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I frown, gently grab her shoulders and pull off my chest. This close, I can make out her features. Black eyeliner circles puffy, bloodshot eyes. Her lips are red and glossy.
“Who will kill you?” I ask.
“Hewill.”
“Harris? Dr. Taylor will kill you?”
“No, no, no…”
“His wife? Janet?”
“No.” She snaps, frustrated.
God, I hate drunk women.
“You can’t—I can’t … he can’t find out,” she attempts to collapse into my chest again, but I hold her in place.
“Who?”
“Johnny,” she wails.
“Detective Stroud?”
She nods feverishly.
“Why? Why would he be mad?”
“He’s—we’re together…”
Nofuckingway.
“No one knows,” she continues.
Secret lovers, then. I repeat—no fucking way. Gloria and Detective Stroud are dating. Meanwhile, Gloria is secretly meeting up with her neighbor, Dr. Harris Taylor.
I ask, “How long have you and Stroud been—”
“None of your damn business,” she snaps. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
“Okay.” I release her, step back.
It registers that the woman hasn’t even asked my name or what I am doing in the woods behind the Taylors’ home, but I have no doubt she will tell Dr. Harris about our encounter. Not Detective Stroud, because she obviously doesn’t want him to know she’s part of the local sex club. No, I can imagine that Stroud’s fragile ego would not take this well.
I need to get out of here.
I take another step back, and another. Gloria is swiping the tears from her face. She’s realized her makeup has smeared and this has become her number one priority.
I slowly retreat, keeping my eye on her, until I am finally able to make a break for it, not looking back as I jog back to the truck.
My head is throbbing as I exit the woods and pull onto the dirt road that leads into town.
A pair of headlights emerge from the corner ahead.
I glance at the clock—12:17 a.m.
In the handful of times I’ve been to Deep Shadows, I’ve never once passed a vehicle.
I shift lower in my seat.
