Page 5 of Madness Blooms

An early college-aged woman I don’t recognize emerges from the kitchen. Drops of sweat trickle down her exposed neck from underneath her messy bun, and she discreetly wipes it away with a cloth. Some genius had cranked up the heat, even though winter is over. Why is this place always so damn warm, anyway?

“Hey, Luke,” the waitress greets, waving at me as if we’re already acquainted. “Are you here for the usual?”

I catch myself raising a brow, but I quickly plaster on a smile. Small-town America can be friendly to a fault, with loose lips and plenty of dark secrets hidden beneath the surface. “I’ll just have the coffee today, thanks,” I say, glimpsing her name tag. “So, Cassie, are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before,” I say, keeping my voice light—because that’s whatLukewould do.

Cassie laughs. “Yeah, sorry for being so forward. It’s just that Heather talks about you. A lot. It feels like I already know you.”

Of course she does. I’ve only been staking out Mackay’s for a month, and Ms. Heather Wright has gotten attached to me like a tumor. Fortunately for her, Luke is friendly, so all she has to worry about is a gentle rejection—as opposed to a knife in her neck. I push Damon back down and lean forward on the counter, giving the impression that I’m fully focused on the conversation.

“Anyway, do you want a booth? There’s one over there that just got freed up.” Cassie motions to the space across the diner, her voice musical—and much like the bell, it grates on my head.

I want to groan, but Luke has manners. “Not sure how long I’ll be sticking around, so I’ll just take my usual here at the counter.”

“Sure thing! Great timing, anyway—I just put on a new pot of coffee. I’ll go get your bagel prepared.” She turns before whirling around on her heel. “Want anything else?”

I shake my head, struggling to keep up the friendly façade as pain thumps against my skull. “No thanks.”

“All righty then.” Cassie vanishes into the kitchen.

I breathe a sigh of relief and take a moment to observe my surroundings while waiting for my food. A middle-aged woman pours sugar into her coffee, her make-up unable to disguise the deep circles underneath her eyes. An older man with a baseball cap devours his eggs and sausage like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Meanwhile, a teenager abandons their plate, half-eaten, and wanders off to the restroom. I glance up at the corners of the diner and notice that Mackay’s still hasn’t installed cameras.

So trusting.

Outside, police vehicles zoom by, cutting off some douchebag’s Camaro. The driver honks his horn and flips them off. I smirk; lucky for him, the officers are too busy dealing with the mess on Glenbury Avenue to pull him over for some made-up citations.

I drum my fingers on the counter, glancing at theMiami Vicererun playing at a low volume from the suspended TV. My thoughts drift to last night as I maintain a neutral expression. Scott Robinson had been up late again, obsessing over his collection of illicit photographs—ones used to blackmail members of the congregation, particularly those who are underage. By capturing them in vulnerable positions, he coerced them into sexual acts by threatening to ruin their reputations and lives.

The morning news report shamelessly skewed towards the ‘good, wholesome churchman’ narrative. I can’t wait for the media frenzy that will undoubtedly erupt when the snaps are released—courtesy of me.

A photograph conveniently left at the front doors of the Ashburn Gazette ought to cause some chaos.

Cassie returns with a pot and sets a mug on the counter. As she pours the coffee, I grab a creamer pod from the basket near the napkin dispenser. She quickly disappears, focused on the next order from the kitchen. While stirring in the creamer, I think about last night’sextracurricular. Chasing the Lawrence girl was enjoyable, and playing with her even more so. I didn’t need to kill her since she had seen nothing from the crime scene that could implicate me.

But the moment I realized who she was, my curiosity piqued. I don’t believe in coincidences, so it must have been fate that this little rabbit wandered into my snare.

The bell peals that aggravating chime again as someone enters the diner. I glimpse over my shoulder—and fiery blood rushes through my veins. Grace Lawrence, Little Bunny herself, walks up to the counter like a regular and takes a seat two stools down from me. She clutches the strap of her bag like a safety blanket, her gaze nervous, looking utterlyspooked.

A waitress named Andrea approaches her. “You okay, hun? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I internallyhowlas I rip open some sugar packets.

Bunny’s face pales and her knuckles go white. “I’m fine. Just stressed out from work. Haven’t been sleeping much.”

I bet not, I think, sprinkling the sweetener into my mug.

Especially not after that impromptuvisit.

“Such a shame. You need to take better care of yourself.” Andrea scribbles on her notepad. “Your family needs you, after all.”

Bunny’s mood darkens, her hazel eyes falling to the newspaper in front of her. “Yeah, sure.”

Oooh, touchy subject.I give the sugar a quick swirl and take a careful sip of my coffee. Bunny orders the diner’s Breakfast Standard: scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice. Andrea retreats to the kitchen, leaving Bunny to stare at the morning paper. Her eyes skim the text, and she swallows, breathing shallowly out of her nose as if she’s trying to hold back a panic attack.

I nod down at the paper, specifically at the article containing the grisly details of my handiwork. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

Her eyes widen and her grip on the strap becomes impossibly tighter. “U-uh … yeah,” she stammers, trying to mask her fear with a smile. But her face is taut, betraying her unease. “Things like this rarely happen around here, so it’s pretty big news.”

She taps her foot against the counter, almost like she’s about to bolt—but I’m going to make sure that my rabbit isn’t escaping my snare this time.

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