Happy Birthday, pretty thing.
Love you forever, Hunter.”
“Oh, puke.” Katie set the book on the dining room table and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from the secretary desk near the buffet. “Maggie, hold your right hand over the paper and the pen and the left over the book, but don’t touch them.”
I did as she directed. She stood beside me, placing her hands over mine.
“Repeat after me,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Loose flowing ink, like soft butter carved. Write Hunter’s suicide note, from the decency he starved.”
I cocked a brow. “What? Katie, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Okay. How about this? ‘At this hour, time was lost. Write Hunter’s death note, who cares what it cost?’”
“Better than nothing, I guess.”
I didn’t like the wording but repeated it anyway, hoping the intent meant more than the literal meaning.
As the last word fell from my lips, I looked down to the paper where Hunter’s writing appeared and read aloud:
A chuisle mo chróí, my pulse, my obsession. I cannot bear to look upon your face with this shame I bare. This is a confession of the lives I’ve taken. I am the Midwest Killer. I am the Pretty Girl Killer. I do not deserve a trial. Nor a chance at life. Forgive me my love. I cannot bring myself to face you, for I fear you’d talk me out of it. Hopefully, no one will find my body. But if they do, know I did it only to protect you. I love you forever, my pretty thing.
Hunter
JesusChrist.
“This makes him sound like a tortured Victorian spirit from the eighteenth century or something,” I said, shoulders tense.
“Look, Mags, it’s the best we got. If the police ask for anything to compare his writing, give them this book. The handwriting matches. The tone. Everything. It’ll work. It has to.”
Nightfall came and the clock couldn’t move fast enough. I wanted to get it over with, forget Hunter—forget everything. But Katie demanded I get some rest and wait until 2 or 3 AM. But there was no way my eyes were staying closed with the thought of her risking it all for me. She’d already done that multiple times since I’d met her, and nothing I could say or do would repay her for that.
I pulled Chester into me, running my fingers through his soft fur—I’d missed him so much. I couldn’t believe I sent him away. He always had such a good sense of character. Had I kept him here with me, maybe things would have been different.
We snuggled into our favorite spot in the sunroom. His purrs became a sweet lullaby as he nuzzled into my ear, kneading biscuits into me while my eyes finally grew heavy from a week ofnotsleeping on a hospital cot.
Before I knew it, I’d been out for five hours, and Katie’s touch on my arm jolted me awake.
“Mags, it’s time. You ready?”
“I guess,” I said, my voice still coated in the sound of sleep.
Katie had drawn a map to the cliff on a small slip of paper and directed me to leave my phone behind. I was to wait another hour before leaving, drop the car, and meet her at a 24-hour bookshop and cafe.
“Everything will be fine. We’ve got this.” She hugged me. “Remember, wait an hour before leaving. I’ll go pick us out some good monster porn at the cafe.” Then she ran out the door.
An hour left.
Just an hour.
I jumped in a quick shower and got myself ready to set up the biggest, most dangerous lie yet.
Whoever found Hunter’s car couldn’t suspect anyone but him was driving, so before I even left the manor, I slipped on some gloves and a pair of his boots. In the car, I’d placed a brand-new pair of my boots on the passenger side for me to wear out of the woods. I drove to the far side of the cove like Katie directed.
Once there, the houses became sparse. Tall pines filtered in. I kept driving. Once there wasn’t a home in sight, I’d be close. Then I saw the metal gate. It had deteriorated to just a metal bar hanging by a single hinge. A worn sign swung by a chain, weathered by the elements, yet still legible.
Keep Out.
