Page 109 of Misery
Designer clothes that are disheveled like she left in a hurry.
But it's her face that catches my attention—mascara streaked from crying, eyes wild with fury and fear, a bruise blooming on her left cheekbone.
"Who are you?" Runes demands, pushing past me.
"Eleyna." Her voice shakes but not from fear. From rage. "I'm... I was Thiago's girlfriend."
The room goes silent.
Everyone is processing this unexpected development.
"Was?" I ask, stepping closer.
She turns those wild eyes on me and I see recognition flash. "You're Oskar. He has your picture. Had. Before he burned it."
"You know where he is?"
"I know everything." She laughs but it's bitter, broken. "Where he is. What he's planning. What he's been doing. I know about the girl. Elfe. The one he'sactuallyin love with."
Magnus and Runes exchange looks.
This could be another trap, another game.
But the fury in her eyes seems real.
The bruise definitely is.
"Why should we trust you?" Runes asks.
She reaches into her purse and everyone tenses, hands moving to weapons.
But she pulls out a phone, starts swiping through photos.
"Because of this."
She turns the screen toward us.
It's a room I don't recognize, but what's in it makes my blood freeze.
The walls are covered with photos of Elfe.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.
Elfe at work. Elfe painting. Elfe sleeping. Elfe in various states of undress, clearly taken without her knowledge.
"This is in our apartment," Eleyna says. "Was. I found it this morning. He had a locked room he said was for work. Los Coyotes business, don't go in there. But I heard him on the phone last night, moaning her name in his sleep again, and I just... I needed to know."
She swipes to another photo.
It's worse. Drawings of Elfe. Plans written out in Thiago's handwriting. Kill schedules with Los Coyotes members' names crossed off.
"How long have you been with him?" I ask.
"Ten months. Met him at a bar in Phoenix. He was charming, dangerous in that exciting way. Said he was in logistics for a shipping company." She laughs again, harsh. "Logistics. He was planning murder and stalking some girl, and I was playing housewife."
"He hit you." It's not a question. The bruise is fresh, maybe three hours old.
"When I confronted him. About the room. Abouther." She touches the bruise gingerly. "He said I had no right to question him. That I was nothing. A convenience. A prop to seem normal while he waited for his 'real love.'"
