Page 12 of Scarred Sins
I’m connected closely to both victims prior to their deaths. In fact, the old man poured beer on my head the same night he was killed, and Simon was killed shortly after my shift the night he tried asking me out.
Especially if the police ask for a DNA sample, I can’t refuse them. However, Blair Hawke would pop up in their system, and it’s not something I can afford.
What if my stalker got rid of them for me?
My fingers hover above the keyboard of the laptop, unmoving as the thought comes to mind. Something twists and turns inside of my stomach, creating a feeling I’m not familiar with.
“No,’’ I whisper.
Because now, stalker or not, I no longer feel safe in Long Grove.
After three years, it’s time for me to move again.
By noon the following day, I’m ready to leave.
I spent the entire night packing essentials and burning everything else in the backyard. The things that I couldn’t burn or take with me were left at the doorstep of the donation center first thing in the morning.
However, the hardest part is getting rid of the evidence I was ever at Long Grove.
Setting the entire house on fire would’ve raised a lot of eyebrows, especially with the ongoing murder investigations happening currently. Instead, I opted for thoroughly cleaning the rooms of the house I used. I don’t even know how much bleach I used, and now, before leaving with Arson and three pathetic suitcases, I leave two windows open, allowing the stench of bleach to leave the house.
Carol, Stanley, and Layla are the only ones I graced with a goodbye. Although it’s over a phone call, they aren’t too upset. I make up a story of a relative needing someone to care for them in a time of illness and that I’d be leaving for a long time.
They are understanding, don’t pry too much, and made me promise I’d call once in a while.
And once I hang up the phone, I turn my attention to all of the gifts the mysterious person gave me.
A part of me wants to throw them all away, but the other part yells at me to bring them along, not knowing when I might need them. My savings are decent for a while, but if I’m in desperate need of some quick, easy cash, I can always sell the jewelry.
The destination is still unknown to me, but the nagging part of me tells me to return to the city of my nightmares – New York. It’ll bring me a step closer to creating a thoroughly plotted plan on how to get my revenge on all of those pigs.
However, I’m still having doubts.
Laying low until the murders in Long Grove are solved is the best option. I’m not someone who gets grossed out easily, but when I looked up the crime scene photos, I recoiled physically at the gory images.
The old man who spilled beer over me, Richard, was, for the lack of a better word, tortured to death. It’s a miracle that no one heard his screams, though it could’ve been that his tongue was the one to be pulled out first.
All of his ten fingers were broken, snapped in two places, and it was done while he was still alive. His torso was brutally stabbed over eight times, and they found traces of beer in his hair. That’s enough proof that the murder has something to do with me.
The other man, Simon, eventually had his penis cut off and eyes gouged out, and they were neatly laid next to his body. For that murder, it’s concluded to be anoverkill,given that half of his wounds are done post mortem.
None of this makes any sense.
I would never connect the two murders. Hell, neither would the cops have had it not been for a single, white hair on the scene. It was placed in a very visible spot at both crime scenes. It’s labeled as a signature, given that the hair was found on the darkest parts of the victim’s clothes, deliberately put there.
For now, no DNA traces have been found, and I doubt they’ll find anything. The white hairs aren’t spoken about in the media a lot because it’s not a solid lead to track the killer down. And somehow, I doubt the killer will ever be caught.
Because he will follow me.
Maybe he’s in love with you, Blair.
The thought itself is ridiculous. I don’t know who he is, but I’m desperate to find out. Why would someone go to such lengths to salvage the little dignity I have left? Why would he go out of his way to get rid of the people who humiliated me, one way or the other?
All the shitty things that happened to me weren’t my fault – but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel dirty. It’s an obsession of mine to take four showers a day, to try and cleanse my flesh of their touches, yet I still feel them on my skin, inside me, breaking me to pieces.
I chortle a dry laugh, gripping the steering wheel. Arson is in the back, purring softly as she nuzzles into my jacket, making herself comfortable for the long journey ahead.
My hands start trembling, and with a sharp turn to the left, I park the car for a moment.
