead. And it’s not like I wished Daryl in particular to be my new best friend, but the reality of being alone always hits harder when I pass brightly lit shop windows advertising gifts for your loved ones.
The only loved one I have is myself and treating myself to luxuries has long stopped feeling special.
The main street is something straight out of a Hallmark movie, with small trees sitting in front of every shop and colorful lights stretched between lanterns. There’s even a shimmery collection of elves for the kids to find as part of a month-long competition, but while one of them is peeking at me from the branch of a nearby tree, I don’t plan to stay here long enough to see who gets the lifetime supply of chocolate offered to the winner.
A Christmas song streams from a clothing store nearby, but I ignore it, eager to reach my hotel room and call it a day when the door to one of the cute New England houses swings open, and a young man spills out.
He bumps into me, but it’s him almost tripping in the process as his foot slides over the sidewalk.
“Watch it!” he snarls.
He uses a simple black cane to regain balance, but as he walks off, his limp is barely noticeable. He’s wearing a dark gray camo jacket and heavy boots, along with a large, furry trapper hat, but it’s his big dark eyes that catch my attention when our gazes meet for half a second. A few strands of black hair stick out from under the hat, getting in the way. A flush appears on his pale skin as he exhales a big cloud of vapor and mutters something to himself, but then he rushes past me as if this is a race.
He’s upset about much more than almost tripping. I’ve spent years on my own, staring at people, reading them, so I know the signs. He takes a few more steps, crumpling an envelope in his hands along the way, and throws it at a trash can without checking if it reaches its goal. The paper bounces off the rim and onto the sidewalk, but he’s already walking on as fast as the limp allows him.
There’s no reason for me to care what made this stranger so angry, but maybe it’s a bit early to stretch on the hotel bed and watch a cooking show? After all, it’s only dark already because it’s that time of the year.
My foot hovers above the asphalt, but curiosity gets the best of me and I step over a mound of snow to grab the envelope. The slush lingering in the gutter managed to get it a bit wet, but when I pull out the single piece of paper inside, the ink is sharp and clear, as are the jagged shapes of the letters.
As I read the first sentence, the melody of a new cover of ‘All I want for Christmas is You’ worms its way into my brain.
Dear Santa,
All I want for Christmas is revenge…
Chapter 2
Rowan
I scoot down by the rat trap, cooing at the rodent desperately squeaking at me about its trapped tail.
“I know what it’s like. Just let me help you,” I whisper in frustration as the rat snaps at me.
I put on a pair of gloves and reach for the hinge of the ancient, cruel trap. This is no way to hunt. If Chuck wants to catch rats in the back of the store, he should either get one of those that kill on the spot, or humanely trap the animal and let it out later.