AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I held back a groan, pursing my lips and turning my head away from them to study the ER’s waiting room. And then, it was like fate. I didn’t know what else to call it. My eyes landed on a TV they had anchored to one of the walls. It looked like some early morning news.
And what would you know, a familiar face flashed across the screen with the label: WANTED.
My feet drew me away from the front desk and closer to the television. I inched close enough to hear it. The volume was low, so low it was difficult to hear what the newswoman was saying above the argument at the front desk.
“Local authorities have put out a bulletin asking anyone who sees this man to contact them immediately. Brett Banks is wanted in connection to at least four homicides in the Eastcreek community. He is expected to be armed and very dangerous. Do not approach him yourself—”
Brett Banks was his name? And he was wanted for multiple homicides? Was he a mass murderer or a serial killer?
What was the difference?
My head spun with this new information, and I stood there for a few seconds, taking it all in. I had an unconscious killer in my car. What were the freaking odds?
I turned away from the TV and walked out of the waiting room. I headed straight for my car and got in, driving us away. A hazy, really dumb plan had formulated in my head. At this point, I had nothing to lose.
A stalker or a killer. I’d use one to bait the other. Should be easy enough, right?
Chapter Two – Charlie
I walked through the twenty-four-hour convenience store, the wad of cash I’d taken from Brett’s pocket still tucked away in the waistband of my fuzzy pajama shorts. I’d gotten gas and washed off my shirt as best I could—because, yes, the jerk did get some blood on it. Thankfully not much, and once it got wet, the red kind of blended in to the pink color, so it wasn’t too bad. I was able to check my car in the light of the store too. If his center of gravity had been lower… let’s just say things would’ve been different.
I got some snacks, along with a few other things in the medicine area. It was still too early for the regular stores to open, so other things would have to wait. I managed to get some bandages, some rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, along with whatever stupid knock-off shirt the little store was selling. I didn’t know the dude’s size, but since he was massive, I figured an extra-large would work. I also bought some hair dye, a golden, light brown color, along with a small sewing kit and some pain killers.
I paid for it, and thankfully still had a bit left. I got in my car and drove to the motel, where I’d bought us a room. Couldn’t bring him home until we were on the same page, and before I’d left, the guy hadn’t so much as woken up.
First thing was first, though. Had to try to do something about the wound on his stomach. It wasn’t that deep, which was his only saving grace, but he’d still lost a lot of blood. Even if the wound hadn’t already gotten infected, he’d be slow going for a while—and in a lot of pain.
I’d beenthis closeto calling my sister to ask her what I should buy from the store, but then she’d ask why I was asking, and I’d have to figure out a lie to tell her. No way in hell could I tell her that I’d woken up to a draft and found my stalker had left me a pretty picture of me sleeping, gone for a drive, and hit a guy who was wanted by the police for four separate murders. And I definitely couldn’t tell her about my plan to use Brett to lure my stalker out in the open.
Nope. Couldn’t tell her any ofthat.
I mean, yeah, it was one crazy plan. Would it work? I didn’t know. I really didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out—and, even if it didn’t work, it wasn’t like I had anything to lose.Desperation drove people to do crazy things.
The motel was a dingy place run by an older woman who didn’t ask questions. It looked like I’d woken her up out of a deep sleep when I rang the bell for service—she’d come strolling around wearing her oversized pajamas—but she hadn’t said a word about it. She just took my money and gave me a key to the room.
I parked in front of the room, gathered the bags I’d tossed into the passenger’s seat, and got out. I fiddled with the key as I walked to the door, a little scared of what I’d see when I went in. Let’s just say he was still passed out when I’d left him. If he’d somehow woken up during the time I was gone, he might be less than thrilled to see me again.
Hey, the dude was a killer. As much as I wanted to use him, I also had to protect myself a little.
Pushing inside the room, I found Brett was still unconscious, and he was right where I’d left him: propped up on the bed, his arms spread out from his body, both his wrists tied to the bed posts using the sheets. I’d laid a few towels down beneath him, hoping that would catch the majority of the blood.
I was no boy scout, but I liked to think my knots were pretty good.
Letting out a sigh full of relief, I set the bags down on the foot of the bed and got everything out. I didn’t really get a good look at the wound; all I’d done before leaving, besides tie him up to the bed, was press a face towel against the wound. He wasn’t bleeding too much anymore, probably because he’d already lost quite a bit and didn’t have much more to lose.
I glanced at him, at his motionless face, and then I gathered my courage and went to the bathroom, taking the hydrogen peroxide with me. I rinsed my hands off with water, cleaning them as best I could, and then I doused my fingertips in the stuff to try to, I don’t know, sterilize myself before going in.
My sister was the nurse. She’d taken after our mother. I, on the other hand, had no interest in dressing wounds and fixing people’s bodies. Dealing with pus and blood and other bodily fluids…
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t the type of girl who passed out at the sight of blood, but I did have limits.
I walked out of the tiny bathroom, to the killer’s side. Don’t ask me how long it had taken me to lug him into this room and get him up on the bed; let’s just say my body already felt sore, and that soreness would only grow tomorrow. It was the king of workouts, moving this man from my car to here all by myself.
Breathing out slowly, I reached for the small towel I’d pressed against his stomach, peeling it off him and setting it on the nightstand. I braced myself for the worst as I took the bottom hem of his shirt between my fingers and lifted it up.
All I could see was a gory, bloody mess and an uneven slice in his abdomen. His abdomen, which, I might add, had muscle to it.
That didn’t surprise me, given how heavy this guy was.
