Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
The door slams shut under my weight and panic quickly overwhelms my system. I spin around, grabbing hold of the heavy metal handle and pulling as hard as I fucking can, but it doesn’t budge. It’s determined to keep me trapped inside this big-ass, twisted freezer.
I try and try again, my desperation quickly wearing me down as tears spring to my eyes. I can’t be here. This is too much; it’s too fucking weird.
I claw at the door until my fingers bleed, banging my fists against the hard oak as I scream for freedom, but I’m fucking trapped.
What in the motherfucking, messed up, Snow White bullshit fuckery is going on in here? Who the fuck keeps a dead guy inside a glass coffin for them to come and watch over? What is this? Some old girlfriend that they’re hoping to pucker up for and bring her back to life?
Fucking hell.
I thought being stalked through mazes and witnessing callous murders would be the worst part. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Realizing just how fucked I truly am, I turn back around, my mind taking me to a million places that I don’t want to go. Though the one question that plagues my thoughts is who’s in the box? And fuck me in the ass, please don’t let it be an empty box that they’re hoping to use for me.
My hands shake as my knees threaten to buckle beneath me, and despite my better judgment, I find myself creeping toward it. I get three steps in before I can make out what looks like long black hair, but shit, there’s nothing even remotely pretty about it.
My stomach sinks. The glass is foggy and I realize that this is some kind of deep freezer, and from the looks of it, it’s definitely a woman. My hand clenches at my side. All I would need to do is swipe my hand over the glass and I’d be able to see her face clearly, but how messed up does one person have to be to actually do it?
My curiosity gets the best of me, and my hand shakes as I gently brush my fingers across the glass, positive that something is about to jump out at me.
Before I can change my mind, I take a deep breath and peer inside.
A woman stares up at me and my loud squeal pierces through the room as I stumble back, my heart thundering with fear.
Short gasps force their way out of my throat, and after a long pause, I finally start to calm my racing heart. I creep back toward the woman and hesitantly peer down at her. This is the most fucked up thing I have ever seen. The woman looks uncomfortable and her skin is an off shade that could only be achieved with death.
Is this Felicity?
I study her decomposing features, trying to imagine what this woman could have looked like with life pulsing through her veins, with warm skin and a flirty smile, but I just don’t see it. Her eyes are dark, so fucking dark that they somehow remind me of the three monsters downstairs. Is this their mother?
I don’t know anything about the process of preserving a dead body or how long it can even be kept, but I was under the impression that the boys’ mother died a long time ago. They haven’t exactly opened up about her, but surely if men like this grew up with a mother by their side, they wouldn’t be quite so messed up.
All I know is that whatever the guys are trying to achieve here, it’s only partially working. I mean, surely they’d need some kind of epic deep freezer to make this work, but then, perhaps this isn’t just a regular glass coffin. The room is cold as ice and the glass was freezing to touch, so perhaps they’ve put some thought into this.
Unable to keep looking, I pull myself away from the horrors inside the room and slam my back up against the door once again. My knees buckle and I sink to the ground, the tears flowing free and heavy down my face.
I thought things were finally starting to get a little bit better. The boys didn’t want me dead, and while they have some fucked up ways of showing it, I thought I was going to survive. But their father … he’s so much worse than I ever thought.
Abigail didn’t deserve death; she was killed simply for knowing me. She was one of the only kind people in my life and while we weren’t close friends, she was definitely one of the better people I knew. She covered my shifts when I was sick and I would do the same for her, though she had so much more of a life than I did. She was always calling and asking to switch things around, but I didn’t mind because that meant at least one of us got to enjoy our lives.