AllFreeNovel
Share Us
For just the quickest of seconds, I let my stare travel up his body, away from the bloody wound and over his chest, to his face. Pale as he was, gaunt as his cheeks had become, it was true he was at death’s door, but at the same time, he was still a good-looking guy. Tall, muscular, blond, with a square jaw that could cut. High cheekbones that made his face seem almost noble.
It was funny, in a not-so-funny way. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d kill a bunch of people. But that’s the thing about it: you could never tell by looking at someone what they were capable of. If anything, a handsome face made it easier to hide the darkest secrets.
I stopped staring and got to work.
I was no artist. I’d never learned to dress wounds or sew. Let’s just say it was a process, and I was glad he was still passed out during it. He didn’t see me gagging or the trembling of my hands, nor did he see the way I fucked up the first stitch and had to redo it.
Yeah, stitching flesh together was one of the most disgusting things I’d ever had to do. I could handle flesh wounds just fine. I had a history with them, but this… this wasn’t something you couldn’t slap a bandage on and hope for the best. The wound itself was too jagged, uneven. The skin needed some help coming back together over it.
It was obvious he’d gotten stabbed, though with what, I had no clue. It couldn’t have been a knife; knives were sharp and the wounds they left were a lot cleaner, not to mention the fact that if the weapon had been a knife, the wound would be much deeper than what it was.
I did the best I could, stitching him up, and then I sterilized the wound and the skin around it. The final thing I did was dab the blood on his skin off—basically give him a sponge bath on the bed. All the while I worked, he didn’t wake.
What would I do if he never woke up? If he just died? I guess I’d have to leave him here, and then… well, then I’d go from there. I didn’t think this motel had any cameras, so it wasn’t like they had footage of me. The woman running it did see me, but I was just a girl. Small, yes, but with average features. Nothing at all about me stood out. I blended in perfectly.
Blending in at a time like this, while dealing with a killer, was good, but it wasn’t always good to blend in, take it from me.
It was my thirteenth birthday. I had a few friends over. Mom and Dad had decorated the yard with balloons and extra flowers; my birthday was in the summer, and the sun always knew to beat down like no one’s business. I sat at a picnic table, surrounded by my friends. We were talking and laughing. My parents wouldn’t let me open the presents yet—they said it had to be after cake, which had to be after the food, and my dad was still busy on the grill.
But that was fine. I felt happy, and that didn’t happen often.
“You should’ve invited Chris,” Amelia was busy saying. She’d been my best friend for years, and even when we were kids, she’d been boy crazy. Now that we were older, her crushes were considered long if they lasted a week. This week it was Chris, next week it might be Nate.
The other girls started to mock Amelia, because they didn’t like Chris—he was kind of a jerk. He thought he was all that, walked around Youngsville Junior High like he was the king of the school.
I opened my mouth to join in, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk around the house to join the party, and the moment I laid eyes on him, something in me knotted up, so I didn’t say a word to my friends. I couldn’t. A blank look filled my face, and I waited.
When my mom saw him, she went over to greet him, giving him a half hug and taking the present out of his hands. “David,” she practically crooned. “Good to see you! I’m so glad you could make it.”
He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and said, “Like I’d miss my favorite niece’s birthday.” Though there was at least thirty feet between where they were and the table me and my friends sat at, he turned his head toward me and winked.
“Charlie,” my mom called for me. She held the present in one hand while gesturing for me to come over with her other. “Come greet your uncle.”
I didn’t have a choice. I swung my legs out from underneath the picnic table, one at a time, and I got to my feet. I didn’t hurry; I should’ve, because then it would’ve been over quicker, but I couldn’t. With every step I took toward him, Dave watched me.
Happy that I was coming over to say hi to him, my mom turned her back to us as she went to put the present on the table with the others near the steps to the house.
I made it to his side. “Hi,” I whispered meekly. I’d stopped when there was a foot or so between us; the last thing I wanted to do was hug him.
But he didn’t get the memo. Uncle Dave stepped forward, closing the distance between us, and he wrapped an arm around me as he pulled me close and whispered, “Happy birthday, kiddo.” He sounded nice and warm, but only I could detect something hidden beneath the surface, something that made me want to pull away from him.
I couldn’t, though, and it was because I couldn’t pull away from him that he was able to hug me for a little bit too long. No one noticed. My friends had all carried on the conversation without me, and my mom had gone in the house for something. My dad was grilling and listening to some sports game on the radio. It was just me and my uncle.
After a while, he let me go, and when I pulled away from him, his eyes twinkled. He still smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. I’d been fooled by it before. “Go back to your friends,” he told me. “I’ll hang out with your boring old man.” AKA his brother.
Near the grill, my dad huffed, “I heard that,” which caused Uncle Dave to chuckle and meander toward him. He started up a conversation with him like it was nothing, his back to me, but even so, I could still feel that stare on me, watching me.
I went back to my friends and reclaimed the space I’d vacated, but I couldn’t shake off that feeling.
It wasn’t always like this. Everyone loved Uncle Dave. Everyone. He had the best stories, even if my dad said they were embellished—whatever that meant. He made everyone laugh. He’d never gotten married and never had a family of his own. Eight years younger than my dad, and he showed no signs of settling down.
I used to be one of them, one of the people who hung on every word he spoke. I loved sitting next to him on the holidays, talking to him for hours and hours. There used to be a time when I’d wished he was my dad instead.
But then things changed, and now everything was different, even if he pretended it wasn’t.
As I tried to listen to what my friends were saying, I couldn’t help but glance at my uncle across the yard. He stood near my dad. He’d grabbed a drink out of the cooler near the grill, and he was talking to my dad about something. But those eyes of his, they were on me.
No one else noticed.
