Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“That’s true.”
“The only thing he accomplished today,” Paris said, “was pissing my brother and his friends off. They’re going to regret that.”
She dropped the statement as a fact of life.
“They will strike back, and when they do, they’ll crush any resistance under their boot.”
“Geez,” I breathed. “Did you not scare yourself saying that?”
Paris’s gaze grew out of focus. “They can’t have Bedlam, Rainey. No one can.”
“They won’t. I’m sure it’s like you said. Mob mentality is easy. Critical thinking about the future of this town, isn’t as easy to control.”
Paris shook herself. Her bright smile returned. “Bet your ass it’s not. So, which Doctor are we feeling? Nine, ten, or eleven.”
“Ninth for sure.” I picked her phone off the nightstand. “Do you mind if I make one more call?”
She waved me on. “Go for it.”
I went into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I did have to make a call, but it was the letter I pulled out, not the phone.
I read it too many times to count since racing from the woods and climbing on the bus with Frankie. Backward and forward, it didn’t make sense to me. If not for the standard sign-off, I’d have thought the letter was written by someone else.
The way they wrote to me, the message was almost... tender.
The Letter Man spoke like all of this had been a coming-of-age ritual and I’d finally proven myself to him. The trials were over, now for celebration.
It is finally time for us.
I hugged myself, rubbing my arms. Sitting on the hill among the roses that were my altar, a terrible feeling sunk into my bones and forced me to purge bile.
What if the Letter Man did not hate me at all? What if it was just the opposite?
But that was not the case for Cavendish. That man hated me only slightly more than he hated himself, and I’d have said the same about his friend before I received this letter.
I “killed” Verlice. I proved I was willing to sacrifice with the ultimate sin to protect my friends. Was this what they wanted all along? Is it over now?
I tossed my head, pacing the length of the bathroom. If that was it, why didn’t it end with Cavendish? Why did Letter Man 2.0 come for me like I murdered his best friend, and then suddenly do a one-eighty? Why take the risk and snatch me off campus? Why bring me to Black Widow Hill and place me on the grave? How did they know about it?
Groaning, I slid down the wall. All those questions in my head, there was one rising above.
Would their next letter be a time and place to meet them, and would I go if it was?
He thought I was ignoring him and he sent me notes even more deranged than the last. Threatening me, my friends, and my secrets. If I didn’t show up, what would stop him sending a tip to the police about the body? Why wouldn’t he direct Sheriff Jack to Cavendish’s killer?
Am I willing to die for my secrets? I could show up and be gifted an arrow in my heart.
Or you could show up and gift one in his.
I raised my head from my hands, gazing at the letter. My choices were simple, weren’t they? They were what they had always been.
One: Involve the police and have them meet the Letter Man in my place.
Two: Ignore the request to meet and endure the wave of violence he’ll swear to unleash on the few people I have left.
Three: End this menace over my life once and for all.
The police were never truly an option. At least not any officers that were Sheriff Jack or worked under him. For Paris, Frankie, and Bella, I could risk his involvement. Their safety was bigger than me. But for me, the last place I’d put my safety is in his hands.
To ignore the Letter Man was to continue in this endless cycle. He’d prey on all of Bedlam while I remained ten steps behind a phantom.
Doesn’t that leave the only option I ever had?
I could confront him. I’d find out why they chose me, and I wouldn’t arrive unarmed. I’d have my bow aimed at them the entire time. It was a certainty they couldn’t strike before I did. There was only one problem with this option.
I couldn’t kill again.
“Ahh,” I cried, tears dripping down my face.
“Rainey? You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I tore off some toilet paper. My revenge fantasies were just that. The thought of actually making that decision again—of releasing that string and falling into the calm place. Righteous fury made me a victim.
Enjoyment made me a monster.
I picked up Paris’s phone and dialed Ivy’s number. Whenever I needed her, she was there. She had to sense I needed her more than ever.