Page 123 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

But it doesn’t matter. They won’t find him.

I rewind the feed from earlier, flipping back to when she came home. She looked tired. Not just physically—deeply tired. That bone-deep exhaustion people carry when they’ve seen too much and slept too little.

Her heels came off right by the door.

The pink fuzzy slippers went on like clockwork.

Dexter ran to greet her, ears up, tail wagging, doing that stupid spin-and-sit he does when he wants snacks. She smiled at him—soft and sweet.

And I smile at her. Just a little.

She knelt down and cooed at him, told him he was a good boy. My jaw tenses at that, but I brush it off with another swig of beer.

Still didn’t eat his fucking food.

She saw the bowl still full, sighed, shoulders slumping as she carried it to the counter and started her little routine again. Whispering nonsense about “protesting for leftover turkey.”

She talks to him like he’s a person. Like he understands. And maybe he does.

Or maybe he’s just manipulating her with those beady little eyes and his stupid snaggletooth.

She gets dinner started and heads up to change. More turkey and rice and vegetables for her stubborn little houseguest.

It’s when she takes him outside and stays too long that I know something is up.

My baby is an indoor kind of girl.

But she stays out. Dexter enjoys chasing fuck knows what while she stays on her phone. Glued.

I pull up the clone and see what she was looking at.

Fuck.

“Accused. Released. Now Missing: Where Is Travis Gannon?”

Well, the cat’s out of the bag now.

It’s a compulsion to look up everything she can now that she’s seen it. She’ll be able to say it was for her client. A plausible reason to deep-dive into it.

She makes a phone call to Mariela informing her he’s been reported missing. She’s smart.

Making it look like a concerned attorney doing her due diligence. Not at all suspiciousshe’sthe reason for his unknown whereabouts.

That’s when the smoke detector goes off and she rushes inside with a pale-pink Dexter on her heels like he’s going to help.

The turkey is burned. The vegetables are charcoal.

Dexter is on a path to starvation, and my Sunshine is about to break down into tears—but she doesn’t allow it. Instead, she goes to Google.

Solutions for picky dogs.

When your dog won’t eat.

Is my dog emotionally manipulating me.

Yes, Sunshine. He is. And you should get rid of him.

She disappeared again a few minutes after that—changed clothes, slippers back on the shelf, hair up.

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