“It’s true. I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
I slowly and calmly reached behind my back and pulled out the long hunting knife I kept from my past life, and a rag I’d found in the garage. “Well, that wouldn’t be very smart of you.” I yanked her head back, stuffed the gag in her mouth, and brought the knife down swiftly. Her muffled screams carried on long after the blade was lodged in the wood between her legs.
“The next one goes in your knee cap. I’ll dismember every part of your body and will keep you from ever walking, talking, hearing, touching, or tasting.” I removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you listening now?”
Her breathing shuddered as her body shook, and she looked up at me with fear. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone that not even your worst nightmare wants to fuck with.”
“But you’re just a boy.”
“Well, then I guess that makes me a unique breed. Tell me what I want to know. The clock is ticking.”
“I told you, I—”
The knife was against her face drawing a thin, red line against the painted and powered skin of her cheek. Her shaking became uncontrollable and continued even when I withdrew the knife. “Oh, God. Please don’t.”
“Are you going to make me have to kill you?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently.
“Then give me what I came for.”
I knew the exact moment the fight left her. The threat of death was enough to persuade most, but the thought of living life physically impaired was the most persuasive.
“In my purse,” she directed. I continued to stare at her until she nodded her insistence. “In the inside pocket is an envelope marked with my name.”
I left her side to retrieve the medium sized, designer bag that was strewn on the floor. When she had come home, I took her by surprise and managed to restrain her with little fight, but not before she had tossed her purse at me.
To be honest, I hated it. It was hard being victimized in your own home, but it was just as hard to be the aggressor when you didn’t want to be. I wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination a psychopath. I didn’t enjoy stalking and terrorizing but I did what any person would do when threatened. I retaliated.
I grabbed the envelope from her purse, and instead of ripping into it immediately, I eyed her up and down. There was something I needed to say before I saw whatever it was in there that had her convinced I had killed her daughter.
“I’m sorry you lost your daughter.”
It was the most I was willing to give her. Saying that I regretted her daughter was dead would be a lie. Anya chose to be a part of a very sinister plan against Monroe and she lost.
Mrs. Risdell’s face was masked in confusion before she seemed to catch on. She didn’t nod or acknowledge what I had said as she continued to stare. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to make amends. I needed to save my ass.
I opened the envelope and ripped out the only thing inside.
A card.
A fucking sympathy card that read ‘Sorry For Your Loss’ on the front in colorful cursive print. I flipped open the card and almost swallowed my tongue.
A picture—with enough evidence to put more than just me away for a long time—was inside. The edges of the card crumbled under my tight grip when thick bold writing on the inside caught my eye:
You’re welcome.
*
I’d left her house as silently as I had come. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the hospital parking lot, unsuccessfully beating down panic and the feeling of failure.
A game plan was needed fast. Dash was on speed dial, so in less than ten seconds, I had him on the line. “Dash, we need to meet.”
His voice was full of sleep when he growled, “What? Right now?”
“What do you think man?”
“Where?”
“The hospital. I’m already here.”