Page 108 of Bad Intentions

“Then how did you end up in the basement?” I ask.

“A little trick. I waited for you. Texted you from Derek’s phone. Tied myself in the basement. I needed to get you in that house. You see, the police had to know you were involved.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. I needed you to be involved. Who else would take the blame for Derek’s death? I had Derek’s body already. In the freezer. Right over there.” She tilts her head toward one of the dark corners. “I needed to be part of the story, except the story had to be rewritten,” she says as she continues to stuff her face with the food from the can.

“Rewritten how? Framing others?”

“Right. I’ve lived long enough in this crappy town. I needed a way out. And Derek was mine. Him dead, you texting him and then charged with his murder, I could tell a love story that no one would forget.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saw a movie when I was in high school, Natural Born Killers. The best love story there is.”

“I know the movie. It’s about serial killers.”

“You see, not in my book. It’s about love. And everyone who stands in the way has to go. Gone-gone.” She waves her hand in the air. “That was supposed to be Derek and me. He was the love of my life. Except he didn’t see it that way, and, well, look where it got him. Like I said, karma. But that doesn’t mean that’s the story everyone will hear.”

“You are…” I don’t finish. Because I can’t describe how insane this sounds.

Whereas in the basement I couldn’t see her well enough, and at the precinct she looked small and scared, now I’ve been studying Mallory Blain for the hour she’s been ranting. She looks much older than she is. Unkempt. Sloppy. Her coat, pants, and boots are worn out and soiled. Her beanie sits skewed. Her messy, dirty hair hangs down in thin strands like mouse tails.

Something’s wrong with her eyes, too. They are either cheerful or full of rage, the change back and forth so sudden that it’s clear she’s whacked out—either on something or in her head.

While she was talking about the past, I’d forgotten about the ropes. I need to hurry up. It’s my only chance to escape this monster.

And I need to keep her talking.

“What’s your story then?” I ask, feigning curiosity. “Where is this going?”

Suddenly, a creak from behind the barn door makes her straighten up. Her head snaps in the direction of the door, her eyes wild like those of a hyena.

“Help! Heeeelp!” I scream, hoping that someone has found us.

She lunges at me and slaps me in the face so hard that a breath catches in my throat.

“Shut up, bitch,” she snaps, pointing the gun in my face.

My cheek burns, the pain so sudden that I shut my eyes tightly. This is the second time she’s done it, and she might’ve split the skin.

“You open your mouth, and I’ll shoot,” she grunts, pushing the barrel of the gun into my forehead. “Understood?”

She creeps up toward the door, pointing the gun in front of her, then disappears out the door. In a moment, a loud, “Meow!” echoes outside, her curse follows, and my heart falls.

She stomps back with an irritated look on her face. “Stupid animals.”

She picks up the can and fork, wipes the fork on her pants, and continues eating.

“I’m going to get what I deserve,” she says, chewing loudly with her mouth open. “With all the witnesses gone, Karen, Derek, Alysha, you”—she laughs and shakes her head in amusement—“I’ll spin the story the way I want. I’ll be a victim. Derek was my love. Killed that loser Dougie back in the day to avenge me. Your grandmother ran him out of town, and the police were looking for him. He never stopped loving me, came back for me, after all these years. Wanted to meet with you, but you got jealous and angry and killed him. Then lured me into his house and tied me up to blame him.”

My jaw falls. Is she for real? “That doesn’t make sense. You texted me from his phone.”

“Right,” she says with a little frown, then lights up. “But you had his phone! So when the police found me, you had to turn it off, right?” She giggles, the sound of it coming from a grown woman somewhat maniacal. “Thanks for the hint!”

“You texted from a different phone afterward.”

“Sure did. And I will put that burner in your pocket. Makes sense. I’m not tech savvy.” She winks at me. “But you are, the younger generation and all. What do you think?”