Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,82

see movement from the corner of my eye and notice the cat—Jack’s cat—walking casually into the living room.

It stops and stares at me.

“Suppose you heard all of that. Not that you’ll be telling anybody.”

God, look at me, turning into Audrey, talking to a damn stupid cat.

The cat looks at me for a second longer, and then with a swish of its tail, it walks into the kitchen.

I watch it for a moment longer until it disappears behind the counter.

Then, I take the knife from my waistband and curl my hand around the handle.

Gritting my teeth, jaw clenched, I press the blade to my skin, and I start cutting.

A slash on my arm. One on my thigh.

I never got to feel this the night I cut Audrey … because it was me doing it to her.

But now, I can feel it, and it feels … amazing. Almost … cathartic.

Like a release I didn’t know I needed.

I do know though that the cuts aren’t going to be enough to sell this.

I need to do more.

With a hard swallow, I grip the knife handle with both hands. I press the blade to my stomach. I shut my eyes.

And plunge it into my stomach.

“Fuuuccck,” I cry quietly through gritted teeth.

Water runs out from the corners of my eyes.

The knife clatters to the floor.

I press a hand to the wound and stare down at it.

Blood seeps between my fingers, turning my skin red. The hands … body that I share with my sister.

And it’s … incredible.

The pain … the blood … my blood … her blood … it’s exhilarating to feel and see.

I don’t want the feeling to end.

But I know it has to.

Still, I allow myself a few seconds of enjoyment that I didn’t know existed until this very moment … before the show begins.

Then, I breathe in deeply, open my mouth, and start screaming.

Audrey

Eight Months Later

The bar buzzes with people all around me, people who have come in here for a drink after work, just like I’ve done.

The only difference is, they’re in groups and couples.

And I’m alone, sitting with my back to them all, at a table by the window.

There was a time not so long ago when I wouldn’t sit with my back to a room full of people.

But I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter which way you’re facing.

If someone wants to get close to you, they will.

Jack … he got close to me.

The same ache in my chest appears that I always feel when I think of him.

I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to ease the hurt away.

But I know nothing will ever take away the pain of what happened.

Even though I remember very little of that night.

Only waking up and getting a glass of water. Spilling it on the floor.

And then nothing until I woke up in the hospital.

The weird part though is, I’m sure that I saw Cole that night. In my apartment.

But I know that can’t be right because Cole wasn’t there. He was in Chicago.

I haven’t told Cole that I thought he was there.

I don’t know why I haven’t told him, to be honest. Every time I open my mouth to voice the words, something stops me.

Maybe it’s because I know how crazy it sounds.

I can’t remember Jack trying to kill me. But I have a false memory of my brother being there.

I mean, the only reason I know what happened that fateful night is because of the police.

Detectives Peters and Sparks.

They came to see me in the hospital. They wanted my version of events from that night. I told them the very little I did know, which was nothing of worth.

The whole time I spoke, Detective Sparks looked at me with this cold expression. Like he didn’t believe me. Like it was me who had done something wrong.

He said nothing. Not one single word in the time he was there. It was unnerving.

It was Detective Peters who informed me that Jack was dead. That I had killed him in self-defense after he attacked me, stabbing me first. That it appeared that I had discovered that Jack was the killer of Molly Hall, Natalie Jenkins, Sarah Greenwood, and Michael King. That I had found the murder weapon—the knife he tried to kill me with—in a first aid kit in his apartment along with some of the victims’ personal items.

They knew my real surname. My history with Tobias. That Jack was his older brother.

Hearing all of those words … it broke me.