Page 140 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

“Who the fuck are you?” Edwin demanded.

Andy turned around.

“Shit,” Edwin muttered. “Andrea.”

“Is that—” Laura said, but Andy pressed the phone to her chest.

She asked the man, “How do you know me?”

“Come away from the window.” Edwin motioned Andy out of the office. “You can’t be here. You need to go. Now.”

Andy didn’t move. “Tell me how you know me.”

Edwin saw the phone in her hand. “Who are you talking to?”

When Andy didn’t answer, he wrenched the phone out of her hand and put it to his ear.

He said, “Who is—fuck.” Edwin turned his back to Andy, telling Laura, “No, I have no idea what Clara told her. You know she’s been unwell.” He started nodding, listening. “I didn’t tell her—no. Clara doesn’t know about that. It’s privileged information. I would never—” He stopped again. “Laura, you need to calm down. No one knows where it is except for me.”

They knew each other. They were arguing the way old friends argued. Edwin had known Andy by sight. Clara had thought she was Jane, who was really Laura...

Andy’s teeth had started to chatter. She could hear them clicking inside of her head. She rubbed her arms with her hands. She felt cold, almost frozen.

“Laura, I—” Edwin leaned down his head and looked out the window. “Listen, you just need to trust me. You know I would never—” He turned around and looked at Andy. She watched his anger soften into something else. He smiled at her the same way Gordon smiled at her when she fucked up but he still wanted her to know that he loved her.

Why was a man she had never met looking at her like her father?

Edwin said, “I will, Laura. I promise I’ll—”

There was a loud crack.

Then another.

Then another.

Andy was on the floor, the same as the last time she had heard a sudden burst of gunfire.

Everything was exactly the same.

Glass broke. Papers started to fly. The air filled with debris.

Edwin took the brunt of the bullets, his arms jerking up, his skull almost vaporizing, bone and chunks of his hair splattering against the couch, the walls, the ceiling.

Andy was flat on her belly, hands covering her head, when she heard the nauseating thunk of his body hitting the floor.

She looked at his face. Nothing but a dark hole with white shards of skull stared back. His mustache was still curled up at the ends, held in place with a thick wax.

Andy tasted blood in her mouth. Her heart felt like it was beating inside of her eardrums. She thought that she had lost her hearing, but there was nothing to hear.

The shooter had stopped.

Andy scanned the room for the burner phone. She saw it fifteen feet away in the hall. She had no idea if it was still working, but she heard her mother’s voice as clear as if she was in the room—

I need you to run, darling. He can’t reload fast enough to hurt you.

Andy tried to stand. She could barely get to her knees before throwing up from the pain. The McDonald’s milkshake was pink with blood. Every time she heaved, it felt like fire was ripping down her left side.

Footsteps. Outside. Getting closer.