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And the worst, or possibly the best thing about this whole thing?
No one suspected a victim like myself to be ever capable of taking a life. They felt remorse that I was even in the room when he had a heart attack and were terrified of how much more trauma that would inflict on me.
But they didn’t know that Micah might be Terror of the Night, but I was his shadow.
As long as I was alive, so would be the image, the remembering of him. He’d live on as the Terror he was, and I’d wait until he came back for me.
And he would come back.
After all, he wouldn’t break his promise, not to me.
For now, I could enjoy playing the victim and giving the police statements that I came up with during the ride here. They had no other evidence aside from the story I would feed to them, and I’d make sure that the Terror of the Night they knew of, and the one that I met are different.
The one that I met was far more brutal, and I want to make the world afraid of him.
I was just as fucked up as he was.
And he knew it from the day we met. That was why he chose me.
I wouldn’t disappoint him.
EPILOGUE
STORM
TWO YEARS LATER
‘‘Oh, God.’’ Sierra’s panicked voice followed behind me. ‘‘You’ll be late. Please, put down the cup of coffee and, for the love of God, move it.’’
I remained seated, still sipping on my coffee.
I glanced at my wristwatch, seeing that I had more than twenty minutes left before I needed to make an appearance. Today will be a very draining and long day, and I needed all the strength I could muster. Drinking coffee was only one of the ways I’d have enough fuel to sit in a chair, smile and talk to strangers without getting the sudden urge to simply leave.
‘‘Stop it.’’ I put the empty cup on the table in front of me, suddenly feeling rather cold. ‘‘I’ve never been late, and I won’t be late now. Relax.’’
‘‘I can’t relax,’’ she grumbled under her breath.
With an eye roll, I stood up.
‘‘Are the books ready?’’
Sierra nodded. ‘‘Yes, everything is going smoothly. Give them a big smile, be polite and then get the hell out of there.’’
If I managed to overcome one thing after the time I spent in that cabin, it was my writer’s block. In two years, I had written around six books. A romance trilogy based on me and Micah, with changed names and details so no one would catch on, and two thrillers.
The sixth book was currently in my editor’s hands, and should be released within the next two months.
Letters From Hell trilogy went surprisingly well. I published all three at once, and although it took them a while, eventually they became my most sold books. And with that, I got a lot of money, enough to keep me afloat for the next year or two without working a day.
But I didn’t stop there.
I wanted to write, and all I did was write.
Well, I did finish my master’s degree.
After I fully recovered in the hospital, and returned to my home, I was the topic of the town. Everyone was either happy or shocked that I had managed to get away alive. Their attention lasted for a couple of months before it slowly subsided.
I went on a couple of shows, telling my story to the world.
