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The stories were in that blog. They have to be true, don't they?
SHE WANTED TO die.
Kelley Morgan was silently asking that her prayers be answered. The fumes were choking her. Her vision was going. Her lungs stung, eyes and nose were inflamed.
The pain . . .
But more horrifying than that was the thought of what was happening to her, the terrible changes to her skin and face from the chemicals.
Her thoughts were fuzzy. She had no memory of Travis dragging her down the stairs. She'd come back to consciousness here, in her father's darkened wine cellar in the basement, chained to a pipe. Her mouth taped, her neck aching from where he'd half strangled her.
And choking fiercely from whatever he'd poured onto the floor, the chemical now burning her eyes, her nose, her throat.
Choking, choking . . .
Kelley tried to scream. It was pointless, with the tape covering her face. Besides, there was nobody to hear. Her family was out, wouldn't be back till much later.
The pain . . .
Raging, she'd tried to kick the copper pipe away from the wall. But the metal wouldn't give.
Kill me!
Kelley understood what Travis Brigham was doing. He could've strangled her to death--just kept going another few minutes. Or shot her. But that wasn't good enough for him. No, the luser and perv was getting even by destroying her looks.
The fumes would eat away her eyelashes and brows, destroy her smooth skin, probably even make her hair fall out. He didn't want her to die; no, he wanted to turn her into a monster.
The geeky kid, face all broken out, the luser, the perv . . . He wanted to turn her into what he was.
Kill me, Travis. Why didn't you just kill me?
She thought of the mask. That's why he'd left it. It was a message about what she'd look like when the chemicals were done.
Her head drooped, her arms. She slumped against the wall.
I want to die.
She began to inhale deeply, through her stinging nose. Everything began to fade. The pain was going, her thoughts, the choking, the stinging in her eyes, the tears.
Drifting away. Light going dark.
Deeper, breathe deeper.
Breathe the poison in.
And, yeah, it was working!
Thank you.
The pain was growing less, the worry less.
Warm relief replaced vanishing consciousness, and her last thought before the darkness grew complete was that at last she was going to be safe from her fears forever.
AS SHE STOOD beside the roadside cross, staring down at the flowers, Dance was startled by her trilling phone--no cartoon music now; she'd put the ringer back on default. A glance at Caller ID.
"TJ."
"Boss. Another cross? I just heard."
