Page 125 of Oliver

“No?” She cocks her head. “He said he would love me through thick and thin. I was pregnant with the twins at the time. We were so in love, but I had a calling, and he was so fucking naive.”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, and she waves me toward where Bone is standing by the window.

“Of course, you don’t, you little twit. I was raised for greatness. I was meant for more. No one could stop me. Not even you, with your big eyes and pitiful smile.”

“Did you kill all those girls?”

“I rid the world of filth,” she spits.

Licking my lips, I back away and raise my hands while the wheels turn in my brain. The restaurant. The boat. Mr. Cook. His missing daughter.

“Charlie Cook. You’reher,” I say.

Her eyes flicker and she shakes her head. “Charming Charlie. She’s gone. Dead.”

“Where did you go? Did you run away?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.

“She ran as far as she could, but she could never really leave.”

Her speaking in the third person only makes this situation that much creepier but as long as I can keep her talking, she’s not shooting anybody.

Bone glances at me with wide eyes. I don’t have time to comfort the dick though.

She seems to shake herself out of it which reduces the creep factor but brings her achingly back to the present and the gun in her hand.

“Why didn’t you turn him in?” I whisper.

Laughing, she grabs her stomach. “You’re so fucking stupid. You don’t turn in your teacher, you outgrow him.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue but what’s the use? It’s clear something within her is broken. I mean, she’s referring to herself in the third fucking person. That’s got to point to some insanity.

“Look,” I say, turning my hands palm up. “What’s done is done.”

It pains me to discount the dozens of other victims, but survival is the name of the game as I continue, “Dixie’s gone. Her death was an accident.”

“No, it’s not. As long as you’re alive, it’s not. If you had just let it fucking be.”

“How could I? My sister was dead!” I say stiffly before biting my lip. Stop aggravating the crazy lady with the gun, Penny.

“I don’t fucking care. Just remember you fucking asked for this,” she growls.

The sane part of me wants to rail at her for her crazy ass shit but at the same time a kernel of pity rises in my soul. This woman was raised by a psychopath and from where I’m standing, she clearly had no chance for a normal life.

“Look—“ Bone says, and she turns to him and fires.

Shrieking, I cover my ears and drop to my knees. Bone clutches his chest, a trickle of blood bubbling on his lips. When he drops beside me, I crawl toward him until she spins to me and presses the gun to my temple.

The barrel is hot against my skin, and I flinch as she shoves it into my skull. Her hands shake and I eye the door wishing with every fiber of my being that I had walked out after our argument before.

“Did you fuck my son?” she rasps, and I moan.

I assume she takes that as an answer because she says, “You’re just like all the rest. A whore. You know what happens to whores?”

“N-No,” I whisper. “Please just let me go. I’m done. I p-prom—“

“No! It’s not over. Don’t you get it? She has to do what she's told.” I flinch when she presses the barrel into my skin, silently saying a prayer. For me. For Dixie and my mom. Oliver…and this woman who’s looney fucking tunes.

“He says you must die. You die,” she sing-songs.

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