Page 49 of Killer Knows Best

Marsha writhes and whimpers as she tugs on her chains, her eyes wide and frantic. The metal clinks with each movement, and I see the bruises starting to form around her wrists where she’s been pulling too hard. She hasn’t even tried to speak yet. She hasn’t found the words.

But I don’t need her words. I need her fear.

I snap the shears in front of her face, and she flinches. Thepower of that moment sends a shiver down my spine.

“You need to pay,” I seethe. “All of you need to pay for your sins.” My voice sharpens as I start snipping at her clothes. She thrashes under my hands, but I keep cutting, the fabric peeling away in jagged strips. “It’s because of women like you that I have to do this. Do you know how many people would thank me if they knew what I was doing?”

A low sob escapes her lips and I feel my stomach twist—not with guilt but with the intoxicating blend of control and righteousness.

“I’m doing the world a favor. I’m doingyoua favor,” I hiss.

My hand jerks as I slice through the last piece of fabric and—darn it—the shears slip, cutting her skin instead. A thin line of blood wells up, dark and glistening in this dim light.

Marsha begins to curse me, with her voice hoarse and raw. The words sting like lashes, cutting through my moment of control, but I don’t let them sink in. I raise the scissors, my hand trembling with anger now. And I cut and I cut until she’s naked as the day she was born—the last day of her innocence.

Why can’t they just be quiet and accept it? Why can’t they see that I’m right?

“Shut up,” I say, louder this time, trading my shears for a hammer before bringing it down over her.

A sickening thud emits as it connects with her skull, and she goes limp again, her body goes slack against the chains.

I step back, panting, the hammer still clutched in my hand. The room feels as if it’s too small with the walls closing in—as if they were doing their best to suffocate me. I drop the hammer and stumble to the corner, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Why isn’t anything working the way it should? I planned this. I was careful. I was thorough. So why does it all feel wrong?

“What more must I do?” I whisper in the silence and myvoice shakes. I stare at her motionless form, the blood trickling down her forehead. “What more must I do to make this right? To make her pay?”

My chest heaves as I look at the mess I’ve made.

This is it.

No more waiting.

No more second chances.

This ends tonight.

I turn back to her, the shears gleaming in the dark, and I know what has to come next.

I hope I didn’t kill her. She still needs to escape.

Then I loosen the bindings at her wrists and ankles so she can do just that.

33

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

Iflip through the battered pages of Delaney Riggs’ journal, the paper worn from countless turns of the page, tear stains—hers, not mine—and some crumbs of indiscernible food items. I’m hoping those are hers, although Buddy and I have been on a snacking spree.

Delaney’s handwriting slants across the page, delicate but rushed, as if she had so much to say and not enough time to get it all out. The words pull me in once again, offering another glimpse into her chaotic, tender, and oh-so heartbreaking life.

I skip around one last time, particularly to the parts that pertain to the library since that’s my destination tonight.

August 14th

I never thought I’d find peace in a place full of books. But here I am, spending my afternoons at the library, lost in fictional worlds that I never lived in but somehow understand. Phillis says I have a gift for research. Brenda just laughs andcalls me “her little bookworm”. They’re more like mothers to me than my own mother has ever been. Some days, I wonder what it would have been like to have a mother who didn’t forget my birthday. Or didn’t choose a bottle of booze over me. Phillis gives me that. Brenda, too, in her own way. I don’t feel so invisible when I’m with them. Maybe that’s why I like it here. I’m not just disappearing between the shelves. I’m in a real world—one I’m hoping to one day understand.

September 5th

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