Page 93 of Unforgotten

Her skin crawled with horror. If she thought she could, she would’ve thrown up.

But since he was talking and not hurting her, she’d help him keep that up. Bethanne had made it to safety. Maybe Ryan really would soon find her. Maybe God really was listening and going to answer her prayers.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “What did you do?”

His voice and expression softened. “Why, I made you better, Candy. I edited people out of your pictures and fixed your smiles.” He held up two pictures. One was how she’d really looked, the other was an almost-cartoonish version of her. “See what I did?” he asked, sounding almost childish. “I put lipstick back on your lips. And I fixed your hair.”

He’d somehow cut and pasted another hairstyle onto her head. It was bizarre and scary. “Is that my hair or someone else’s?”

“Someone else’s,” he said with an easy smile. “I once knew another girl who looked like you. She had perfect golden curls.” He ran his finger along the hair in the picture. “It was so pretty. It was so soft too.” He lowered his voice. “So soft.” He glared at her. “Not like yours looks now.”

How could he have known that about the other girl’s hair? Candace’s heart pounded faster. Had he held her captive too and petted it, just like he was petting her hair in the picture? Chill bumps formed on her arms. She needed to keep him talking. “Why did you add her hair to mine?”

He dropped the picture. “Because she always looked pretty. Always, always, always.” A muscle in his jaw worked as he visibly tried to control himself. “Unlike you.” Still scowling at her, he rose to his feet. “Look at you. You look terrible, Candace. Ugly. I’m going to have to fix all of your pictures.”

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tell him that he had no business doing such things. Of ever even thinking such things. She wanted to beg him to release her. To untie her and let her go.

But she couldn’t. There was nothing she could do. She’d never felt more helpless in her entire life.

Scott was breathing hard again. He looked like he was going to hit something—like he was enraged.

“What happened to her?” she asked.

He blinked. “Who?”

Honestly, it was like he wasn’t even sure what reality he was in. “The other girl.” She pointed to the picture he’d been caressing. “The girl with the pretty hair. What happened to her?”

“Angela?”

She nodded because she had no idea what else to do.

“She’s gone.”

A chill went through her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t understand?”

“What happened to Angela, Scott?”

He blinked again. “I don’t know.” Looking more agitated, he added, “She ran away.” Pointing to the door, he said, “Now I put locks on everything.”

When he started pacing back and forth across the pictures of her, talking to himself, Candace finally understood why Bethanne had kept to herself for so long after Peter’s death. Even if Ryan and the entire police force burst into the shack that very moment and ended this, she would never be the same. This would haunt her—maybe forever.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she leaned her head back against the wall, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to cry. When she heard the camera click, she didn’t move.

“Did you fall asleep?” Scott’s yell startled her.

Had she fallen asleep? She didn’t know. But she sat up straighter and shook her head.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m awake.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then you were ignoring me again. Just like back in high school. You were pretending I didn’t exist.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “When did I do that?”

“You don’t remember?” He stared down at her. “You don’t remember when I took your picture and they put it in the yearbook because I did such a good job?”

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