Chapter 27 #4
As the last word fell from my lips, I looked down to the paper where Hunter’s writing appeared and read aloud:
A chuisle mo chróí, my pulse, my obsession.
I cannot bear to look upon your face with this shame I bare.
This is a confession of the lives I’ve taken.
I am the Midwest Killer. I am the Pretty Girl Killer.
I do not deserve a trial. Nor a chance at life.
Forgive me my love. I cannot bring myself to face you, for I fear you’d talk me out of it.
Hopefully, no one will find my body. But if they do, know I did it only to protect you. I love you forever, my pretty thing.
Hunter
Jesus Christ.
“This makes him sound like a tortured Victorian spirit from the eighteenth century or something,” I said, shoulders tense.
“Look, Mags, it’s the best we got. If the police ask for anything to compare his writing, give them this book. The handwriting matches. The tone. Everything. It’ll work. It has to.”
Nightfall came and the clock couldn’t move fast enough.
I wanted to get it over with, forget Hunter—forget everything.
But Katie demanded I get some rest and wait until 2 or 3 AM.
But there was no way my eyes were staying closed with the thought of her risking it all for me.
She’d already done that multiple times since I’d met her, and nothing I could say or do would repay her for that.
I pulled Chester into me, running my fingers through his soft fur—I’d missed him so much. I couldn’t believe I sent him away. He always had such a good sense of character. Had I kept him here with me, maybe things would have been different.
We snuggled into our favorite spot in the sunroom. His purrs became a sweet lullaby as he nuzzled into my ear, kneading biscuits into me while my eyes finally grew heavy from a week of not sleeping on a hospital cot.
Before I knew it, I’d been out for five hours, and Katie’s touch on my arm jolted me awake.
“Mags, it’s time. You ready?”
“I guess,” I said, my voice still coated in the sound of sleep.
Katie had drawn a map to the cliff on a small slip of paper and directed me to leave my phone behind. I was to wait another hour before leaving, drop the car, and meet her at a 24-hour bookshop and cafe.
“Everything will be fine. We’ve got this.” She hugged me. “Remember, wait an hour before leaving. I’ll go pick us out some good monster porn at the cafe.” Then she ran out the door.
An hour left.
Just an hour.
I jumped in a quick shower and got myself ready to set up the biggest, most dangerous lie yet.
Whoever found Hunter’s car couldn’t suspect anyone but him was driving, so before I even left the manor, I slipped on some gloves and a pair of his boots.
In the car, I’d placed a brand-new pair of my boots on the passenger side for me to wear out of the woods.
I drove to the far side of the cove like Katie directed.
Once there, the houses became sparse. Tall pines filtered in. I kept driving. Once there wasn’t a home in sight, I’d be close. Then I saw the metal gate. It had deteriorated to just a metal bar hanging by a single hinge. A worn sign swung by a chain, weathered by the elements, yet still legible.
Keep Out.
I got out and pushed it open. The long groaning creak of the hinge echoed through the vast pines, sending a shrill spike of lightning up my spine.
Fuck, was I really doing this?
Katie’s voice echoed in my mind: “Drive until the moonlight breaks through the pines. Just beyond… will be the cliff. Get out. Leave the door open.”
I reached over, grabbed the boots from the floor, and paced my steps wide—mimicking Hunter’s stride. The forest debris crunched under each step until I reached a large stone on the edge of the cliff. I stood and took in the inky black painting in front of me.
The night bled into the black sea below—the water absorbing all light.
Dark.
Quiet.
Still.
A craving for that peace lodged itself deep in my throat.
It would have been so easy to just step off that ledge.
Katie was right. It was the perfect spot.
Once my body hit the hard granite below, the crashing waves would carry me out to sea.
Any remnants of my body… blood… bone… would be washed away before anyone would have a chance to miss me.
And once I was in the open ocean… it would only be a matter of time…
maybe three—five days, if a shark didn’t find me that I’d start to float, a curious storm petrel pecking at my carcass.
It would be so simple.
So quick.
But I promised him—no shortcuts.
I stepped out of Hunter’s boots and threw each one over the edge, watching them plummet to the rocky shore below and get swept up in the crashing waves.
Then I removed his ring and flipped it over, reading the inscription—A chuisle mo chróí. Forever my beating heart—before opening my fingers and dropping it to the rocks beneath.
Did killing Hunter make what I did right? Of course not. But it did protect the world from another monster hungry for blood.
That had to be enough to justify his death. Cause if it wasn’t… I was just as bad as he was.