Page 75 of Circle of Strangers
“How long is this going to last?” I break the silence.
“As long as necessary.” He folds the periodical closed and turns to me with raised brows. “I think we’re doing just fine, though, don’t you? You have everything you need. The kids do, too. Like I said, it’s only temporary for you.”
If only he knew just how temporary this is going to be for him ...
57
I’m cross-legged on the bedroom floor, cash spread out in neat stacks in front of me. Each bill is a tiny victory, scraped together from returns, consignment sales, and the gift card hustle I’ve been running all month. I’ve managed to amass just under $2,000.
It’s not nearly enough—not for a clean break. Not to keep the kids fed, sheltered, and hidden for long. But it’s something. A small lifeline.
The problem isn’t just leaving—it’s staying gone. Any electronic purchase or movement will leave a trail Will could follow in an instant. He has eyes everywhere, systems in place. I know him too well to think otherwise. He’d track me the second I stepped out of his control.
I could request the Social Security Card for Gabrielle Nichols—my legal name—but it’ll take time. And once the card arrives, I’ll have to monitor the mailbox like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t intercept it.
If Will gets that card before I do? Game over.
I rub my temple, feeling the weight of the situation press down on me like a thousand bricks. Every move has to be precise. If I slip up even once, he’ll tighten his grip. And if he catches wind that I’m planning to run, there’ll be no escape.
Through the bedroom window, I can hear laughter floating up from the backyard. I stand and peek through the curtains. Will’s in the pool playing with the kids. Georgie shrieks with delight as he tosses her into the air, water splashing everywhere as she lands with a giggle. Jackson clings to his back, pretending to wrestle him.
They look so happy.
So normal.
But they have no idea.
No idea that the man in the pool with them is a murderer, no idea that he’s diabolically controlling every part of my life. They’re none the wiser that the father they adore is no better than the one person I’ve spent my life running from.
Will is a stranger to us all.
But worse than that, he’s also a self-centered monster, capable of hurting people, of taking innocent lives. Sozi was far from perfect, but she didn’t deserve to die so that Will could have the life he wanted.
It pains me to take this from them, but I don’t have a choice.
I refuse to let them be raised by a variant of Jacqueline Prescott. I didn’t go through what I went through and build from scratch a life that looks like this ... only to have children who grow up learning the fine art of being unsuspectingly diabolical.
Jacqueline and Lucinda are two sides of the same coin.
But Will? Heisthe coin.
I press my forehead to the cool glass, watching the scene outside with clenched fists. Will splashing, laughing, playing the part of the perfect father.
I step back from the window, a cold determination settling over me like armor.
58
The house is silent, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night. I slip quietly out of bed, every muscle tensed, listening for any sign of Will stirring. He doesn’t. His steady breathing fills the room, and I tiptoe toward the door, the prepaid phone I purchased earlier today clutched in my hand.
In the hallway, I crouch in a dark corner. It’s the safest place—close enough to hear if Will wakes, far enough from the bedroom to avoid his scrutiny. I unlock the phone, open a private browser just in case, and start typing.
“Lucinda Dawn Nichols.”
I’ve avoided this search for years, terrified of what I might find. But now? I need to know.
Results flood the screen, but they’re mostly old, scattered reports from the past. She’s a ghost. A remnant of the life I left behind.
Then I find something new—Lucinda Dawn McClindon. Exact same birthdate. Residing in Illinois.
