Page 106 of Pareidolia

It’s got eyes on its wings.

Red and white.

Giant wings.

There’s no way he saw the thing I’d been sure I’d imagined all those years ago when I killed Rory in the same way this asshole had just died. It’s impossible.

And yet…

My eyes flick to the forest, and like the words summoned it, I see movement in the trees. I still don’t know if it’s real, or if I’m imagining it because I want to see it. It draws my body forward like a siren, and I lean over the empty space where the railing was. One wrong move would send me plummeting down the same way my latest victim did.

One wrong move and I’d never know if the thing in the trees is real, or just some animal smelling blood and coming for a snack.

He’d said something attacked his friends.

I drop my gaze—the man didn’t fall as cleanly as Rory did. He looks like he landed on his feet. There’s a bone sticking out of his leg at an odd angle, ripped through the flesh and stark white in the moonlight. If I’m not imagining it, his eyes are blinking up at me.

Slow terror bleeding out onto the ground with each pump of his heart.

Fuck, he’s like a picture I wish I could paint.

I stare at him for a few more seconds and then shift my gaze back to the trees. I need to get down there and do something with his body. I at least need to drag it away from the fire tower. There are plenty of high places I can shove him from, so no one thinks he was killed here.

Probably.

I don’t know how forensics work, and watching a bunch of television and reading books doesn’t really mean anything. People assuming they can listen to a true crime podcast or two and then suddenly get away with murder is exactly how murderers end up in jail.

I’m great at writing scenarios just like this, but I don’t trust myself enough to handle it in real life.

It’s another reason I try to avoid my true nature… but when it’s blinking up at me, and I think I can see little bubbles of blood on his lips where he’s still breathing, it’s hard to ignore how good it feels.

I saw fear. I could practically taste his emotions on my tongue.

It’s as close as I’ll ever get to something so pure and honest and…

Human.

And right now I need to do both the most human and monstrous thing I can think of and get down to his body so I can hide the evidence of my crime. I could probably get away with claiming self-defense, but I’m not going to risk it. Just because I threatened to call the authorities doesn’t mean I want cops anywhere near me or a mess I made.

I look into the trees one more time, and I know I’m not being completely honest with myself.

I’m not just going down there to clean up my mess—I could probably leave it for the animals to take, or feign innocence if someone showed up.

I want to see if that flash I saw in the trees was actually there.

My hand lifts as I make my way down the stairs, rubbing across my sternum like I can feel the lines of my tattoo beneath the thin black material of my shirt.

It’s different this time than the last. The last time I came down these stairs and the body had disappeared, I half expected to come around the corner and find the police waiting for me. I was a kid then, wondering if I’d somehow managed to fuck myself because I pushed Rory Daniels over the railing after he pulled a knife on me. The thought makes my hand move from my sternum to my pocket.

I still have the knife. Fuck, there’s a real chance I’m going to have to use it if my mystery assailant is still breathing.

Jumping down the last few steps, I round the corner made by the hill the fire tower is built into… and pause.

He’s not there.

There’s blood on the ground, and a little sliver of white might be the broken shard of one of his bones. I take a few steps forward, kneeling in the leaves to grab it. It’s solid.

Real.