Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,62
to finish that sentence before a heavy metal door burst open—and there in the very pale light of a quarter moon stood the repulsive scumbag who’d started this whole thing…all for a leg up.
Westcott Morgan.
Chapter 18
Mistletoe
Written by, Nasri, Justin Bieber, Adam Messinger 2011
And Westcott Morgan had a really big gun.
Now, I’ve said this before, I don’t know a whole lot about guns, but I think it was Mr. Feeney’s shotgun, and all I can tell you is this: no matter the cost, I wasn’t going to let these girls end up with big ugly holes in their chests the way Gable had.
Both of the girls cried out in what sounded like surprise and, of course, terror, but I shoved them behind me as my eyes adjusted to the light and the wind rushed in, blowing snowflakes directly into my face.
“You!” he seethed. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone? Why couldn’t you just go away?!”
From the kneeling position I was in, Jasmine and Lisa clung to me, their bodies trembling so violently, I almost tipped over.
Yet, I countered, my head throbbing, my eyes fixed on the barrel of that gun. “Why did you murder Gable Norton? How did that fit into your sick plan to manufacture a big story?”
Because, BTW, that’s what he’d done. He’d manufactured this entire mess from start to finish.
His nostrils flared, his eyes wild and his face distorted as he cried, “I didn’t mean to kill him! That was never part of the plan! Never! If he’d have just given me the SD card, I would have left and no one would have gotten hurt! I just wanted to prove I could write a story! I swear I was going to bring them all back. No one was supposed to get hurt!”
My seething anger, my disgust, took over as I clenched my fists. “Isn’t there something about the best-laid plans, Westcott? You’re a writer,” I spat. “You know what I mean, don’t you, wordsmith? But in your quest for a story, you almost killed my uncle!”
Jasmine and Lisa whimpered behind me, but I held them back.
Westcott Morgan’s face crumbled at my words, but he had a firm grip on that gun. “I didn’t know he was in the bathroom! I swear, I didn’t know, Hal! I was fighting with Gable, and then your uncle was on the floor bleeding and Gable had a hole in his chest the size of a donut! I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt!”
I rose on slow legs, aching and tried from kneeling. “Why did you want the SD card, Westcott? What was on it that you didn’t want anyone to see?”
His shoulders slumped as the wind tore at his curly hair and his eyes went dull. “I was going to dump Kerry that night—maybe in the woods. I wasn’t going to hurt her. I wasn’t going to hurt any of them. I swear it! But Kerry got away. She got out of the trunk of my car. I didn’t give her enough of the sedative. I knew I should have given her more!”
My pulse raced as I decided I didn’t care where we were transported to, as long as we got away from this maniac. If only I could remember the words…
“And she got away from you, didn’t she, Westcott? She ran away and hid in the woods for two days!”
He nodded a sad bob of his head as he steadied the gun. “She ran off…and it was all going to be on that SD card, Hal. All of it. Every single second of me going into the store to get her food while she broke out of the trunk. I was going in there so I could leave her with food, and she ran away!”
The way he said those words, as though I should pity him because he was going to feed his hostage—his victim—made my stomach roll. I’m pretty sure some of that upset had to do with the gunk Hobbs had given me, but I felt like I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
“And then what, Westcott? What were you going to do then?”
He shook his head, his eyes wild. “I don’t know!” he moaned. “They didn’t know who I was. The only person who knew was your uncle because when I was fighting with Gable, he pulled up my mask. I was careful, Hal. I was always careful when I brought them food. When I drugged them. I was so careful!”