Page 31 of Under the Bed

Who did this to you?

Going about it the right way failed her. Us. I believed, foolishly, that I could be a better person for her.

Another reason I went to the authorities first? She deserved to see that the system wasn’t entirely fucked. That the motherfucking hall monitor was an anomaly.

Yeah, right. The system was every bit as rotten as it had been during the years my dad beat the shit out of me.

Avenging her had been my sole purpose ever since. I couldn’t rest until I’d taken care of them.

I wasn’t crazy. I was determined.

The same determination grips me now.

It’s what has gotten me here, to her neighborhood.

I memorized her address, along with Jerome’s number, before I chewed up and swallowed the note he slipped me.

I got here after snapping a man’s neck and stealing his car to get to her.

In my defense, he should’ve known better.No good deed goes unpunished.Who pulls over to pick up a huge man wearing a mask, anyway?

The random dead man on the side of the road, that’s who.

Enough of him.

This is about me and her.

The girl who’s haunted my dreams throughout the years.

The lights are off in her apartment, but she’s there. I feel her heart beating inside it. Hear her soul calling to mine.

I look around her street before I walk up to her building. If there’s one thing I learned from my past, it’s this: I can do whatever the fuck I want, as long as I don’t get caught.

The street is quiet. It’s late enough that everyone’s home, sleeping.

Except this guy. A man sitting in the bushes across from her building. Sleeping.

Sleeping means he isn’t a reporter. The fact that he’s alone and hiding in the bushes instead of waiting in a nondescript car means he isn’t a cop, either.

Plus, Shiloh’s dad silenced the news about my escape. During the first hour of my ride here, they talked about me on the radio.

One hour, that’s it.

No one’s supposed to be here from either the press or the cops.

Which leaves me with one option.

Shiloh’s controlling father didn’t leave anything to chance. He had someone sent here to make sure Shiloh doesn’t stir shit.

A private investigator.

A snoozing moron.

I stuff my hands in my jeans pockets, tilting my head.

With no money and nowhere to stay, I should go house hunting. Kill another person or two so I could have a place to lay low while I stalk her.

Her home won’t do, obviously.

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