Page 51 of Tormented By Regret

“My sister always feels that way. That’s nothing new. Just let her do her thing and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want her flying tonight, but if she doesn’t, she says the power surges and it causes her pain.”

“That’s true. I’ve seen my mother shift that way, it’s not pretty.” He furrowed his brow as if the memory caused him pain, and he took the shot of tequila that sat in front of him. Taking the bottle, he helped himself to another one. “She’s safer in the skies than down here with us.”

He knocked back that second tequila shot and got to his feet. “Gotta go. I’m up for surveillance tonight.”

“What's up? What’s happening?” I asked, surprised.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Bloody Scorpions set fire on two of our businesses. Jameson’s got us on surveillance teams, especially at the Old Mill.”

“Well, damn. I had no idea.”

“It’s alright, brother. You focus on my sister. She’s more important than the shitshow we’re dealing with.”

“Watch your back,” I called out as he vanished out the door.

A few minutes later, Tick Tock took his seat. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” I replied, but my gaze froze on the screen in front of us. Another murder had occurred in Louisiana, same stabbings as the slew of murders happening in the south. Ron Hargrave's name and photo appeared on the screen, sending a chill down my spine.

“Hey, Bones. Turn that up for us,” Tick Tock asked the Prospect behind the counter. As the volume increased, the news anchor's voice filled the room, detailing the gruesome details of the crime.

"Are you enjoying the show, Lee?" The phone buzzed ominously in my hand, and my fingers fumbled on the dials as I rushed to respond.

"You’re a sick fuck."

"But it’s all for you. I’ve done this all for you." My heart raced as I read the messages, each word striking fear into my core.

"I’m going to find you, Ron. And when I do, I will hurt you."

"It seems we’re both on the same page. Finally!" I read each word carefully, holding my breath as the next text came in.

"I’m sure Whisper, sweet Whisper, is going to enjoy this, she’s here with me, too, Lee. Oh, the plans I have for her. We're going to have quite the memorable time together." A chill gripped my entire being as the weight of those words settled in my chest. The air around me seemed to thicken with tension as I struggled to formulate a response.

"What do you want from me, Ron?" As I texted, each word was a battle against my rising panic. The reply came swiftly, dripping with malice and twisted intent.

"What do I want? Oh, I want so much more than you can imagine, Lee. I want your undivided attention, your agony, your screams of despair. I want you to feel every ounce of pain as I tear Whisper apart, piece by delicate piece. And you, my old friend, you will watch. You will watch until your very soul is shattered, until there's nothing left but a hollow shell of the person you once were. But you better hurry. Time is slipping away, and I’m not sure you’ll make it on time. I’d hate for you to miss the event."

Whisper was in danger, and it was my fault. I cursed myself for not being more vigilant, for failing to protect her.

“She was a good girl for me, didn’t tell you where she was going, did she? But She came because she wanted to save you. Isn’t that sweet?" The message continued, each word like a dagger twisting in my gut.

"Now here she is, waiting on me to come find her."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," my fingers trembled as I typed out the response.

"She’s a pretty little thing," the next message taunted, sending a shiver down my spine. "You’ve got good taste, Lee. I suppose I should do to her what you had me do to Lucy."

My breath caught in my throat at the mention of Lucy's name, my guilt consuming me like a relentless flame. I had failed Lucy, and now it seemed history was destined to repeat itself with Whisper.

"Although I’m afraid around here, the gators will get her," the message continued, a cruel chill reverberating through my bones. "Can’t have that happen. Maybe I’ll hang her from one of these weeping willows," he suggested, the words dripping with sadistic glee, "an appropriate name for what comes you’ll be doing next, isn’t it?"

"Motherfucker, I will end you," my response was a primal scream of rage and anguish, the words barely coherent as my mind raced with thoughts of what Whisper might be going through.

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