Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
She shuffles her feet into the room and stands at the window, staring out into the night. “What do you want to talk about?”
I don’t know.
I have all the same questions as the police asked us tonight. I have all the same questions that they’ll ask us tomorrow. She’s not insane … I mean, she found remains of bodies that were not in a casket. I don’t know if they’ll be able to identify the bodies, but they need to find an explanation better than Josie’s for why the remains were there if we’re not to believe her.
“I don’t think you’re mentally ill, insane, crazy … whatever fucking word you want to use. I think this situation is what’s crazy. It doesn’t make sense in a way that my brain can comprehend.”
“I know,” she whispers.
I take a few more steps, standing behind her for several breaths before wrapping my arms around her, dipping my head to bring my lips close to her ear. “I love you, Josephine Watts.”
With those words, she sucks in a breath and lets it out in a shaky exhale while wiping a few tears.
“Why do you think you were one of those girls? Does it feel like the only explanation?”
She eases her head side to side. “Because I felt it.”
“Felt what?”
“The straight blade along my scalp. And … the fear.”
MEMORIES OF A LIFE
COLTEN & JOSIE: PART TWO
CHAPTER ONE
“Colten messages me hourly. Does he really think I want to know what he had for lunch? Does he need to know our dinner plans at ten in the morning? Do I care that a friend of a friend is pregnant with triplets?”
Dr. Byrd rests an ankle on his opposing knee, wearing an expression of deep thought.
I continue, “He bought new black boots for work. His mom is taking water aerobics. A funny TikTok. Detective Rains has a hangnail.” I roll my eyes. “Okay, not that one, but nearly as ridiculous. He sends all these messages when what he really wants to say is, ‘Are you doing okay? Have you thought about that girl, the one you think you were? Have you made an appointment with your psychiatrist? Are you still planning on marrying me? Have you told anyone else about your theory?’”
“Have you?” Dr. Byrd asks.
“Listen … it’s not a theory. I haven’t been wrong once since the day I woke from my near-death experience. I want to be wrong. This isn’t the kind of ‘right’ anyone would find satisfying. But no, I haven’t told anyone except the Nashville police. If I didn’t have the credentials that I do, there’s little doubt that I would have been committed by now.”
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” he asks.
“I think I’ve reached the point of ‘if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck.’ Tomorrow the clouds could part and angels could descend from heaven. If that happens, even the most headstrong atheists will take a moment to rethink their beliefs. So … yeah. I’m inclined to believe in reincarnation since I have such inexplicable things in my head from a time way before the existence of Josephine Watts from Des Moines, Iowa.”
“Tell me about the girl.”
“The one I was in another life?”
He nods.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just remember the feeling. Feeling scared. Feeling the edge of the straight blade against my scalp. It cut me. He told me to hold still.”
“Who told you?”
“Winston Jeffries.”
“Are you sure?”
I glance up at Dr. Byrd. “Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know. I just want to know if you’re sure it was him or if you might be deducing it from the information you’ve gathered online coupled with the visions in your head.”
“No. I mean …” I rub my temples. “I don’t know. I just want to forget. Whatever’s in my head, I want to forget it. I felt a responsibility to follow through and figure it out. Now that I have, I just want to forget about it. It wasn’t a premonition. I don’t feel the urgency to prevent these girls from dying.”
“Are you back to work?”
“Two weeks.” I blow out a long breath. “I need work. I need my mind to find its place again.”
“And the engagement? Are you making wedding plans?”
I laugh. “No. I haven’t told my parents yet.”
“Why?”
“Because …” I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can be that girl he murdered and be a bridezilla.”
“Has Colten told his family?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t asked him?”
“He’s … I don’t know. He’s okay, yet not okay. Colten and I have always danced around the truth. For as long as I can remember, we’ve made our own reality. We’ve had front row seats to watching the rest of the world and acting like it doesn’t affect us if we don’t let it.”
“How has that worked for you?”