Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 779(@200wpm)___ 623(@250wpm)___ 519(@300wpm)
My heart had sank inside me, but now it swung like a pendulum. “What leaked call?”
There was a beat of silence before she sighed. “Thanks for the heads-up, Broudou.”
Brett pressed his forehead to the back of my shoulder, his hand folding over my stomach. “Just tell her what you told me.”
She hesitated.
“What leaked call?” I asked again.
“There’s a report hitting the news today that the Midwest Butcher took a reporter’s call, and it’s going to be leaked.”
My insides felt wooden. “Leaked?”
“It’s leaked. It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it’s out there.”
“Where?” I grated out.
“Brett?” she asked, a pinch of impatience edging in.
Brett reached around me to take the phone. He brought it closer. “Just tell her, Kim. She’s been dealing with this shit all her life. You’re not going to be the one to break her.”
She was quiet again, and I didn’t know this Kim person, but I wondered how often people talked to her like that.
“It’s on social media,” she said. “Take your pick. You’ll be able to search for it and find it, and it’s going to spread fast. Do you want me to tell you what he said or do you want me to wait for you to listen to it?”
Brett growled behind me. “Just find it and press play. You can listen to it with us.”
I closed my eyes, shutting down in preparation. I was going to hear his voice again. I’d see his face in my mind.
But I wasn’t going to let myself go back to that day, under the bed, seeing his bloodied boot stepping toward me.
I shuddered.
Brett’s arms tightened around me. He placed the phone next to us and lifted me as he got more comfortable in the corner of the couch.
Cameron Fowler’s voice came over the phone. There was some static, but his voice was clear enough. I knew it was him. “…I mean, this guy out there that’s doing these new killings, he’s not the real Midwest Butcher. I can say that because I know the real Midwest Butcher. He ain’t me either. I’ve been talking to him since he reached out since I’m in here for his crimes.”
A male voice asked, “You’re saying you’re in communication with the real Midwest Butcher?”
“Yeah. Sure am.” He coughed, but I could hear his grin. He was enjoying this. “And yeah, he’s got something to say to this new guy copying him.”
“He does? What does he think of this new killer out there? Is he the guy you’re talking about? Is he the real Midwest Butcher?”
Fowler started laughing, the sound high-pitched and grating. He was more than enjoying this call. “Oh no, no, no. That is definitely not the real Midwest Butcher. This new guy, he knows some of the Butcher’s secrets, that’s for sure, but it’s because he told the new guy.”
“So the Midwest Butcher knows who this new guy is? He’s been in contact with him?”
“He knows exactly who he is, and why he’s doing this. He’s angry at the real Midwest Butcher. Angry and hurt. He feels rejected, but he’s going about it all wrong. You see, there’s something everyone’s got wrong. He thinks it’s time to clear it up.”
“And what is that?”
“Butcher had been in that house just before me. There’s new evidence that backs it up. But—”
“Mr. Fowler, what are you saying here?”
I started hyperventilating.
Brett held me tighter, a hand rubbing over my back in long, slow, soothing swipes.
I focused on that, timing my breathing with his motions, and then I was able to hear again.
“—real message from the real Midwest Butcher is that everyone got it wrong.”
“What did they get wrong?”
Fowler didn’t answer at first. “That the girl got it wrong. She saw me because I’d gone in there to check on the family. I was going to help them, but Butcher had already left. She must not have seen him. That’s why she testified seeing me. She got the wrong guy. He’s still out there and free. I’m an innocent man inside here. And since he’s out there, if anyone were to do something on his behalf, he’d be real mad. It’d be his place to do something. Not anyone else’s. No one else’s.”
The reporter was quiet. “Are you—are you talking about if something were to happen to Willow Harm?”
“No! No,” he said sharply, before lowering his voice. “Just that if someone thought they’d be doing something for him, they wouldn’t be. That’s for him to do. He’d have to do something about them, and he said everyone could read between the lines with that one. He got a good laugh out of that.”
I shoved out of Brett’s arms and ran to the nearest bathroom, emptying my stomach in the toilet.
Brett said something on the phone before he came in, adding, “I have to go.”
I was still bent over the rim.