Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“I’m very drama-free,” he objects. “In fact, I’m the king of being drama-free. And how do I hold a conversation on the telephone by being silent?”
“How did you even know when I came back to New York? Which by the way, suggests you knew when I left. And Reddit forums? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Everyone knew when you returned,” he argues. “It was a thing. How can you not know it was a thing? I mean Roger was a star. Reddit is a social media platform, kind of like Facebook, but not like Facebook, as if you don’t know that. Sorry. I don’t mean to insult you. But there was a Reddit forum about Roger and his protégée, which was you. Now there’s a forum about you, your serial killer mentor, and of course, Kane.”
My gaze slides to Kane as I ask, “What about Kane?”
Kane is now at full attention.
“People love him,” Jack continues. “There’s all kinds of speculation about whether he is or he is not, well, you know,” he whispers, “a drug lord.” His voice returns to normal.
“Of course, women love him and men want to be him. I know I sure do. Actually, no.” He laughs awkwardly. “I want to be you. The male version of you. That good at profiling.”
I mute the call. “There’s a forum about me, Roger, and you, which includes speculation about you being a drug lord.”
“And this surprises you, why?” Kane asks. “We were all over the news before we left.”
My brows dip all over again. “I don’t like it. And you shouldn’t like it, either.” I unmute the call. “Get rid of the forum.”
“I—ah—what? I don’t own the forum.”
“Now you do and I’m holding you personally responsible for it. Get rid of it. Is there another reason for this call?”
“I—ah,” he begins again, “well, bodies are dropping like bird shit under a hickory tree, which is a lot by the way, and I know things that can help, and while no one is listening to me, they’ll listen to you.”
“There’s always bodies dropping in New York City and I’m not a translator service. I’m hanging up now.”
I’m about to do just that and hang up when he spews out, “There’s been a murder, actually, three murders with four victims. I have a theory about the killer, and no one will listen to me, but they’ll listen to you. You see, there are people who these horror movie geeks—”
“Are you one of them?”
“Well yes, I am. I consider it a study in the art of murder, and murder is my thing. I don’t understand anyone who calls themselves a detective and isn’t obsessed with murder.”
“You aren’t a detective.”
“See, I take offense to that. Forensics requires the technician become a detective. And as human beings, in my field, we learn by studying, by living close to the topic of murder. Like you, Lilah. Everyone on the forum agrees. You worked for a serial killer for years, you trained with him. There has to be a part of you that’s just like him.”
I stop walking, hoping like hell I am still not understanding the words coming out of his mouth.
Otherwise, Jack Cox has just likened me to a serial killer.
Chapter Two
My mind delivers an image of me on Kane’s yacht stabbing Roger over, and over, and over again, unstoppable, at least for about a dozen stab wounds. Maybe it was more like twenty. Bottom line, I stabbed him until Kane managed to free himself from the pain of his own injuries to pull me off Roger’s dead body. I killed him, stabbed him until there wasn’t a breath left in him, and blood pooled all over Kane’s outrageously expensive yacht where he’d proposed to me that day.
I feel no remorse for my actions that day. Roger was a killer who tortured his victims and often the victim’s loved ones. That was his plan that day for us as well, me and Kane. He’d severed a muscle in Kane’s shoulder, debilitated him. Then he’d tried to force me to kill Kane. Ultimately, there was no question he would have gutted Kane himself and made me watch. I was never going to let that happen. He had to die. Should I feel remorse for killing him? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I care if I should and don’t anymore.
He’s dead.
The world’s better off for it.
My brother is not, considering he helped bury the body and he’s fucked up in the head because of it.
“Not that I think you’re a serial killer or anything,” Jack assures me, reminding me that once again, I’m on a phone call that still hasn’t gotten to the point. He laughs another awkward laugh and adds, “but you know, a few people on the forums speculate you might be just like Roger, a killer and all. You have to understand though, it’s just to stir drama and get attention.”