She told me she hadn’t even remembered Byron had a brother, but that from what she heard of their childhood, she wasn’t surprised he was just as conniving and dangerous as Byron—maybe even more.
She and Ron also say they never felt they were being watched before they left for their vacation, or that anything was out of place or they’d never have left me alone. I believe that, just as I also believe it’s important I learn to be on my own again. With the help of my therapist, I’ve learned how to discuss my thoughts and fears with my mom in a way that feels safe.
Now, we talk about the night Dad died. About how it changed us and how we can begin to move forward with some peace—knowing the truth has helped us both.
My mom and I also talked about Dad a lot over this past holiday season. She talked about her regrets in life with him, but how he lived without regrets.
She shared that he never wanted me to enter the business because he wanted stability for me, and security, both personal and financial.
That he loved my voice so much, he’d listen to tapes of my vocal lessons while he did the most mundane tasks. He told her he felt like it kept a piece of me at that age with him as I grew up and moved out.
That he loved my lyrics so much, he thought I’d do something with writing one day.
So, I listen to his albums, and it keeps a piece of him with me, too, and what I do with writing every day is good enough for now.
But there’s a part of me that can’t help but want someone to hear my words. To witness my journey and relate to my stories.
To understand me.
To believe me about everything that’s happened.
To share that first song I wrote, the week after it all settled down and sunk in for me.
Maybe that person is you.
That night in our home, I met a man.
A cold dead stare set in his eyes.
He turned and ran, left my father dying there,
kitchen filled with screams and cries.
I lie in bed, twisted fantasies,
Realities, come crashing down on me.
I took your hand, warm blood running cold,
I’m getting old, but you can’t see.
He took you from me.
I met his dead eyes once again,
Across the courtroom on the stand.
He told them lies, he never took the blame.
At my time to testify, I looked him dead in those dead eyes,
And told the judge I’d never be the same,
And they locked him away.
Now I’m all alone, your name in stone,
But that’s not true.
I walk with the ghost of you.
She’s with another man,
her love won’t go to waste,
But he can’t take your place.
I lie in bed, sleeping with regret and dread.
Twisted fantasies, arriving before,
The killer at our door.
Realities, I came too late, won’t call it fate,
It cannot be. Come crashing down on me.
There’s a dark car parked outside.
I lock the doors and try to hide,
But you can’t keep me inside.
Heard a noise, I check to see.
I can feel you watching me.
When will I be free?
I lie in bed, twisted fantasies, realities,
Come crashing down on me.
Realities, I came too late, won’t call it fate,
It cannot be. Come crashing down on me.
Blood red on the bathroom floor,
I’ve seen my share and so much more,
Who’s waiting on the other side of the door?
Did you think you could have her for yourself?
That you could love her more than anybody else?
Did you enjoy the hunt, evoking terror in your prey?
Did you think you could take a life and get away?
Stared in the dead man’s eyes once again.
Sick is the line that bonded them.
He believes his brother’s lies, seeks revenge,
our demise.
But he was fooled by my disguise.
And I took him by surprise.
I lie in bed, awake at night,
eyes watching up above.
I held your hand,
I felt your love.
Twisted fantasies, played them out,
no more doubt.
What follows are the memories,
He took you from me.
But that’s not true.
I walk with the ghost of you.
Did you enjoy Follow Her Home? You’ll love What She Found, Emerald O’Brien’s latest psychological thriller.
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Acknowledgments
I have to begin by thanking the kind and talented singer-songwriter Adrienne Ashley for collaborating with me on this project. It was a dream of mine to bring Lynda’s singing voice to life, and to immerse readers into the poignant scene at Winburn through an audio and lyrical component of the book. Adrienne Ashley was the first and only person I considered for this.
The song Scopaesthesia was inspired by Lynda’s experience that I conveyed to Adrienne Ashley, but also by her own experiences as she related to the character. She composed every element of Scopaesthesia from the lyrics, to the music, to the final recording. I couldn’t have asked for a better song to represent it all and share with you. You can find more about her and her songs on Spotify, iTunes, and Instagram.
Thank you to my cover designer, Tadpole Designs, for the exceptional visual component of this novel. You brought my vision of this home in Auburn Hills to life. To Elle at My Brother’s Editor, I am grateful for your keen eye and professional editing services.
My beta readers, Kiersten Modglin, Caitlin O’Brien, and Shyla O’Brien all helped me bring the story in my heart and mind to life on the page. I couldn’t have done it without the three of you. I appreciated your encouragement, new ideas, understanding, and enthusiasm. Thank you for reflecting the story back to me with fresh eyes, your unique perspectives, and with such care that I’m so grateful to have received.
Thank you to my colleagues in the book community for your support, encouragement, and sharing your knowledge with me. I’m proud to call you my friends. Special thanks to Meghan O’Flynn who aided me with one of
