Page 250 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I take one shaky step back and catch my foot on something.

Looking down, my vision spins as the barn sways.

It’s a hand. His.

I killed him.

A loud, rhythmic tapping snaps in my face. Tap. Tap.

His blood—dripping off the chair, pooling on the dirt floor.

I drop the knife and my throat tightens.

“It’s okay.”

It sounds like Declan, but I see the mask—my stalker’s. Three of them, as my vision multiplies.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Just stay with me.”

Instead—I run.

I bolt from the barn, adrenaline crashing through me.

The night air hits like a slap. The sky stretches black and endless, broken by clawing trees.

I don’t know where I am.

Woods. Darkness. That’s all I have.

I gasp, each inhale sharp and shallow, and run—wild, aimless.

Branches snag my arms, slashing stinging lines across my skin.

The ground dips and rises, nearly sending me sprawling.

But I don’t stop.

I need space.

To get away from him—from the man who knows what I’ve done.

From myself.

I don’t make it far because he’s right behind me.

“Stay away!” I scream.

It shatters the night, but he doesn’t slow.

Of course he doesn’t.

He’s too patient.

Too sure.

Like he knows something I don’t.

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