I set the card beside the lilies and sigh. Between this new arrangement and the remaining roses, I’m running out of old pasta jars to hold all these apologies.
Maybe I should text him, even if it’s just to let him know how much I despise lilies. They were my favorite flowers once upon a time.
But that was before Chase.
Lilies were his favorite way to apologize after he hurt me. Now, the smell of them makes my stomach churn, a nauseating, twisted Pavlovian response I can’t shake.
I could tell Alec that. I pull out my phone, and my thumb hovers over his name.
I still hate you, you cheating bastard, but just for the record, I hate lilies almost as much.
Or maybe:Save the flowers for your wife.
My thumb lingers over the unopened message, only a portion of it visible.
Sydney, I should have told you?—
I almost open it. But then my eyes snag on the time, and my heart flips in my chest.
Shit. I’m late. Somehow, with this newest batch of flowers distracting me, I’mlate to work, even though I live literally upstairs. Truly an accomplishment, and one I’m sure Jade will never let me forget.
Shit, shit, shit.
I shove my phone into my pocket and rush out the door. But just as I’m sliding my key in the deadbolt to lock it, I hear something.
There’s a scratching sound. I pause, tilting my head to listen. There it is again, a faint light scratching, coming from the walls.
Great. Just great. Late for work, and I might have mice.
Fantastic.
Locking my door, I shove the keys back into my bag and head downstairs to face Jade’s wrath.
The morning passes uneventfully,and thankfully, Jade only teases me a little for my tardiness before tossing me a coffee. The store stays busy nearly all day, and I lose myself in the rhythm of it, bouncing from customer to customer, helping Jade when I can. I suppose that’s why it takes me until nearly close to notice the change in our Staff Picks display.
There’s a new section added, squeezed in next to Jade’s. Justin’s.
My eyes catch on one of the books. The cover shows a single lily, just like the ones now upstairs next to my bed, only these are floating in a puddle of something that looks suspiciously like blood. The contrast of the white of the flower with the shiny, almost sickeningly bright red sends a cold tendril of fear down my spine.
Feeling strangely apprehensive, I pick it up and flip to a random page.
Her breaths came faster then as terror gripped her all-consumingly. She thought back on all the warnings he had left her, reminding her that she would be his. That he would possess her, whether in life or death. Those thoughts intruded on every corner of her mind as she hid behind the living room couch. The images of Charles’s mutilated body still flashed in front of her eyes, his intestines splayed across the linoleum, his severed tongue placed delicately on the dinner plate, as if saved for later. And as she worked to slow her breathing, to become as imperceptible as possible, she realized there was no hiding. Not here, not from him. The floral scent of the knitted blanket hanging off the back ofthe sofa made her think that, at the very least, she’ll see her grandmother soon. These were to be her last moments, after all. The footsteps stilled as he reached her, sensing, but not yet seeing. It was her own scream tearing from her throat as his hand clasped her ankle?—
“Hey! There you are!”
I let out a panicked sound somewhere between a squeal and a scream, clutching the book to my chest as I whip around toward the voice.
Justin freezes a good seven feet away, hands raised defensively. “Whoa! Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
My chest feels too tight, my heart pounding painfully hard. “It’s fine, it’s not you.” I hold the book up, showing it to him. “I was just reading, and?—”
“Oh, that’s a great one!” He steps closer, grinning. “I just added it this morning. I hope you don’t mind. Jade said I should put up some of my own favorites, now that I’m officially part of the staff.” He gestures at the name tag Jade has been forcing him to wear. Where it should say “Justin”, it simply says “Trainee”.
“I don’t mind you adding books at all,” I assure him. And I don’t.Really,I don’t. But I eye the blood-drenched flower on the cover, grimacing. “But is this really the sort of thing you like to read?”
“Yeah,” Justin says excitedly. “That’s from one of my favorite series. TheSpecial Agent Callahanbooks.” He takes the paperback from me, flipping to the first few pages to show me. There’s a full list of other books there, all in the same series. “See, it’s all about Blake Callahan, a forensic psychologist working with the FBI to track down serial killers.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Serial killers?”
