‹ Prequel: Beyond
Status: Last story in the Avidity trilogy.
Sinister
Darkness
Scott knew what was in my heart. Even dead and rotting, he knew.
There was a darkness, something so twisted that I never saw it until it was too late. Until I'd taken a life. Again.
John knew it was only a matter of time. He knew me, or seemed to think that he did.
He thought I was like him—a killer. And perhaps I was, because two bodies were still a lot. But they were nothing compared to how many people he had killed.
He did it out of pleasure.
I did it because I didn't have a choice.
"You had a choice." A voice in my ear. His voice. His scent. The scent of death.
"No," I cried. "Scott, I didn't. I don't."
He stared at me, the smell of blood strong as he poured from the wound in his chest. But that couldn't happen. He wasn't real. This wasn't real.
I shut my eyes.
"Charlotte."
Oh God, no.
I opened my eyes, saw her there, against the wall. She looked the same as she did the last time I had seen her, except for one difference: there was a knife sticking out of her neck, blood dripping steadily onto the collar of her shirt.
It wasn't pouring like Scott's wound. Because it was older.
She was my first.
There was a darkness, something so twisted that I never saw it until it was too late. Until I'd taken a life. Again.
John knew it was only a matter of time. He knew me, or seemed to think that he did.
He thought I was like him—a killer. And perhaps I was, because two bodies were still a lot. But they were nothing compared to how many people he had killed.
He did it out of pleasure.
I did it because I didn't have a choice.
"You had a choice." A voice in my ear. His voice. His scent. The scent of death.
"No," I cried. "Scott, I didn't. I don't."
He stared at me, the smell of blood strong as he poured from the wound in his chest. But that couldn't happen. He wasn't real. This wasn't real.
I shut my eyes.
"Charlotte."
Oh God, no.
I opened my eyes, saw her there, against the wall. She looked the same as she did the last time I had seen her, except for one difference: there was a knife sticking out of her neck, blood dripping steadily onto the collar of her shirt.
It wasn't pouring like Scott's wound. Because it was older.
She was my first.
♠ ♠ ♠
Okay, I have no clue if any of my subscribers/readers even remember this story. It's been a long, long time since I last updated.