Page 236 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
His eyes flicker to Dexter—still growling like a furious blender.
I press a hand to my chest. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Your name came up in one of the journals,” Marsden says.
I feign horror like an Oscar contender.
“Holy guacamole,” I whisper. “Are you saying… he’s some kind of serial killer?”
They exchange a look.
“Could I have been one of his victims?” I ask, voice trembling.
Marsden nods.
“It looks that way. His notes about you stop abruptly after a certain night.”
Yeah, the night I accidentally murdered him. But go off, detectives. You’re doing amazing, sweeties.
I clutch Dexter a little tighter, my voice trembling.
I pull out my phone, open the rideshare app, and flash them the receipt.
“This was the last time I saw him.”
Marsden glances at it. “That matches the timeline.”
“Oh!” I widen my eyes. “He gave me a card… somewhere…”
I dig into the junk drawer and fish out the card I’d thrown in there minutes before slashing his throat.
“He said he sometimes does rides off the app.”
I hand it over.
They both light up like kids on Christmas morning and try to hide it.
Amateurs.
Liu slides me his card. “If you remember anything else, call us.”
I nod, all wide eyes and rattled innocence. “Of course.”
The second the door shuts behind them, I bolt it and lean back.
They think I’m a survivor.
Some lucky girl who slipped through a serial killer’s fingers.
But the truth is heavier, more dangerous.
It wasn’t me who barely survived him.
It washimwho didn’t surviveme.
There should be a manual for how to hide from two men and possibly the police at the same time.
If there were, I would’ve bought three copies—one to read, one to highlight, and one to cry into.