Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,81

they look at first, and Audrey was set to inherit everything—the house and money. So, I … tampered with their car one night before they went out for dinner. Millions of people die in automobile accidents every day.

“Annoying thing was that Audrey wasn’t happy they were dead. She actually mourned them. But that was my error. I had protected her, shielded her from everything, so she never really knew who they were.” I sigh. “She was just so sad. Honestly, it was starting to bug me. So, I decided to try and cheer her up. I left her notes. Little gifts. To make her feel special. Let her think she had an admirer. But it didn’t work. She was still fucking depressed.

“There was this bird that used to sit outside her bedroom window; it used to chirp nonstop. Honestly, it was like nails on a blackboard. I thought getting rid of that would make her happy. And it was fun, snapping its little neck. The cat next door was shitting all over the flowers in the garden. I knew it bothered her. So, I killed the cat. But she was still fucking sad.

“Then, one day, Audrey seemed to be perking up. She actually went out to get her hair done. And the bitch at the salon was awful to her. Some stuck-up receptionist who made her feel like an inconvenience. Audrey went home and cried. I was so fucking mad. It was the first day that she’d actually started to feel better, and that bitch brought her back down.

“So, later on that night, when it was dark and Audrey was resting, I took a knife with me and went back to the salon … followed that receptionist cunt to her house … and made her feel bad for a while until she stopped feeling anything at all. I left a note for Audrey, letting her know it was a present for her. Not like I could take the body home and leave it on the doorstep for her. It wasn’t until later, when I saw it in the press, that she looked like Audrey. Weird, right? But I kind of liked it too. It felt good. And we all need a little something for ourselves, right?”

I look over at Jack, realizing I got a little lost in my own story.

And he’s dead.

Ah, shame.

I missed watching him take his last breath.

I do enjoy that part. Almost as much as watching the blood … the life seep out of them.

Oh well. That’s what I get for talking too much about myself.

You live and learn.

Sighing, I stand and tuck the knife in the front waistband of the sleep shorts I’m wearing. I go to the kitchen, put the gun down, and wash Jack’s blood off my hands. Then, taking the gun with me, I go to Jack’s bedroom. I clean it up with my clothes, getting rid of any blood or fingerprints that might be on it, and then put the gun in the drawer in his nightstand.

I return to the living room and get the bloody cloth and jewelry off the windowsill. I glance around for a place they could have been hidden when Audrey accidentally discovered them.

I see a high cupboard in the kitchen.

I take the jewelry and cloth with me. Reach up on my tiptoes and open the cupboard.

It has some paperwork and a first aid box.

Perfect.

I grab hold of the first aid box and carry it over to the coffee table. Placing it down, I open it up. Shifting things around, I put the jewelry and cloth in there, leaving it open.

I remember the gloves stuffed down the back of the shorts I’m wearing. I have nowhere to put them. I can’t leave them anywhere here in Jack’s apartment. They’re covered in my prints and DNA.

I shove them further down the shorts, into the panties I’m wearing. I’ll dispose of them later.

I turn to Jack, looking at him.

I almost feel bad for this one.

Almost.

And only because I know this will hurt Audrey.

But she’ll get over it.

She’ll have to.

Knowing what I need to do next, I take a deep breath. Because, last time, when I cut this skin, I was doing it to Audrey, so I didn’t feel a thing.

But this time, I’m cutting myself. I can’t let Audrey come back right now. I have to play Audrey and see this thing through myself.

She won’t accept this.

She won’t understand.

I walk over to Jack’s lifeless body, standing in front of it.

I