Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Of course, I realize now—in this moment and stupidly ten days into this mess, like I’m not a smart person—I haven’t once considered that we live in the age of technology. I’ve used my cellphone and internet, and it’s safe to assume that means Hulk will know where I am, which also translates to the very real possibility Jeremy could possess such skills as well. I have no way of knowing but at least anyone who wants to find me has to work for it and will likely leave their own electronic footprint.
With that idea in mind, I sit my butt down in a rocking chair before I dial Hulk. “I still haven’t found Jeremy,” he answers in anticipation of my question. I guess I might call him rather excessively, every single day. Actually, no might about it. I do. I have. And I will continue to. “Just stay where you are. It’s a good spot.”
My eyes rip across the horizon toward the dirt road leading to the cabin, and I ask, “Do you know where I am?”
“Yes. I tracked you.”
Cotton clogs up my throat and sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Can he find me?”
“He’s not me, and most people aren’t, but any idea he might come for you is a new premise, not previously discussed. If you think he’s coming for you, honey, I’ll come get you and put you up someplace he can’t find you.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“You don’t think?” he demands. “This isn’t something to ‘think.’ You need to know.”
“I’m fine. Just please find him.” I hang up, certain that if Hulk comes here, he’ll die. Certain I have more of a chance of surviving alone.
I’m staying here, with no one else in the line of fire. It’s the right choice, at least for now, but I need to shift from research to planning. I can’t explain my visions of Jeremy’s victims, but without question, they’re devastatingly real. That means that I have to find a way to explain his guilt, to prove it, in fact, or anyone I ask for help will think I’m crazy. Maybe I’ll enlist a team that will find victims we’re not aware of, victims that will result in him being charged and back on trial. And this time, I vow, I’ll join the DA’s office and ensure Jeremy ends up behind bars. The DA will love the attention my switching sides will deliver, but I won’t care. I just want Jeremy in captivity. The answers I seek must be in my case files. They have to be. I have something on Jeremy—something buried in the evidence.
A sense of urgency drives me to my feet.
Thunder rumbles in the far distance, the gentleness of the snow showers transforming into thundersnow, darkening the shadows and stirring the wind, transforming the calm into unsettled mischief. A light pierces the horizon, bobbing along the dirt path leading to the cabin. My heart jackhammers, and my gaze follows the light as it tracks down the mountainside, and I’m acutely aware that the solitude that has become my sanity is about to end.
But it’s not Jeremy.
Jeremy is already here.
I shake myself with the ridiculous idea that came out of nowhere, my arms fold in front of me, a shelter of sorts.
I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. I am even objective enough to know that I’ve been avoiding the very real possibility that I am losing my mind, or even worse, that I already have.
Headlights flicker with the bumps of uneven terrain, and I freeze with the sudden déjà vu of prickling on the back of my neck, of the hair standing up on my arms. I brace myself for what comes next, knowing instinctively what is happening to me. Just like it had in the courtroom when Jeremy had touched me, ice rips down my spine, the sensation tearing through me with so much force that I barely manage to contain a scream. I have no idea why, but I reach for my cup, and coffee slops over my hands, but I hold on, squeezing the cup with a viselike grip, a subzero chill rushing over me, consuming me.
Thankfully, the effect fades quickly, leaving me holding my breath with no vision to follow. It’s as if something internal warns me of trouble, as if the ice tries to shield me from the fires of hell. I pant out a breath, and somehow my mug is on the porch, shattered into tiny broken pieces, and I wonder if it’s a replica of my mind. My gaze flicks to the vast expanse of the woods, and I fight the urge to run. Headlights near, closing in on me and my impending escape—it’s truly now or never.
Stay or run.
I’m still standing on the cabin’s porch, frozen in place, when the approaching car’s lights flicker at the entrance to the driveway. My feet don’t move, seemingly sealed in cement and locked in place. Some part of my mind operates as if I’m an observer of a horror movie and the audience is screaming, “Are you nuts? Don’t just stand there!”