Page 265 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
The room is dim. Shadows pool in the corners. No machine hum. No monitor beeps.
I peek around the curtain, bracing for blood or brokenness.
The bed is neatly made, empty, with no patient. Wrongness slithers over me like a second skin.
I step back, heart thudding, adrenaline kicking in.
Before I can turn, a hand clamps over my mouth and yanks me off my feet.
I react on instinct, and throw my head back, sharp and desperate.
A foot slammed back on a shin, as my teeth clamp down on the forearm holding me.
A twist, a shove—and somehow, by pure adrenaline and panic, I wrench free.
I stumble into the hallway, gasping for breath, fumbling for my phone. I remember the sign for the stairs and start sprinting.
I dare a glance behind me and the twisted face I see emerging from the door is familiar.
Where do I know him?
My thumb finds Declan’s contact without conscious thought. The screen lights up—Calling—the little spinning circle taunting me, dragging out the seconds.
Please.
God, let him see it.
Please don’t let him be done with me.
Before it can even ring once, someone behind me growls and dives for my legs.
I tumble to the ground with their full weight on top of me and I realization hits me.
This guy is on our evidence board. He’s linked to a house that processes new girls.
What’s his name?
My phone skitters across the gleaming floor, sliding under the nurses desk and I hope to god the voicemail will pick up.
I turn and kick, then crawl toward it, remembering who he is.
“Matthews!” I grunt out as hands pull me back and a fist drives into my abdomen.
The air rushes out of me but still, I open my mouth to scream, but he flattens himself on top of me and covers my mouth with a thick sweaty hand.
A needle punches into the side of my neck, and everything slows down.
The hallway tilts. The overhead lights smear into starbursts.
And just before the blackness rushes up to claim me, I manage one more plea:
“Declan.”
We’re parked in the dark, engines off, close enough to see the warehouse but not so close we give ourselves away.
Inside the van, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that drags the minutes out, makes the tension settle under your skin like splinters. Everyone’s ready, wired tight, waiting for the signal to move.
I should be thinking about the mission. About the layout. The possible exits. The worst-case scenarios.
