Page 1 of Depraved Truths

Chapter 1

Present Day

“No, stop!”

I jolt awake, my body trembling as the same nightmare that haunts me nearly every night since I was twelve fades into the shadows of my mind. A soft whimper escapes my lips, and I press a shaky hand to my forehead, damp with sweat. Reaching under my pillow, my fingers brush against the reassuring cold steel of the knife I keep close, just in case.

The clock blinks 4:15 a.m. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, already knowing what I’ll find, yet I scroll through the security footage anyway—empty, as always. But the habit lingers, the need to check, to reassure myself that I’m truly alone. The cameras are the only eyes watching me in the dark.

I take a deep breath, forcing the remnants of the nightmare to slip away. I remind myself that, despite the shadows that seem to lurk in every corner of my mind, I’m safe here. Safe in Lake Falls, in my bedroom overlooking the tranquil shores of Lake Lucia. Safe from the hell I left behind in Atlanta.

Sighing, I push the last threads of the nightmare further from my mind. It's futile to try and sleep now. Instead, I scroll aimlessly through my phone before tapping the app that triggers my coffee maker. I may as well channel my restless energy into the one thing that consistently controls my thoughts—work. I pull up the file on my next target. There is so much evil in the world, so many people who don’t deserve to walk the earth. That’s where I come in. To eradicate the monsters who commit unimaginable heinous acts toward the innocent. I don’t hunt randomly; I’m very particular about my targets.

One hour and two cups of coffee later, I change into running gear. Tight leggings, a sports bra, and my favorite sneakers. Running is the one thing that still clears my mind. The pounding of my heartbeat, the steady rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, remind me I’m alive, that I’m still in control. I pull my blonde hair into a high ponytail and study my reflection in the mirror. The shadows under my steel-gray eyes are more than just exhaustion—they’re reminders of a past I can’t shake.

My eyes—the only feature I share with my father—stare back at me, cold and haunted. But that’s a story for another time. I break my gaze, bend down to tie my shoes, and head out the door.

Normally, I run three to five miles a day, taking different routes around the lake. But today, I have a specific path in mind.

I head down the stairs and out the front door, making a left at the end of my driveway. As always, my gaze is drawn to the lake. This morning, tiny ripples dance across its surface, and the gentle breeze cools the dampness in the air. Spring is drawing to a close, and with it, the promise of summer. Soon, the tourists will begin to pour into Lake Falls, and with them, the influx of money. Evenduring the busiest times of the year, I find peace living in a rural area compared to the hustle and bustle of the large city I grew up in.

Two miles down the road, I reach Conrad Johnson’s home—a stunning two-story red-brick house. The front lawn is perfectly manicured, flowers in full bloom, giving no hint of the unspeakable darkness that unfolded within its walls.

Conrad Johnson’s family was found brutally murdered almost a year ago. His wife, strangled to death in the kitchen. His two-year-old daughter, suffocated in her own bedroom upstairs. The authorities ruled the cause of death as asphyxiation—his daughter’s pillow the weapon used to end her life.

Conrad vehemently denied any involvement, portraying himself as a grief-stricken father, heartbroken and helpless. He had no alibi, though. He claimed to have been out of town on a business trip. The police found solid evidence, including Conrad’s DNA, on both victims, and the case appeared to be airtight. I followed the story, just like everyone else. The public believed he was guilty, yet he got off on a technicality.

A few weeks ago, the authorities released him from holding, letting him walk free as though nothing had happened. How could they just let him go like that? It’s infuriating that after everything, he’s back to his normal routine, working for a company that either believes his story or doesn’t care about his morality. It’s hard to shake the deep disappointment that comes with realizing just how little accountability seems to matter in the world. I’ve heard Conrad is expected to return this afternoon and if he sticks to his normal routine, he’ll likely head straight to the dive bar he’salways frequented— the one where he’s known to drink himself into oblivion.

I do a final scan of the perimeter of his property. No new security cameras, nothing out of the ordinary. I plan on paying him a visit, but for now, I have to wait. My shift is about to begin.

Chapter 2

At twenty minutes to seven, I walk through the Emergency Room entrance at Lakeside Memorial Hospital and use my badge to clock in. This place is like a sanctuary for me. I feel oddly comfortable here. Ever since I was eight years old, when I fell off the monkey bars at school and broke my left arm, I’ve known that I wanted to go into the nursing field. The nurses had been kind to me that day—something I wasn’t used to receiving at home. From that moment on, I knew what my future held. I wanted to help people.

After leaving the hospital that day, I was certain I would become a nurse. It was all I ever talked about. My parents, absent both physically and emotionally, made up for it by throwing money at me. The following Christmas, it was no surprise to find neatly wrapped gifts under the tree. It’s interesting how the little things bring us the most joy. Back then, I assumed I had a normal life as an only child.

That is, untilhehappened.

Shaking myself out of the past, I head over to the doctor’s lounge to get a report from the night shift staff. After completing my nursing degree, I took it a step further, earning both my graduate and doctorate degrees in the field, and now I work as a nurse practitioner. I've always loved the emergency department. It’s fast-paced, and there’s never a dull moment. You never know what’s coming through the door. It could be an infant with a cold, someone in a life-threatening situation like a heart attack or pneumonia, or a car accident victim.

Saving lives and improving the well-being of others is a gratifying experience, but there are days that weigh heavily on my soul. Losing patients, particularly children, tears at me in ways I can’t put into words. Watching innocent lives end so tragically feels personal. It’s not a profession for the faint of heart; it demands everything, especially when the darkest moments come knocking.

In the doctor’s lounge, I find the night shift nurse practitioner flipping through a chart. “Good morning, Marsha. How are you doing?” I ask with an easy smile. Marsha is in her early forties and a mom to four hellions. She has a strong work ethic, and I enjoy coming to work after her shift because I know she has everything under control. “It wasn’t so bad last night, but I’m ready to be home, resting in my bed.”

She fills me in on the patients still waiting for blood work and other test results. The most excitement they had overnight was a patient who came in experiencing hallucinations of purple elephants chasing him. Crack is wack, for real.

“And now I’m handing the reins over to you,” she says with a light laugh. It’s Friday morning, so I know she’ll be off forthe weekend to be with her kids. “I’ve got this covered. Go. Enjoy your time off.”

I glance over the four charts in the rack, deciding which one to tackle first. There’s a sixty-year-old male with chest pain who is waiting for lab results. His initial cardiac enzymes were normal, and the GI cocktail administered on arrival after the EKG eased his chest pain. This likely means he has undiagnosed gastroesophageal reflux disease. Then, there’s a six-year-old boy with flu-like symptoms, a twenty-one-year-old with abdominal pain, and one of our frequent flyers, Scotty, who is here for the third time this month for IV hydration. Scotty is a fifty-five-year-old chronic alcoholic who doesn’t know when to quit. He usually presents after a fight at a local bar or passing out in the alley behind it.

Lucy, a spunky nurse who has worked here as long as I have, sticks her head into the doctor’s lounge. “Dr. Sparks, we have three coming in via ambulance—a two-car motor vehicle collision. The medics just called it in.”

Holding back a sigh, I place the charts back into the rack and head to the ambulance bay.

Chapter 3

“I’m calling it. Time of death, 9:01 a.m.,” I say solemnly.

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