Page 21 of Give Me Redemption

It’s Been Five Years Since the Dalton Girl Went Missing.

It’s Been Fifteen Years. What Really Happened to Chloe Dalton?

I slide the peanut butter off the spoon with my tongue before removing the spoon.

Some would say I am a bit obsessed.

Maybe I am.

Some say she has to be dead.

I say they’re wrong.

She’s alive and one day I will find her.

And when I do, I will put a bullet through his head.

__________

I wake in the middle of the night with my head foggy from too much wine. I slide my hand across the bed and feel a body. My eyes fly open in a panic and then I remember I called Malcom.

Shit.

He fell asleep.

“Hey,” I say, giving him a little shove. He stirs as I sit up. “You fell asleep.” I toss the covers off before my feet touch the floor.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I yawn as I head for the bathroom. “You should get going, though.” I shut the door behind me before I slide my panties down and sit on the toilet. I do my business, flush, and wash my hands.

Malcom’s buttoning his jeans when I walk back in. He puts his shirt on, not bothering to button it. Malcom is seriously hot. With dark skin and baby blue eyes, he could be a model. He’s both gorgeous and a good lay.

“See ya,” he says, grabbing his phone from the table.

“Have a good night,” I reply, climbing back into the bed. “Lock the door.”

“On my way out, I know,” he says. I nod and shut my eyes, letting sleep drown me again.

Snow flurries float in my bedroom, drifting aimlessly in the dark. My eyes search the room in confusion. Why is it snowing in here?

“Harlow,” I hear. I tell my body to sit up, but it stays glued to the bed. My comforter seems to pull tighter, locking me in place. I look to the window and see the outline of a person.

“You’ll never find me,” he whispers. He tosses a body out of the open window before jumping out after it.

No, no, no. I try to shake my head and beg my body to get up.

“Harlow, help!” I hear.

My mouth flies open and a deafening scream rushes out from my lungs. I wake, thrashing in the bed, the covers all on the floor.

I sit up quickly, my lungs taking in air too fast. I’m choking. Tears wet my cheeks and I grip my tank top. I focus on the present.

“Goddammit,” I say, shaking my head. Slim Jim jumps up onto the bed, rubbing his head against my arm.

“I’d say I was okay, Slim, but I’m not sure anymore.”

I wipe my forehead and get up. The clock reads four-thirty, but I’m not sleeping anymore after that. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and slide on some leggings and a tank top before grabbing my phone and earbuds.

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