Page 48 of Whispers and Wildfire

ROSWELL MILLS

The librarian didn’t lookup as I walked by. Either she didn’t notice that I’d come in or she didn’t care enough to raise her eyes. That was good. I wanted to go unnoticed.

But it also made me furious.

Shoving my hands deeper into the pocket of my hoodie, I appeased myself with a brief fantasy of strangling her—watching her face turn purple and her body twitch as it struggled for air.

I’d never killed anyone, although I’d fantasized about it often in prison. But I didn’t imagine it would be difficult.

The bank of computers was mostly empty. An older man sat in front of one, leaning forward and adjusting his glasses as if he were having difficulty seeing the screen. I chose a workstation a few chairs down and sat. He didn’t notice me, either.

I again reminded myself that was good. Invisible. Quiet. That was what I wanted, even though I hated it.

I wouldn’t be invisible to her. She’d be the one to see me.

The library silence was briefly broken by the shrill cry of abrat in the children’s section. The noise crawled up my spine, making my shoulders tighten. I didn’t want to be there—didn’t want to do my work in a public place. But it was safer that way. Fewer clues would lead them to me.

My stint in prison taught me a lot, particularly about how not to get caught. I’d listened, taking in the stories of the other inmates. Absorbed lessons they hadn’t meant to teach. I’d benefit from their mistakes.

A thrill of anticipation invaded my chest when I touched the mouse and clicked to open an internet browser. I didn’t anticipate difficulty in finding her. By now, she’d have let her guard down. But it made me wonder what she looked like. How had she changed? Was her hair different? Her choice of clothes?

I’d been in prison for ten years, and even before that, it had been a while since I’d seen her. After our encounter had ended so badly, I’d fled—not just the scene, but the state. I’d left Los Angeles and taken refuge with my mother in Tennessee.

I’d expected them to come. The police, the FBI, some law enforcement agency. But they hadn’t. No one had come for me. Not because of her, at least.

I’d gotten sloppy later with the credit card thing. Too confident. Another mistake I wouldn’t make again.

One side of my mouth curled in the hint of a smile as I got to work. Social media. What a glorious invention. People posted everything. All the seemingly meaningless shreds of their lives, right there for all the world to see.

I found her accounts on several different sites, but they didn’t contain much by way of personal information. There were photos, but they were carefully curated. Posts, but all related to her profession as a voice actor. She wasn’t a habitual social media user or even a casual one. It was all business—almost nothing personal.

Clicking through her profile, I found some older photoswith a man. My eyes narrowed. Him. I remembered him. The lawyer. So much of what I’d done had been his fault. He’d been in the way.

Interesting that there were so few of them together, and none of them recent. Maybe he was already out of her life.

Not that it mattered. She belonged to me. She just didn’t know it yet.

I found contact information but no physical address or location. She didn’t post enough photos to make it clear where she lived. I wondered if she was so private online because of me. It would have been gratifying to take credit. To know she still feared me enough to be careful.

The voice in my head whispered again.She forgot about you. You’re nothing to her.

Gritting my teeth, I ignored it.

I modified my tactic and searched for her last name. Family might give me a clue. I didn’t know who they were, so it took me a while to narrow down the possibilities. But finally, there she was.

Someone had posted a photo of her with three young children. But it wasn’t the picture that made my lips turn upward. It was the caption.

Auntie Melanie is home! The kids are so excited to have her back in Tilikum.

Tilikum. I looked it up. A little scrap of nowhere nestled in the Cascade mountains in Washington state. It was well over two thousand miles from where I was, but the distance didn’t matter. She could have been in Antarctica, and I would have found a way.

Reaching out, I touched a finger to the screen, right on her face.

I know where you are. And I’m coming for you.

CHAPTER 13

Melanie

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