Page 105 of He Sees You
The foam turning pink, then red.
The strange gurgling as his paralyzed throat tries to scream.
At two minutes, he knows he's dying.
The knowledge is clear in his eyes—not just fear but understanding.
This is justice.
Brutal, illegal, but justice nonetheless.
At two and a half minutes, he looks at me.
Reallylooks at me.
And I see him recognize something—I'm not horrified.
I'msatisfied.
The sheriff's daughter has become something he never expected.
At three minutes, he's gone.
Cain checks his pulse.
Nothing.
Morrison is meat now, nothing more.
We work quickly, staging the scene.
Morrison collapsed on his run, phone fallen from his armband, wallet scattered as he clutched his chest.
We take the cash but leave the cards—robbery but not thorough.
Desperate, opportunistic.
The kind of thing an addict might do finding a collapsed jogger.
I pocket the paper with the cabin address.
We'll need that for Christmas Eve.
"We should go," Cain says. "It's 6:35. The early runners will start arriving soon."
We jog back to the truck, maintaining pace in case anyone sees us.
Just another couple out for morning exercise.
My body feels electric, alive in ways that have nothing to do with the run.
We've killed together now.
Planned it, executed it, covered it up. We're partners in the deepest sense.
In the truck, reality crashes over me.
"My father is a monster."
