Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“A boy. It’s a boy. He’s your son. And he’s perfect.” She licked her lips. “I need water. And I’m sick. I’m sick, and I think I’m getting worse. I—”
“What’s his n-name?”
“His name?” Something in Josie didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to give this monster the gift of knowing her precious boy’s name. But she also needed Marshall to see him as human, to feel for him, to let him go. Let them go.
“Caleb. His name is Caleb.”
Marshall continued to look at the baby, something in his hazel eyes she couldn’t read. Curiosity? Fear. She saw his throat move beneath the mask as he swallowed. He reached out to touch him, and Josie’s instinct was to draw her baby toward her, away from the devil who’d fathered him, but she didn’t. She held her breath and remained unmoving. But before Marshall’s hand made contact with Caleb’s cheek, he drew back, standing swiftly.
“Please let us go. Please.” Josie began to cry. “We’ll both die here. Is that what you want? He’s your son. Please.”
“Shut up,” he barked, backing up. “Shut up. I thought you might already be dead. I thought today you’d be dead.”
Josie shook her head. “I’m not. We’re not. But we will be soon. Please, please—”
Marshall turned and walked out the door, tossing a bag of food and a bottle of water to Josie before slamming it. Her hope plummeted, and she cried out for him loudly, beseeching once and then again. She heard his footsteps ascend the stairs quickly as though he were running away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Josie heard Zach on the porch talking on his phone, the persistent creak of the old wood telling her he was pacing back and forth. Who was he talking to? Jimmy, most likely. Talking through this case that now personally involved her.
Could Professor Vaughn Merrick be the copycat? The question Zach had asked Josie the night before repeated in her head, and she still didn’t have an answer. Anything was possible, but the question had honestly shocked her. She’d been intimate with the man, but she had such hazy memories of who he’d really been as a person. She supposed it was because she hadn’t ever really known. Perhaps she hadn’t even really cared, though at the time she’d thought she did. She’d put her own ideals on him, never looking deep enough to consider that he wasn’t able or interested to meet them. Yes, she’d made so many mistakes, all in a desperate attempt to finally win the love she’d been denied by her parents. And yet always choosing men who were incapable of loving her. What a warped merry-go-round she’d climbed upon.
All that aside, was Vaughn committing the heinous copycat killings? And if so, why?
She wished she had someone she could clarify some of her recollections with, but she didn’t talk to her friends from college anymore. They’d shown up in the hospital after she’d escaped, but she barely remembered their visits. And they’d called often when she’d finally been released. But she’d been in no place emotionally to talk to them. She’d let their calls go unanswered, never returned any of them, and eventually, they’d stopped trying completely.
She wandered into the kitchen. Zach had already put on a pot of coffee and the scent lured her. She poured herself a cup, added some milk, and went to stand in front of the kitchen window, sipping from her mug as she looked out at the side yard and beyond. The morning appeared peaceful, fluffy white clouds dotting the soft blue sky. Zach’s voice drifted to her. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, just the deep cadence of his voice. She thought back to everything they’d spoken about the night before. She still couldn’t believe her mother was dead. She’d been dying; Josie had known that. They’d even discussed that her mother wanted to be cremated when the time came. Yes, she’d been prepared for her mother’s death, even not knowing exactly when that would be. So she was surprised at the sadness that gripped her. Surprised that she was capable of feeling any loss for the woman who had caused her more pain than anything. Josie hadn’t truly known her mother, and her mother had never truly known her. They were related by blood, but not much else.
She was even sadder for her mother than for herself, she found. Sad about the way Diana Stratton had chosen to live her life. Because it did come down to choice, didn’t it? Whether or not her mother had been dealt a terrible hand by life—and Josie could agree she had—she’d continued to hold tight to bitterness, to share her pain with the people she was supposed to love. Like Josie, her child. But Josie didn’t harbor resentment about that anymore. And despite her own poor hand, she’d vowed that she would never turn into her mother. She’d chosen not to let bitterness rule her. She’d never continue the cycle of pain and abuse. Never.