Page 64 of Grave Possession

Hanging up, I head to the car and slide into the driver’s side. Opening the centre compartment, I pull out the old charger and click it into Dennis’s phone. I place Bellamy’s number in the centre console and close the lid. While waiting for it to boot up, I kill time on my own phone. A “How are you?” text from Nox sits unopened in my messages, and I choose to ignore it.

I honestly don’t know how I’m doing. Barely holding on? Turning to drugs to find some relief from my memories? Fighting the burning urge in my chest I only know one way to satiate? I can’t tell him any of this, so instead, I check the status on an order I have coming in the mail. Is it a book? Yes it is. It’s centred around the female main character getting revenge on everyone who took part in her attempted murder and assault, and her brother’s murder. She also falls in love with the FBI agent working her case, so it hits somewhat close to home. Honestly, I can’t wait to read it.

Dennis’s phone lights up rather quickly, and I abandon my bird game to scroll through it. Coming across a name I recognize, Randall, I press the call button, and he answers by the second ring.

“Dennis! Where the fuck have you been my guy?”

“This isn’t Dennis,” I reply as apprehension twists in my stomach. I’ve never bought drugs before, and the thought of breaking the law makes me sweat with unease.Clearly, I’m okay with murder though. I’m so broken it’s ridiculous.

“Mallory?” he questions.

“Yeah.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Fucking ew. Don’t call me that.

“I want to get some weed.”

“Yeah? Don’t you worry, ol’ Randy will hook you up good. Bring cash, and I’ll text you the time and address.”

“Okay.”

“See you soon, sugar.” Fuckin’ BARF!

Click.

Chapter Forty-two

Mallory

Sitting outside of what is obviously a drug house, I try to gather my wits enough to go to the door. Once Randy finally sent me the address, I made the trek into the city. There’s another larger city beyond this one through the mountains, but I never have any reason to go there. Corpsewood has everything I need that I can’t get in Crystal Creek.

I’m not what you’d call a people person. I don’t like crowds, and the amount of arrogance and stupidity you encounter by simply leaving the house is infuriating. So, I tend to stick as close to home as possible.

My phone beeps from my pocket. It’s Nox again, growing concerned from my lingering silence. He calls, and I wait for the ringing to end before shutting off my phone. As Iswipe to turn off,I see his name illuminate the screen once more before the backlight goes out. I’m such a piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve this. Stuffing back the tears that threaten to overflow my ducts, I try to compose myself.

The front door swings open. Randy must be impatient to make a sale or annoyed by the lingering car in front of his house. I put my phone in the glove box then exit the vehicle, locking the doors behind me.

I pass through the house’s entranceway, closing the door behind me. The layout is eerily similar to my parents’ house: living room to the right, kitchen straight ahead, and bedrooms to the left down the hallway, I assume. Randy sits on a worn, brown, leather couch in the living room, his greasy brown mullet trailing down the back of his head and hanging over the rear of the couch. “Come on over here and tell me what you want, I ain’t got all night,” he rudely snaps, a little too loudly for how close I am. Moving towards him, I see the coffee table between us is covered in drugs. White powder, rocks, pills of every colour, vials of clear fluid, and bags of weed in multiple sizes. I definitely called the right guy to hook me up for whatever I want if the weed doesn’t help.

“How much for one of those?” I ask, pointing to a very tiny bag.

“Fifty,” he grumbles. Fifty dollars? Is he kidding?

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am,” his swamp coloured eyes narrow, assessing me from where he sits.

“I wish you had told me prices before I drove all the way here.”

“You didn’t ask.” He isn’t wrong, but I didn’t expect something that small to be that expensive.

“Well, sorry for wasting your time.” I say, making my way to the door.

“Booking you in cost me another sale, and now you’re not going to buy anything?” His snarling voice injects fear into my veins, and I ponder for a millisecond over whether to lunge for the door or not. I weave my keys in between the fingers on my left hand, giving myself some semblance of protection. “Either buy something or I’ll get something from you that will make all of this worth my time.”

His threat slams into me, throwing me back into my time with Johnson. All these fucking men are the same. “Fine. I’ll take the fifty dollar bag,” I snap, anything to get me out of here faster.

Randy stands, leaning over the table to snatch up the smallest ziplock bag on the planet. I reach into my pocket to pull out the cash while he comes to stand in front of me. I feel like I’m in a stand-off, a terribly precarious position that won’t end in my favour.

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