Page 42

She sighs, and even through the phone, I know she’s twirling her nose ring. “That’s a pretty hefty crime, but not impossible. There’s been word that when Arch was reported missing after you called the police, Connor started throwing some serious accusations around to their rivals. The police seem to think it was them, but with lack of evidence, there’s no one to pin it on.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, a headache blooming in my temple. “So the stalker did kill Arch, then.”

“Probably,” she hedges. “If Arch made it back home before the family was wiped, he would’ve said who mutilated him and Connor wouldn’t have gone off on their rivals. So, I think it’s plausible that Connor’s accusations are what got the rest of them killed.”

There’s so many emotions swirling in my head, and I can’t make heads or tails of what I’m feeling. I’m fucking horrified that my shadow murdered somebody.

But he was an evil man.

That shouldn’t matter, should it? And to be perfectly honest, I think his true intentions for killing Arch were because he touched me, not because of his crimes.

“Honestly, Daya, I’m a little relieved. Arch's family won’t come for me now, and I feel so selfish saying that.”

“Then we’re both selfish bitches because I’m happy as hell.” I snort at her enthusiasm. “Look, the Talaverra's were bad people. Arch wasn’t the only one with a bad history. Connor had rape allegations against him, and their father must’ve taught them how to rape and beat a woman because his rap sheet… even worse.”

I nod my head, forgetting she can’t see it.

“I certainly won’t mourn their deaths,” I mutter.

After that, we hang up, both needing to get some work done, but my mind keeps wandering.

Truly, I’m not sad to hear about the fate of the Talaverra's, but there is stil

l that niggling worry in the back of my head that my shadow is the one who delivered it to them.

It’s been a week since Arch went missing and still no sign of my shadow. Not to say he still isn’t sneaking around, but he hasn’t made his presence known.

Daya’s friend set up my new alarm system and cameras, and I’m ashamed of how obsessive I’ve been with checking them since.

The naïve part of me is hoping now that I have a security system, he’ll stay away. But while I make a lot of stupid decisions—and I mean a lot—I’m not stupid enough to believe he isn’t going to show up here soon.

I stretch, groaning as my muscles crack, the barstool in my kitchen doing little to support my back while I write. I’ve been working on a new fantasy novel about a girl escaping slavery, and the deadline I set for myself is vastly approaching.

Right as I begin typing again, a creak from above snags my attention. The sound immediately has my heart kickstarting into overdrive. I pause, listening for any more noises. Several beats pass with no disturbance. The only sounds are the furnace and the low pattering of rain against the window.

Just when I begin to think I’m losing my mind, I hear another creak from directly above me.

Holding my breath, I slowly get up from the stool, the metal legs screeching against the tile. I wince, the eruption loud and unpleasant.

Well, goddammit, good thing I didn’t become a spy. I would so die on the job.

Quickly, I walk over to the silverware drawer, slide it open and grab the butcher knife. Holding this weapon is starting to become a daily routine, and I’m becoming bored with it.

I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing. I clamber towards the stairs, whip around the railing, and quietly make my way up the steps. Briefly, I consider the movie title of the horror movie they’d make after my life.

Making my way down the hall, I peek into open rooms, holding the knife out in front of me. The hallway is long and wide, with five of the bedrooms up here.

Just as I step out of one of the empty bedrooms, I hear a small thump. It sounded like it came from my room.

With bated breath, I creep down the hallway, holding all my weight on my toes.

No fucking idea how ballerinas do it.

My bedroom door is shut. Adrenaline steadily releases into my bloodstream, like injecting heroin in a vein.

It wasn’t shut before.

I stand outside my door, staring at it as if it’s going to grow a face and warn me of what’s inside. That’d totally be beneficial right now.