Page 38 of The House on Forgotten Hill

In one violent motion, he slammed the back of my head against the hardwood floor.

As the pain exploded through my body, he issued one last warning. “I’m only going to ask you one more time.”

Tears filled my eyes.

He was going to kill me, and that meant I had nothing left to lose.

“If you answer my questions,” I whispered, “I’ll answer yours.”

To my surprise, he smiled. “Fine.”

“Did you kill Estelle’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“What about Christy Meyers and Melinda Bellamy? Did you kill them too?”

“Yes.”

“Why?"

He shrugged, his voice calm and conversational. “Why not? They were beautiful but naïve, trusting me when they shouldn’t have. I showed them a good time, and then I suppose I indulged myself, gave in to my urges.”

The way he said it made my stomach turn. “What urges?”

“I have lived a life of indulgence, a life where anything I’ve ever wanted is mine. For a long time, it was fun, the endless trips, and the unlimited money at my disposal. At some point fun turned to boredom. I was desperate for a thrill, the kind money can’t buy, something to make me feel alive. That’s when the fantasies started.”

“Fantasies about killing women?”

He nodded. “They were simple at first. I’d bring women home, and when things became intimate, I’d get a little rough. I enjoyed the looks on their faces when they realized I wasn’t the man they imagined. What can I say? There was something intoxicating about it. And the more I indulged, the more my boundaries disappeared. Then, one night, I crossed a line I couldn’t uncross, and I discovered something about myself. I liked the feeling of having someone’s life in my hands, of watching the fear in their eyes as they understood what was happening. After that, nothing else compared.”

My entire body trembled as the realization washed over me: I was about to die the same way they had.

He looked into my eyes and laughed. “They all had that same expression, the one you have now, the moment they understood that no one was coming to save them.”

I turned away. “The women … what did you do with them? Where are they?”

He said nothing.

“Where are they buried?” I pressed.

“I’m not answering that.”

I looked back at him. “You’ve admitted to killing three women. Are there more?”

He hesitated. “Not here. In other towns. Other states.”

“Why not here?”

“Because your father ruined my operation.” He climbed off me and sat back on his heels. “When Julian caught me with Melinda that night, I knew where he was going as soon as he left his house. I had no time to think, to come up with a plan. But I had to stop him.”

“You’re an awful, horrible person! I hate you!”

Preston studied me with a look of amusement. “I did what I had to do.”

“And then you got away with it.”

“The whole thing was sloppy, I’ll admit. I called my father, and he helped me clean up the mess I’d created. Afterward, he made me promise never to do it again. He said that if I ever killed another woman, he’d cut me off and leave me with nothing.”