Page 29 of Oliver

Chapter 10

Love isn’t selfless when you can’t separate yourself from the person you love.

Penny

I wake to a series of messages from Charming Charlie. Truthfully, at first, I’m so out of it that the reality of my situation doesn’t kick in until I’m halfway through the vitriol.

I know I thought it yesterday but now it’s a fucking hammer to my already aching head. Mr. G didn’t send me to those woods. He didn’t put a rabbit’s foot on my car.

Now he’s saying he didn’t kill my sister and accusing Oliver.

Is Oliver posing as Charming Charlie too?

Charming Charlie:Seems you found your killer. Now go away, like the good little bitch you are.

Hm. Oliver knows about Mr. G, but he could be playing with me. How do I get him to fucking crack?

With a shrug,I type: You think so? I heard it’s that skeevy asshole, Oliver Goodlow. I guess the police will be questioning him now, too.

Silence follows my response and I add for good measure:If it’s you, I’ll make sure they find you. No matter what it takes.

I go to close out the messages when I receive a notification and stare at Charming Charlie’s words.

You think you can take me, little girl? Listen, you little bitch, playtime is over. You’re messing in a man’s world. Unless you wanna be my little fucking slave, I suggest you go quietly into the fucking night.

Rolling over the words with my mouse, I contemplate the verbal aggression. Did my statement worry this asshole? What’s with the threats?

If I were just alittle girl, why is he so threatened by me? And who the fuck am I communicating with?

I have my doubts about it being Oliver because the tenor of the messages is not the same but what the fuck do I know?

With a groan, I head to the kitchen but pause by the garage door. Images of Mom’s lifeless body dance over my vision and I pass the kitchen for the living room before plopping down on the sofa.

I’m at a crossroads. Mr. G was arrested but after admitting to countless other murders, he’s refusing to confess to Dixie’s. Why? Because he’s an asshole or he really didn't do it?

Despite Oliver’s comfort in the second worst moment of my life, I have to allow that Mr. G, even though he’s a skeevy fucker himself, wouldn’t bother to lie about this. What would be the motivation?

This leaves Oliver, who’s been acting squirrely for months. He’s dangerous. There’s no doubt about that but did he kill Dixie? Why?

Or is there something more nefarious at play? Like a fucking Hunter’s Club. Fuck me.

I guess that part of Charming Charlie’s story wasn't a complete lie although he didn’t mention they were actually huntingpeople. How gullible am I? I guess he was sending me and probably hoping I wouldn't live through the experience. Too bad for him, there was nothing there. Dick.

I need more information, but I am woefully stuck in place. If Mr. G didn't do it, there’s no point in speaking to him, not that I would try. Besides, would the douche even speak to me?

Oliver is a locked vault. I don't know that anyone else knew about Oliver and Dixie much less his interactions with me. This would have given him leeway to get away with anything.

With a shiver, I chew my nail, contemplating the fact that it could have been me found in that old, abandoned house with my head cut off. If Oliver is willing to kill Dixie, he’s willing to kill me. So why hasn't he done anything? He’s had time and I’ve put myself in countless vulnerable positions with him.

Was her death an accident? Then why was her head cut off? Shit. Fuck. Damn.

Strangely, now that I’ve gotten past the shock, I feel renewed but it’s a Band-Aid over a gunshot wound because once this is over, I’ll be right back where I started, figuring out how to let my family go.

Oliver

When I was four years old, I found an old encyclopedia lying around the basement. While Maeve played with her godawful toys, making kissy faces with her dolls, I looked through every page of that book.

I couldn’t read every word although I was able to ingest most of it. However, when I closed the back page and stared at the picture, I was filled with a strange sense of wonder. There was far more to this world than I understood, and I wanted to plumb the depths of every last bit of it.

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