Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Why?” was the only word that slipped from my tightening throat. I could barely swallow any saliva down, turning it into globs of sticky wetness that I forced myself to swallow.
“He must know we’re onto him. Maybe he’s switching up his MO just to tie up his loose ends.”
Those loose ends that needed to be tied? I was looking directly at them.
“Harry’s in this—”
“Harry wouldn’t be the target,” Matt reassured me, throwing a tiny glass of water onto the raging inferno of fear and confusion in my head. “He doesn’t live in Blue Creek. He’s not in any kind of relationship so he can’t be cheating on someone… it’s not him. It’s us. The Pegasus is after us.”
Matt put a hand under my arm and lifted me up. When had I dropped to my knees? And how did my knees still function?
I usually had a good handle on surprise developments in my cases. I’d seen some shit over my years as an investigator and had to deal with the nightmares that resulted from said shit, but nothing I’d ever witnessed came close to the horror that was that single photograph. It was a morbid promise, lying underneath a stack of previously filled promises.
All I could see was Matt and me, resting hand in hand with a pair of bloody wings painted behind each of us. It was such a vivid image, painted in bold crimsons and dark shadows. I had to look away from Matt or risk my lunch coming up.
Deep breath, deep breath.
Matt took a photo of the trunk, along with photos of everything inside, as if we wouldn’t be remembering this for the rest of our (potentially short) lives.
Deep breath.
I had to remind myself before I slipped into the quick and sharp breaths that foretold a panic attack. I hadn’t gotten one of those in—fuck, the last time I’d felt this was the night I pushed Matt out of my house. I vividly remembered feeling like a caged animal that night, circling my house in fits of tears, not understanding how pain could be so visceral without actually being physical. Nothing helped either. Nothing stopped the ants from crawling under every inch of my skin or stopped my bones from feeling like they were made of live wire.
This all felt exactly the same. Like I was seconds from bursting. Matt must have seen it in my eyes, his gaze instantly growing concerned when he looked at me.
“Let’s get back upstairs,” he said, reaching for my hand. “You’re looking a little pale.”
If I weren’t so fucking scared, I would have been embarrassed. Maybe this was the real reason why Matt stayed in the FBI and I left? He was made out of solid stone and marble, while I was made of flimsy sticks and leaves. It’s why I caved all those years ago instead of standing up and fighting for what I truly wanted, and now that I was getting exactly who I truly wanted, a serial killer decided to make us their target.
Great. Just fucking great.
“Think we covered everything in here?” I was surprised at my ability to form a cohesive question.
Matt nodded, looking around the room. I tried to discern any kind of fear or nerves in his eyes, but there was nothing except firm determination. Not even a twitch in the eyebrow or a downward curl of the lip. He may have been experiencing the same sickening range of fear I was, but nothing on him showed it.
I used him as an anchor, steadying my breaths and focusing on the task at hand: finding the Pegasus and locking the monster up for the rest of his pathetic life.
And we were so much closer at doing exactly that. Before finding this hideout, we were swimming in the dark, reaching for any kind of flotsam we could grab onto. Now though, we had proper evidence along with a trail leading us to the next victims (deep breath, deep breath).
This was the closest we’d ever gotten to the Pegasus. I couldn’t let fear get in the way.
Matt and I climbed back up the creaking steps, one of them fully cracking as I put my weight on it. A thin railing stopped me from falling backward, although the railing itself didn’t seem like it would hold up for much longer.
Upstairs, the air was no fresher, the house having only grown darker as the sun set. As we crossed the musty living room, red and blue lights flashed from the cracks in-between the boarded-up windows. Perfect timing. The sheriff met us outside as we exited the house, her officers already fanning out around the property, guns drawn and aimed toward the home.
“What did you find?” Sheriff Mosley asked. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun, and her eyes revealed the lack of sleep she’d been having, the corners bloodshot and her under-eyes dark with shadow.