Page 165 of House of Cards

A Saran-wrapped finger, mottled blue and rusty red. Red from dried blood, blue from decomposing flesh.

Zoey shrieks, dropping the finger and the envelope. She staggers back, hands an inch away from her mouth, before she shudders to a halt.

I hear her puking behind me as I pick up the envelope and take out the note.

A new drop location, and barely enough time for us to get there. But that’s not what crushes my chest like a vise.

Same handwriting.

Same location.

“That’s Ricky’s, isn’t it?” Zoey asks, voice muffled. She steps back up to the jukebox, as pale as the note I’m still holding, hereyes glued to the severed finger lying in the jukebox’s charred remains.

“Yes.”

“Oh, God…”

“It’s a good thing. It means he’s alive.”

“Is he?Ishe?” Her voice cracks. “That looks like they cut it off a dead person!”

“No. He’s still alive.”

I carefully fold the note and slip it into my pocket, my fingers suddenly numb. Place Ricky’s finger back in the envelope, put that in my pocket too. Something hot sears through my chest, incinerating everything that bloomed during our kiss.

That handwriting…It’s not logical. Not fuckingpossible.

But here we are.

Zoey watches me with wide, horrified eyes.

“We have to go,” I tell her, when I walk to the car, but she doesn’t follow.

“How do you know he’s still alive?” Zoey asks, her voice as far off and tinny as if she was speaking to me through a can on the other side of the room.

“You’ll have to trust me on that.”

“Like I have a choice,” Zoey mumbles, stumbling through the wreckage of her diner as she follows me outside.

My face hardens as I meet Zoey’s eyes, not seeing her, but someone else entirely.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, kitten.” My voice sounds flat and mechanical in my buzzing ears. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Zoey frowns, taking a small step back. Whatever she sees in my eyes makes her swallow hard.

Good. She should be afraid.

Because I’m not the same man who kissed her in the car.

That man just went up in flames…like this fucking diner.

Zoey

I’ve never gotten car sick before, but I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like. I’m deeply nauseous, and maybe if I had food in my stomach, I’d need to puke. Instead, there’s just this hollow churning in my stomach, like a whirlwind got trapped in there.

What the hell just happened?

I swear I witnessed Smith switch to a new personality when I found that note. What’s that mental disorder called? Used to be multiple personalities, but I think it’s called dissociative something or other these days.

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