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Stop being bitter. You had allies until they learned the truth about you.
I take a shaking breath, pausing for a moment. I need to focus and get the hell out of this house, yet every thought I have circles back to Jo and Vinny. Every reality results in us not being together. They wouldn’t want a serial killer as is. That chance is long gone.
They chose me when I was at my lowest point in high school, fighting demons they didn’t even know about. They wanted me to come to Colorado with them, leave this all behind. I almost had my perfect version of forever, but poor choices and bad decisions led to me being caught as a killer instead. I destroyed the trust they had in me, and it’s silly to think they will forget all of that and accept me with open arms ever again. Evenif I could evade the FBI and never be found, the future the three of us mapped out when we were eighteen is destroyed.
If I run forever, I won’t see them again in Citrus Grove or anywhere else. I may never see them at all. Or I can get caught, turn myself in, and accept the hand fate dealt me.
I’ll go back to sitting on Death Row, awaiting execution.
Tearing open the final drawer in the kitchen, I pause. There’s a stack of envelopes in there that I take out, eyeing the name.James Nunes. Walter County.The envelope is yellowed, the paper brittle, and I wonder how long it’s been sitting in this drawer. The top one appears to be from the utility company, and it’s open.
I take the statement out, searching for the date.
October 1990.
It’s possible that James died in the 90s. So are the bills coming to someone else now, like another of Porscha’s alternate identities, or is the account still under the name James Nunes? I realize these questions don’t need answers right now and I toss the stack aside. Another glance into the drawer offers something more interesting at the bottom: a pile of what look like ID cards. I snatch one up at random before dropping it back in like it was on fire.
It’s an old ID. A school ID in fact, from Citrus Grove University.
Natasha Odell.The first true victim of the CGP.
I back away, slamming the drawer shut, unwilling to look at the other names on the other ID cards.
Natasha was before. Before Porscha brought me into things. There’s no way her school ID accidentally ended up in a drawer at this house.
Pivoting, I look out the windows in the kitchen before making my way to the front room. I bypass the window and back door that’s at the top of the storage steps, deciding to see what’sout front first.No Porscha yet. It’s time I to stop dallying. I’ve wasted enough time here.
“Are we going on the run?” Fake Porscha asks as I open the front door. Fresh air beckons me, and safety be damned. I want it. I want to breathe air where I’m not being held prisoner by the justice system or a mad woman.
There’s sun too. It’s hot, and I just step out onto the porch and close my eyes. I want the feeling of warmth before I sink back into flight mode and escape.
When I open my eyes, basking in the Florida heat, I look both ways. I don’t see any other dwellings. That could help me remain undetected, but it’s a bad sign too. How far out are we? Walter County is further north than Citrus Grove, but it’s a decent sized area. We could be at the property line with Georgia for all I know.
As I scan the landscape, it hits me—there are probably gators lurking somewhere nearby. In the daylight, it's less of a concern, but once night falls, the scent of my blood will carry. It’ll be like ringing a dinner bell, inviting them straight to me.
Despite all of that, my mind drifts to the husband and wife who haunt my dreams. My parting thoughts to them seem ineffective now as I stare at the unknown ahead of me. I need to keep survival on my mind, but they are the lifeline I refuse to release. “Lovebirds, I’m coming for you.”
When I turn, looking the other way again, Fake Porscha is beside me. She stares right back at me, echoing the thoughts I don’t want to say. “Looks like you are well and truly fucked.”
Chapter 10
“I can’t sleep.”
I speak into the dark, staring up at the ceiling, willing myself to close my eyes. But I can’t. The more I try to force myself to sleep, the less I get.
It’s May.May.Not just May, but mid May. It’s past the 20th now and it feels like we’re all just dragging our feet with no end in sight. We’ve been in Florida since February, and they still can’t find Alastair. Sterling stops by every other day and has coffee and tells us what he can about the case.
He also ignores my attempts to flirt. I need a distraction while parts of me die waiting for answers about the unknown, and Sterling is too damn skittish half the time to take a hint. I’m being stonewalled by an FBI agent, and my husband can only push him so far. Just because I’ve set my sights on Sterling doesn’t mean I can force him. If he can’t handle joining in what we have, nothing would work out between the three of us anyway.
For a moment, my thoughts drift to poor Emeric. We’ve chatted with him on and off lately, mostly through texts, but Idid speak with him again about my cousin. He’s taking his dear sweet time warming up to Serenity, and of the two of them he’s the bolder, more experienced person. It’s why we thought they would work together as managers.
Fingers ghost down the side of my face, and I turn into Vinny’s palm at his touch. He stays quiet, his mind in turmoil too as we wait on the unknown. I close my eyes for a moment, replaying the last conversation I had with Emeric in my head. It feels like I’m painting lies for everyone, but right now I’m not even sure what the truth is. It makes it next to impossible to focus on anything in particular.
“This isn’t really what I signed up for,” Emeric gripes through the phone. He’s really not getting along with Serenity, and it seems to be a mutual feeling.
“Well I didn’t sign up to play babysitter at an asylum,” I bark. It’s inaccurate since Alastair is gone, and Emeric knows it too. I’m just so damn frustrated that the two of them are struggling so hard to get along when we can’t even locate one serial killer, let alone two. I take a breath before continuing. “I called to warn you that the news might break soon.”
“Going down there didn't get him to talk?” He doesn’t ask, but I know what he means. I used to be so good at reading Alastair, or at least I thought I was. Nothing about our interactions at the prison gives me any idea where he could possibly be now.