Chapter 45. The Watcher
The Watcher
You’ve really escalated things, Holly. But I knew that would happen.
You lit the fire under the pot, and it’s boiling over.
Someone was bound to get hurt, but did you think they’d end up dead?
What was that like for you, seeing Allen Spellman splattered all over his desk?
I can only imagine the shock you experienced.
Death is ugly business, at least until the mortician gets involved and pretties everything up.
But nobody was there to close Allen’s eyes or repair the hole in his head.
You had to see the entire bloody aftermath unfiltered, in its most raw and visceral form.
Trust me when I say you’ll never dream the same way again. Instead of your refuge, sleep will become your battlefield. I’ve personally seen things, done things that I can never forget, let alone forgive.
Sadly, I’m more afraid of living than I am of dying.
But that’s the crazy thing about life—it can beat you up, tear you apart; it can take and take until you’re nothing but an empty shell, until all you have left to carry you from one moment to the next is the air in your lungs. Yet it’s so hard to let go.
Even with all my pain, my suffering, the hurt I’ve caused, all the terrible things I’ve done, I still sprout from the soil like a lone blade of grass in a desecrated field, hoping for redemption.
But there’s also the monster within. I often wonder if I’ll ever be free of myself.
Perhaps death won’t even provide that release.
So for now I’m here, and I fight, and I will continue to do all I can to protect myself, whether I deserve it or not.