Page 11 of Bound to a Killer

I pull the blanket higher and let the dark press in, hoping it might be enough to swallow every last worry and fear before I drift away.

Gasping,I tear the blanket from my chest, still clenching tight from the nightmare I woke from. It’s always the same one. Every time.

Sweat slicks my back as I push my hair off to the side, fanning myself until my breathing settles into a steadier rhythm. Minutes pass before my eyes adjust to the dark. Clara is still asleep beside me, her features soft in the low light. Above us, I can hear Kelsey’s quiet, even breaths.

I shut my eyes again and try to sleep, but I keep shifting around, every movement more restless than the last.

Eventually, I give up. I need a sip of water. Maybe even one of the sleeping pills I sneaked into my bag from Clara’s medicine cabinet before we left her house.

I lean over to grab Clara’s phone, using the flashlight to guide my search. Rising to my toes, I creep over to our bags and crouch beside mine. My knuckles bump against the bottle, and I flinch at the dry rattle of the capsules inside. I lift it carefully,scanning the room for something to wash them down with, but there’s nothing.

Setting the phone over Clara’s backpack, I stand, muscles tensing at the slight shake of the pills. It’s probably best that I step out so I don’t wake them.

I slip my pink slippers on and quietly make my way out of the room, heading toward the soft glow of the hallway.

I’m careful not to trip over myself as I near the long flight of stairs, the white bottle shaking in my hand as I pad down, rounding the bottom of the spiral staircase. There’s light spilling from the kitchen ahead, but I can’t see anything besides the very edge of the granite island from where I stand.

It’s quiet. Almost quiet.

There’s a faint trickle of water that catches my ear, and I briefly wonder if Kelsey’s mom is still awake. I hope she won’t be too bothered by me being down here; she seemed a bit uptight last I saw her. Nervously, I approach the arched doorway, trying to stay light on my feet.

My gaze narrows at the chrome double sinks as I take a cautious step forward, the sound sharpening. Maybe it’s just a leaky faucet. But something hollows in my gut as I near, not seeing any water dripping from the spout.

A spike of unease jolts through me.

The reverberating droplets echo off the large, open space, pulling taut at my nerves. I try to chalk it up to something harmless, condensation slipping down the fridge line or a loose pipe. Still, the feeling lingers, curdling low in my stomach. I lower the bottle to the counter’s edge and turn to survey the kitchen, forcing myself to calm down. I’ve just woken from a nightmare. That’s all this is. Residual nerves.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

Then I see it.

I jolt back with a sharp gasp, my scream catching in the back of my throat. Bile surges upward, burning everything in itspath before my mind can even register the extent of what I’m looking at.

Kelsey’s mom hangs from the kitchen ceiling.

Her face is swollen, her skin slick with blood. Bright crimson, like her hair. It seeps from her neck, her nose, her open mouth—there’s too much of it to tell where it’s all coming from.

My mouth snaps open, but no sound comes out. I’m mute, frozen in a mixture of shock and horror as the floor seems to tilt under me.

My throat tightens.

Tighter.

Tighter.

I can’t breathe.

There’s not enough air. Not enough to fill my lungs. I fight to inhale, sucking in a deep breath, but everything in my body locks up, stiffening to stone.

Her lips hang open, chapped and peeling, frozen in her final gasp for life. That’s when it clicks. Mrs. Shaw hung herself.

Wait—

No, that can’t be. Why? Why would she?

I don’t understand.

My heart skips a beat, the revelation sickening my stomach.