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It was only meant to be a story. But now someone is dead…
When people find out that I’m a writer, they always ask the same question. Where do you get your ideas from?
When I answer, I always lie.
No one knows about the darkness in my past. Not even my group of fellow hopeful authors, the only people I share my work with.
But now there’s a new girl in the group. Marley. Young and pretty and annoying. She stares at me, asks too many questions. Does she know what I did?
Because strange things are happening. My tires were slashed. A woman was hit by a car outside my apartment. Yesterday, someone was murdered.And all the details come from the stories we shared.
Someone in our group is a killer. But how can I prove it, without revealing my own secret?
Where do I get my ideas from? You don’t want to know…
