Page 13 of Kill Your Darlings

It’ll be okay.You’ve survived a lot worse than this.

You should be glad it ended when it did.Before you let yourself get anymore invested in a fantasy.

Yep.Very glad about that.Could not have been gladder.In fact, I was the fucking Man from Glad.

I blinked back another burn, this time in the back of my eyes.My gaze landed on the small table in the alcove, caught the glint of lamplight on plastic.Lying next to a half empty bottle of sparkling water and an untouched plate of chocolate-covered almonds was the manuscript I’d been handed at the Stranger Than Fiction panel.

I Know What You Did.

I snorted.

Here was the solution to that Finn-sized hole in my evening.I was willing to bet money this would send me speeding off to Dreamland on a bullet train.

I picked up the manuscript, strolled over to the long cream-colored sofa in front of the fireplace, and settled on its comfortable length.I propped a throw cushion behind my head, opened the binder, adjusted my glasses, and began to read.

Chapter One

It was a full moon that night.

Two boys stood over the body.

“What do we do now?”the younger boy asked.He was seventeen.He was tall and skinny with curly black hair and gray eyes in a bony face like a skull.

I raised my brows and took another swallow of my drink.Was this AI?It had an artificial intelligence feel to it.Granted, a lot of first-time human authors had that basic generic writing style.

“I don’t know.Why did you have to kill him?”The other boy was crying.He was eighteen.He was blond and muscular and handsome.Not as handsome as the dead boy.The dead boy looked like a young Greek god had fallen from the sky and died on the rocks.One of the rocks Keiran had used to bash his head in.

Chapter Four

I jack-knifed up, the glass dropping from my nerveless fingers, liquid sloshing onto me, onto the sofa, onto the carpet as I scrambled to my feet.

I stared down at the discarded manuscript.

I Know What You Did.

My heart thundered in my ears.Black spots floated in front of my eyes.

This isn’t real.

I stared wildly around the softly lit suite, half-expecting… What?Someone to step out of the shadows?

This can’t be happening.

Was I dreaming?

I waited for a few moments, waited for some revelation, waited to wake up.

From down the hall I heard the distantdingof the elevator.I strode to the suite door, peered out the tiny peephole.I had a distorted view of the empty hallway.

I started to open the door, but stopped.

Was that caution or paranoia running rampant?What—who—did I imagine would be out there?

I turned.The manuscript lay where I’d left it.The room looked absolutely normal, but that in itself felt frighteningly wrong.

“What ishappening?”

My protest, jarringly loud in the silent room, snapped me back to reality.

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