Page 236 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

His eyes flicker to Dexter—still growling like a furious blender.

I press a hand to my chest. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Your name came up in one of the journals,” Marsden says.

I feign horror like an Oscar contender.

“Holy guacamole,” I whisper. “Are you saying… he’s some kind of serial killer?”

They exchange a look.

“Could I have been one of his victims?” I ask, voice trembling.

Marsden nods.

“It looks that way. His notes about you stop abruptly after a certain night.”

Yeah, the night I accidentally murdered him. But go off, detectives. You’re doing amazing, sweeties.

I clutch Dexter a little tighter, my voice trembling.

I pull out my phone, open the rideshare app, and flash them the receipt.

“This was the last time I saw him.”

Marsden glances at it. “That matches the timeline.”

“Oh!” I widen my eyes. “He gave me a card… somewhere…”

I dig into the junk drawer and fish out the card I’d thrown in there minutes before slashing his throat.

“He said he sometimes does rides off the app.”

I hand it over.

They both light up like kids on Christmas morning and try to hide it.

Amateurs.

Liu slides me his card. “If you remember anything else, call us.”

I nod, all wide eyes and rattled innocence. “Of course.”

The second the door shuts behind them, I bolt it and lean back.

They think I’m a survivor.

Some lucky girl who slipped through a serial killer’s fingers.

But the truth is heavier, more dangerous.

It wasn’t me who barely survived him.

It washimwho didn’t surviveme.

There should be a manual for how to hide from two men and possibly the police at the same time.

If there were, I would’ve bought three copies—one to read, one to highlight, and one to cry into.