Page 67 of The Night Shift
Monday, April 10th, 2022
Holly: Happy birthday, asshole. You’re one year closer to death.
Parker:
Holly: Fuck you too. Don’t expect a gift.
Monday, June 19th, 2022
Camille: are we still on 4 tonight?
Holly: Not sure. I just got paged for surgery.
Camille: ugh
Thursday, October 28th, 2022
UNKNOWN: How DOES it feel? Killing someone?
UNKNOWN: Want me to show you?
Friday, October 29th, 2022
UNKNOWN: Good. I’ve always liked you blonde.
The creepy “unknown” messages aren’t in his sent folder. He must’ve used a burner phone for those. I tap on his inbox. It’s mostly innocuous. Promotional messages, Parker, more Parker, and one recent message from an unsaved contact. Five words.
+1 (917) 555-9012: may the best man win
A strong gust of wind whooshes past my shoulders, blowing some dirt into my face. I look up at him. We’re in the middle of the fucking woods at 2 a.m. so it’s pretty dark, but I can still make out the way the white button-down sticks to his toned back, dripping with sweat as he keeps digging, his shoulders tight with tension.
Every single cell in my body is aflame with nothing but sheer anger.
Threeyears? He’s been stalking me forthreefucking years, and I never caught on? I used to think I was smart. That if someone would ever try to come after me, I would be perceptive enough to know.
Theo keeps digging and the longer I go on staring at his stupid back, the more enraged I become. I can’t believe this. Thefucker has known that I have been killing people for the past three years?! He’s known that and has done…nothing about it? It makes no fucking sense. He could have —should have— gone to the cops, or at the very least held it over my head for some twisted form of blackmail. But he did nothing. Well, not nothing. He did continue to piss me off every single day, fully knowing that each time I threatened to cut him open, I meant it. And now I’m not sure if I’m angry about the stalking or insulted that he’s not even a little bit scared of me.
A hot flare bites into my resolve to remain calm. I swipe up on his phone screen and open his photos app. They’re all neatly cataloged by time and — what the fuck? My eyes immediately catch onto a folder in the bottom right corner.
It’s titled “Mine<3.” I tap on it.
Mother…fucker! It’s ME!
Thousands andthousandsof pictures of me! Me lying on my bed, me making coffee in my kitchen, me slitting someone’s throat, me slitting someone’s wrists, more pictures of me on my bed, and — ohgod. Is that how my nose looks when I sleep? Why does it look so fat and stubby? A disturbed frown forms between my brows. I lift my hand to touch my nose.
What. The. Fuck.
What the fuck!
Who the hell does he think he is, taking unflattering pictures of me without my knowledge, making me look like apig?! I want to scream.
Instead, I take out my own phone and text Camille.Need to talk. Of course, a second later the same text shows up on Theo’s phone and my anger escalates to a whole new level.
Cami texts me back,All good? I call her and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, what’s up? Is everything all right?”
I can’t hear her properly. There’s a lot of noise in the background. “You’re at the bar?”
