I need to do more.
With a hard swallow, I grip the knife handle with both hands. I press the blade to my stomach. I shut my eyes.
And plunge it into my stomach.
“Fuuuccck,” I cry quietly through gritted teeth.
Water runs out from the corners of my eyes.
The knife clatters to the floor.
I press a hand to the wound and stare down at it.
Blood seeps between my fingers, turning my skin red. The hands … body that I share with my sister.
And it’s … incredible.
The pain … the blood … my blood … her blood … it’s exhilarating to feel and see.
I don’t want the feeling to end.
But I know it has to.
Still, I allow myself a few seconds of enjoyment that I didn’t know existed until this very moment … before the show begins.
Then, I breathe in deeply, open my mouth, and start screaming.
Audrey
Eight Months Later
The bar buzzes with people all around me, people who have come in here for a drink after work, just like I’ve done.
The only difference is, they’re in groups and couples.
And I’m alone, sitting with my back to them all, at a table by the window.
There was a time not so long ago when I wouldn’t sit with my back to a room full of people.
But I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter which way you’re facing.
If someone wants to get close to you, they will.
Jack … he got close to me.
The same ache in my chest appears that I always feel when I think of him.
I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to ease the hurt away.
But I know nothing will ever take away the pain of what happened.
Even though I remember very little of that night.
Only waking up and getting a glass of water. Spilling it on the floor.
And then nothing until I woke up in the hospital.
The weird part though is, I’m sure that I saw Cole that night. In my apartment.
But I know that can’t be right because Cole wasn’t there. He was in Chicago.
I haven’t told Cole that I thought he was there.
I don’t know why I haven’t told him, to be honest. Every time I open my mouth to voice the words, something stops me.
Maybe it’s because I know how crazy it sounds.
I can’t remember Jack trying to kill me. But I have a false memory of my brother being there.
I mean, the only reason I know what happened that fateful night is because of the police.
Detectives Peters and Sparks.
They came to see me in the hospital. They wanted my version of events from that night. I told them the very little I did know, which was nothing of worth.
The whole time I spoke, Detective Sparks looked at me with this cold expression. Like he didn’t believe me. Like it was me who had done something wrong.
He said nothing. Not one single word in the time he was there. It was unnerving.
It was Detective Peters who informed me that Jack was dead. That I had killed him in self-defense after he attacked me, stabbing me first. That it appeared that I had discovered that Jack was the killer of Molly Hall, Natalie Jenkins, Sarah Greenwood, and Michael King. That I had found the murder weapon—the knife he tried to kill me with—in a first aid kit in his apartment along with some of the victims’ personal items.
They knew my real surname. My history with Tobias. That Jack was his older brother.
Hearing all of those words … it broke me. Knowing that Jack had been there all along to kill me. To finish what his brother had started. That I had been right in my worst fear.
Only … I knew Jack. I know that I am always the one to say that you never really know anyone, and that undoubtedly is true in this case.
But there’s just something … deep inside of me niggling away. Bothering me. Like an itch that I can’t reach.
Jack had so many opportunities to hurt me, and he never did. Not once. Until he did.
It’s just … hard to piece it all together. Understand everything.
Curling my hand around my wineglass, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find those hidden memories. That itch in the back of my mind.
If I could just …
Stop.
I blink, shaking my head.
What was I thinking about just now?
I try to force my thought back, but it doesn’t work.
I rub at my forehead, feeling an ache coming on.
My mind feels so clogged up. Clouded. Hazy.
Like the fog is so thick and I can’t find my way through it.
The doctor said it was due to the trauma. That the memories from what happened that night will possibly return in the future … or they might never.
I pick my glass of wine up and take a sip, savoring the taste of it. I focus on the world through the window.
It’s early evening here in Los Angeles, the sun still bright in the sky.
LA is my home now.
I left Jackson not long after I got out of the hospital. Cole said that I needed a change of scenery. That I needed to be away from all memories of Jack. It didn’t take much to persuade me.
But obviously, Chicago wasn’t an option for me.
Cole suggested LA. I agreed.
I had tried a small town, and that hadn’t worked out. I thought maybe the sunshine might be good for me.
Cole moved here with me too.
I had been stupid to ever leave him behind like I did.
I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t ever leave my brother again.
I need him.
Cole and I share a house in Long Beach, and I’ve got a job, working at a local library. I like it there. The people are nice.
I’m trying to be a little more social nowadays. Hence why I’m sitting in a bar. I force myself to come most days after work and just be around people.
Okay, I’m alone. And I wouldn’t exactly say
