Page 39 of Under the Bed

Three feet.

Two.

None.

“I won’t tell!” he shrieks the moment my knife lands in his jugular. His fingers clutch my wrist. “I won’t.”

No, he won’t.

I drag the knife down his chest. Gut him like a fish while I think of Shiloh.

How I need to protect her. How I need to save her.

To keep his guts inside, I stop right below his chest. Guts are fucking messy. It’s enough that I’ll have to scrub his blood off the floor.

“H-h-h-help.” The final plea is murmured as the light in his green eyes dies out.

His body flops in a heap on the floor. His head is twisted at an awkward angle. The knife sticks out of the gashing wound.

Time to clean up.

Thankfully, the couple owned two large rugs. I go to the living room to get them, then snoop around their home. Theduct tape, gloves, and two sets of twenty-pound weights—those he obviously never used—will have to do.

Next, my ride. The couple’s car keys are nearby, on the counter next to his wallet. The license plate number was written on the key chain. Strange that people still do that, begging to have their car jacked.

Oh, well.

I flip through his wallet. Their IDs say their names were Elron and Ginger Davis. Useless information.

What’s important is that everything I need to transfer them to the pier is here. Their final resting place will be at the bottom of the sea.

They might float later, but by then, Shiloh and I will be long gone. Either that, or they’ll be unidentifiable.

To ensure this, I burn off their fingertips with a lighter. Bash their teeth and faces in.

Then I go through the laptop in their living room. His are the only work emails I find. Elron is a store manager.

And this store manager just quit his job. Oh, my. He’s been diagnosed with a terminal illness. He’ll spend his final months at home, by his wife’s side. Please respect his privacy and refrain from visiting. Thanks, bye.

Another quick search through the apartment reveals that the wife isn’t employed. No work tag or uniforms mean no one will come looking for her.

Roll, roll, roll into the rugs the Davis couple goes.

Fitting them into their silver Chevy Impala takes some maneuvering, but I make do.

The sun will rise soon. No time to waste. I push the pedal to the floor, reach the pier, and scan for a spot where there are no security cameras. It’s there that I haul both bodies to the water, dumping them into the sea.

With Elron’s wallet in my back pocket and their apartment all to myself, I’m done with my chores for the night.

I need to be around her.

I guess calling Jerome will just have to wait.

6

SHILOH

The alarm on my phone is obnoxiously loud. I’m a heavy sleeper, which is why I set it up that way.

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