Page 116 of Sinister Legacy
“What did you think would happen when you decided to drag the daughter of one of the country’s most notorious serial killers out here?” I scoop up a handful of snow and force it into his eyes. “I’m sure most offspring of serial killers grow up to be perfectly normal, healthy human beings. But me… I have never been normal. Ever since I was a little girl, I have felt a stirring at my very core. A curiosity, if you will. I suppressed it as much as I could, but the darkness would occasionally surface, demanding to be fed. I found ways to cope and ways to cause a little chaos, but nothing beats the euphoric relief of unshackling my sinister legacy. Then you happened to stumble along on my path.” I walk my fingers in the air to emphasize my point. “You thought you could touch me against my will? I’m not a damsel in distress, Chris. My father may be the devil, but I’m his spawn. And boys like you should be very careful who you play with.”
His bloodshot eyes stare up at me from beneath dark lashes that are covered in a dusting of snow.
I pull the knife out from his hand, and he roars behind the gag, fighting against the restraints. It’s useless. Whoever tied him up did it thoroughly. Chris is mine until I’m finished with him.
As I reach for his bleeding hand, he tries to fight me off the best he can while tied to a tree. In the end, I have to sit on his forearm and trap his injured hand between my thighs. It’s awkward at best. His blood is also ruining my favorite jeans.
Grabbing a finger, I begin to saw. He had his digits inside my body, finger-fucking me against my will.
This is the least he deserves.
But anger is not what I feel as I sever it with great difficulty. It’s excitement and a rush of adrenaline. I’m alive again.
Alive in a way, I only am when I’m embracing my true, monstrous self. It’s so fucking exciting that I release a crazed, haunted laugh. The kind of laugh that belongs in horror movies.
As I look over my shoulder, I realize that Chris is already fading in and out of consciousness. The fucker can’t deal with pain at all. I turn around on his lap, his severed digit gripped in my hand, and tap his cheek with my blood-soaked index and middle fingers. “Hey, hey, wake the fuck up. We’re only getting started.”
* * *
Chris is dead, and I’m panicking. The sun is slowly rising in the distance. I’m covered from head to toe in blood and gore with no fucking clue what to do with the bodies. When I killed my stepdad, the twisted person behind these games took care of it all. This time, it’s just me.
King isn’t here to help me burn the car or bury the bodies either. My DNA will be all over the place. Not only that, I don’t even have anywhere to go.
“What the hell do I do?” I look down at my clothes. I need to burn them, but I have nothing else to wear. I can’t go back to the car; I’ll smear it with blood.
Pacing, I clutch my matted hair.
In the end, I return to the car after retrieving the keys from Chris’s jeans pockets. I can’t think when I’m frozen to the core.
We didn’t walk far, so it doesn’t take me long to reach the vehicle. I climb in behind the steering wheel, place the key in the ignition, and put the heat on full blast. My frozen cheeks slowly warm up, and my fingers and toes soon start to tingle. It hurts, but it feels good, too.
Flipping down the mirror, I take in my pale face beneath the caked-on blood. Dark shadows circle my eyes, and my lips are chapped. Not my best look, in other words. I look like a monster.
Reaching into my denim pocket, I retrieve Chris’s finger, studying the short nail and the fingerprint. This is what experts refer to as collecting souvenirs. Is that what I’m reduced to now? A killer to study and analyze?
Besides, this finger will soon rot. But maybe I could keep the bone if I strip the flesh off? I know nothing about that process.
Resting my head back against the seat, I scrub a hand over my face. I’m in deep shit.
When the killer said it was time to dig myself into more trouble, he wasn’t joking. I first thought it was a play on words—a hint toward the sin buried somewhere in these woods. But now, I’m not so sure.
As I lower my hand, my eyes snag on the backseat in the rearview mirror, or, more accurately, my phone that must have fallen out of my pocket.
My eyes widen, and I bolt upright, twisting my body between the seats to retrieve it. I smear blood over the screen as I quickly bring up my contact list, debating who to call. It comes down to Cassie or Madison. Who of those two friends knows how to keep a secret as dark as this one? I know it’s a risky game to call for help, but I have no other choice. Not when I have nowhere to go and no clean clothes to change into.
I’m stuck here.
I press the phone to my ear and wait for her to pick up.
My lawyer, Mr. Morton, is a serious man in his early fifties with a receding hairline and graying beard. In all the ways that count, he’s in good shape. No beer gut in sight and no bald spot yet.
My father smooths down his slim, black tie and sits down beside me in the small room. His gray suit is freshly pressed, and he reeks of expensive aftershave and cigars.
Mr. Morton sits down, too, across from us. He looks almost… nervous. “The news isn’t good. They will press charges against King soon for first-degree murder.”
“What the hell?” I blurt at the same time my father says, “What evidence do they have to tie my son to these murders?”
“Nothing of real significance, and it’s all circumstantial at best.” He gestures a meaty hand at me. “King’s fingerprints in her bedroom, which we can argue are there because of their affair. The photographs found on his phone are the most damning evidence.” Before I can open my mouth to retort, he holds his hand up and adds, “Photographs that prove your son had an obsession with Keira.”
