Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“It’s quite peaceful out there at night. I’m exhausted.”
“I bet.” She pushes my wet hair back. “A man who chooses safety over a soul connection has just damned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and disappointment. Your ex will feel it. I just hope you can leave him in the past.”
“I think after tonight, I have,” I tell her honestly. “I used to imagine him coming back and telling me he’s sorry and he wants to try again, but now, I can really say that thought gives me the ick.”
“Good.” She smiles. “You’re a good person, Wren. Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you, and I don’t just mean some silly man-child.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking about the Russos. Mabel and I say goodnight and I lay down, scrolling through Instagram to try and clear my head. I end up falling asleep only to have a vivid dream about a modest Cape-Cod style house in a normal looking neighborhood. I see the dream unfold as if I’m watching it on a TV show. I’ve never seen the actors before, but I know exactly who they are.
They’re my parents, and they’re very much alive.
CHAPTER 37
“Good morning, Mrs. Malus,” Alan, the cook, says. He’s looking past me and almost appears high, but I know better. Xavier held him spellbound one too many times and the guy’s brain is trying to process what limited info it has access to.
And he’s definitely been told not to look at me.
“What can I make you for breakfast this morning?”
“Something high protein but vegetarian, if it’s not too much work.”
“It’s my job to make you food,” he says, sounding robotic, and then quickly turns to start cooking. I get a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and sit at the island counter. I brought the files from the M.E. to look over and wait a beat before opening them up, though I don’t think it matters if Alan sees anything. I would bet money he’s been held spellbound to forget anything of interest he sees while at work.
“Morning.” Devon comes into the kitchen and goes right for a cup of coffee. “You’re up early, considering.”
“Considering I was out almost all night? I know.” I flip open a notebook, prepared to take notes. “I couldn’t sleep. I’ll run and workout later, then maybe nap. Why are you up?”
“I had an early appointment. Sometimes I run errands for Xavier and Theo during the day.”
“Ahh, makes sense.”
“What the hell are those?” he asks, coming over to the counter.
“Official records from the coroner’s office about some of the most recent victims.”
He takes a seat next to me and looks at the file I have open, grimacing at the crime scene photo. “This guy was only twenty-five?”
“Yeah.” I scan the report and jot down his birthday so I can compare it to the others. Sometimes, demons can go after very specific things, but I’m doubtful I’ll find any connections other than these bodies were easy targets to possess. “I’m guessing years of heavy drug use didn’t help, but all those wrinkles and gray hairs were definitely due to the you-know-what.”
“The virus,” he says in a way that lets me know he’s talking in code but knows what I’m actually referring to. “It does that to a person?”
“Not all the time. The longer they’re infected, the more outside damage it does. This is more typical,” I tell him and go through another file. “Liquefied from the inside out.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. You can usually smell these guys before you see them.” I wrinkle my nose. “Makes you realize just how stinky a zombie apocalypse would really be.”
Devon takes a slow sip of coffee. “What are you doing?” He eyes the notebook.
“Looking for any sort of similarities or connections that could help clue me in on why a group of, uh, viruses would go after people like this.”
“Are you finding any?”
I shake my head. “No. There is nothing other than just convenience. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something obvious.”
“Let me take a look.” Devon slides the files over, and we line them up in chronological death order. “So the first five were all found close by each other.”
“My next step was to mark up a map,” I tell him. “I’m not as familiar with this area.”
“Good thing I am.” He playfully elbows me and smiles and then pulls out his phone, looking from the files to the map several times. “This is a little interesting, maybe?”
“What is it?”
“Blackwood Avenue is typically the, uh, most populated spot for the homeless. But it’s almost like the people wandered away from it. Look at this.” He spends a minute or so dropping pins on the map where each body was found. They were near Blackwood Avenue, as if they were solicited from the campsite. But to do what?