Sinister

Scott stared at me, his face ashen. He looked angry, as he should be, but he still looked alive. He leaned back in my chair and narrowed his eyes.

"Hello, Charlotte."

"You can't be here," I whispered, my voice tight with fear. "You're dead."

Scott stood and walked over to me, leaving a trail of mud and blood behind. He gripped my jaw, hard, and slammed me against the wall with so much force that the picture frames above my head shook. I winced.

"Because of you," he hissed. "I would have kept your secret, and the irony is that I would have taken it to my grave. But you were so afraid I would have told someone about what you did, before I even knew you."

"I'm sorry," I said, squeezing my eyes shut. When the scent of decay rolled in, my stomach churned and I gagged.

"Are you?" Scott's voice was cold, brutal. "Because it seems to me that you would have done what John said to save your own skin."

John.

"That's not—"

"How it happened? Oh, but it is. I suppose you forgot to tell Detective Parker that when he was questioning you."

"You were there?"

Something sinister crossed his face as he whispered, "I'm always with you, darling, inside your head. You'll never be rid of me."