Page 50 of Under the Bed

That’s the headline. The rest is conspiracy theory bullshit, courtesy of Hyatt Holiday, such as no one kills two people to get revenge on a girl he’s known for five months.

No one tears their fingers off. No one is this brutal for no good reason.

He must be obsessed with her.

Must have been a pedophile.

Hmm. That part was the one my doctor was the most curious about. Why he’d thrown me in isolation for long periods.

Tell me about Shiloh. Did you ever have inappropriate feelings for her? Tell me. This information remains confidential and won’t leave the room. It’s a safe space. No, come clean. You won’t see the light of day until you admit to the truth.

Eventually, I did. I told him point blank that I never sexualized her, never groomed her. I never hoped she could have been a few years older so I could have touched her.

I could kill people for no reason whatsoever. Pedophilia, though? Fuck. No.

My doctor believed me.

Hyatt, however, firmly believes I’m a pervert. I’ll rectify it soon enough. His picture isn’t there, but sometimes, all you need is a name.

Some people just have a death wish.

Although manners mean nothing to me, I shoot Jerome a thank you.

The information he provided me is free and valuable. Granted, I’ll need Hyatt’s address in case he decides to make us his pet project. I’ll get on it in the next few days.

He isn’t a priority, not yet.

She is.

Mask on.

Lights out.

Shiloh doesn’t know it yet, but she’s waiting for me.

I won’t keep her.

8

SHILOH

“Where do you think you’re going?” Val tugs at my arm playfully. “You can’t run from us, lady. We’re here to hang out. Together. Don’t leave. I’m begging you.”

They really are here for me, both her and Marina. They know my class schedule and have waited for me outside the campus.

Both of them look so pretty. They changed out of their work clothes and into cute jeans and soft pastel sweaters. To spend their evening with me.

A person who fucked a mask. Who got off on her stepbrother’s fingers. Who begged for him to kill her.

Sick. It’s not the clinical term for my condition. I would’ve never called a patient that, not even in my notes.

But I can’t help this feeling that I am unwell. There’s something wrong with me.

A chill descends onto my bones, and I shiver. It’s been like that all day. Remembering this morning has done that to me.

That’s why instead of driving as fast as I could to school in the Range Rover Dad forced on me—no daughter of mine would be caught using public transportation or a rental—I walked. I half expected that Kaleb would catch up with me on the way there.

He didn’t.

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