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The doctor and Nathan look at each other again as an uncomfortable silence envelops the room.
I look between them, feeling a chill in the air.
“How many others are there?”
“Nine. You make ten,” Nathan replies, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.
He answered quickly.
Too quickly.
I feel like I know the answer, but I have to ask. I have to know for sure.
“How many survived?”
“One. You.”
Chapter Two
Rue
Ihear the door open, but I don’t turn away from the window. There is a cop stationed outside so I know it’s not someone who’s any kind of threat to me.
There is always someone coming in or out. I just let them get on with it. I don’t have the mental capacity to make polite conversation with anyone right now.
It’s been three days since I was found, and thanks to the news reports I now know the man that took me is called the Lullaby killer. At least by the media. I know more about what happened to me from the news than from the police who have been unwilling to share. Like the Sono-d and the music box I’d been clutching are part of the guys MO. The feds haven’t been back, and Nathan has been pretty tight-lipped, using the excuse that it’s an active investigation. Never mind that this is my fucking life we’re talking about.
I still don’t know who I am, and the news is calling me a Jane Doe whenever they mention me.
I watched the footage of the park where I was found. It’s mostly deserted now. The forensic team is long gone, but the police tape is still up, marking out the location where I was dumped. A few people gather around, curious in a morbid sorta way, taking in the open grave, some even snapping pictures with their cell phones before moving on.
It’s like watching something on a crime show because things like this don’t happen in real life, do they?
I turn at the sound of a cough and find Nathan watching me. I frown, realizing he must have been the person who entered a few moments ago. Has he just been standing there watching me?
I feel my face flush. He might be handsome in that blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but it’s wasted on me. Right now, I feel like the sole passenger on the Hot Mess Express heading straight for Crazyville. I still have dirt under my nails from trying to crawl out of the shallow grave I was tossed into. And my hair is a tangled mess with mud and God knows what else in it. One of the nurses was going to help me shower, but a multi-car pile-up on the freeway meant it was all hands on deck, and now that I’m on the mend, I’m not a priority anymore. I get it. The casualties need the nurses more than I do right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that my skin crawls at the thought of a serial killer’s hands all over me.
“Nathan. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I thought you could use the company. That and…” He holds out a folder to me.
“What is it?”
“Take a look.”
Trusting that he wouldn’t just hand me a bunch of crime scene photos, I open the file and suck in a sharp breath. There, staring back at me, is a DMV photo of me.
I take in my face, a face I wouldn’t recognize as my own if I hadn’t spent twenty minutes staring at it in the mirror, and deem the photo to be at least five years old.
I check the information beside it. Rue Anderson. Twenty-six. Five-five, one hundred and thirty pounds.
I keep reading, my eyes skimming over the unfamiliar address, before I look at Nathan. I feel tears run down my cheeks, even as I try to hold them back. “My name is Rue?”
“Yeah. I tried to get it to you last night, but there was a major incident on the?—”
“I know. It’s fine.” I cut him off, staring back down at the file.
“I thought…” My voice trails off as he steps closer, his hand resting on my calf, giving it a squeeze.
