Thoughts spinning, I stood up from the body, my face drained of colour. I wanted to run, to escape in any direction. Wanted to scream. And, as if a crypt door had shut, it dawned on me that I wasn’t supposed to walk away from this. What was I to him? Why was he targeting me? Am I part of what he mentioned?
I wasn’t going to seek the desire of others. I was going to take it from others.
Or was I the more innocent version of him? The Kyle Peary part? Which did he want to silence, the killer or the innocent? Or, better still, if he slaughtered me then in his f****d-up head, he’d kill the part he couldn’t live with.
Or, depressingly simpler: I was just an easy target.
I bolted, trying not to get my feet tangled in brush, knowing that the faster I moved the more I was committing to this ho
