Page 114 of Sinister Legacy
My bloody hands slide over warm, slippery flesh as I pry the chest cavity open. It’s not easy. I have to put weight behind it to get the ribs to break and snap.
I don’t know when my stepdad died and can’t pinpoint the exact time, but it doesn’t matter. His death was minor compared to the euphoric excitement that runs through me when I lay eyes on his heart.
The air is thick with the stench of copper—a scent I have come to love tonight.
A scent I want more of.
Reaching in, I let my fingers curl around the slick organ almost lovingly. I want to cut it open and look at each chamber. I want to smell it, too.
Taste it.
Frozen to the bone, I startle awake with a sharp gasp. I sit up and try to look around me, but I can’t because of the thing on my face. My hands fly up to investigate.
It’s a mask.
I push it up on my head and look around the dark clearing in the forest, my eyes darting from tree to tree until they land on the pale figure that sits hunched against a trunk.
I recognize those red sneakers and that cap. His head is almost severed, and flops to the side, his dead eyes staring right at me. There’s blood everywhere—a pool of frozen red in the snow.
Slowly climbing to my feet, I release a tiny whimper. As I step back, I trip over an ankle and almost fall on my ass.
Chris, who is out for the count by the looks of it, is tied to the tree behind me with a leather glove rammed into his mouth.
Orange pumpkins carved with grotesque faces sit dotted around the clearing. Their flickering lights dance over the blood-speckled snow, providing the only source of illumination in this place.
There’s a letter on Chris’s lap with my name written on the front. I look around, but there’s no one out here, and the footprints have since been buried beneath a fresh layer of snow. My fingers are so numb, I have long since lost feeling in them.
Bending at the waist, I pick up the letter and carefully unfold it, while Chris begins to stir. He sounds like he’s in pain, but I can’t see any visible injuries on him. No blood.
Nothing tastes sweeter than revenge.
Are you ready to play another game?
You’ll find what you need inside his pocket.
With a thick swallow, I read over the words again. Chris groans, his eyes fluttering open slowly.
He blinks at me and tries to focus.
What pocket?
Folding the note back up, I crouch in front of him and search each of his pockets until I find a phone and a knife.
I’m about to leave the phone when I feel another folded note. As I remove the items, he tries to talk before realizing there’s a glove in his mouth. His nostrils flare, and his eyes fly up to mine as I rise to my feet.
My Chucks and socks are soaked. I’ll invest in snow boots if I’m still alive next winter.
Unfolding the note with a slight tremble in my fingers, I read over the sentence.
Watch the first video clip in the photo album.
Chris’s muffled, indistinguishable words sound behind the gag.
Ignoring him, I hold the phone in front of his face to unlock it. When it doesn’t work, I reach out and remove the glove. It unlocks, letting me open up his photo album.
I push the glove back into his mouth as I click on the first video. Tied to the tree, Chris is starting to get distressed. He kicks weakly at the ground, shuffling the soft snow.
“What’s this?” I whisper, watching him pull my jeans and panties down while I’m clearly drugged to my eyeballs. “You raped me?”
