Don’t forget your anti-depressants and cat food!
I freeze. I read the note again. What the hell? I never told anyone I needed cat food or my meds refilled. I told the builders I was heading out. Did I tell them what I was doing? I chew my lip, trying to remember. No, I didn’t. I’m sure of it. I haven’t even spoken to Joe today.
I stare at the note, reading it over and over, my stomach cramping in fear.
I’m certain of two things only.
I never told anyone what I was doing today.
And I didnotwrite this note.
CLEAR, CALM, AND CONNIVING:
FAMED AUTHOR’S WEB OF LIES BEGINS TO UNRAVEL
July 1
ABC News, Melbourne
It’s been less than 24hours since a body was discovered at Black Wood House. Police are still tight-lipped about the victim’s identity and the cause of death. But one thing’s becoming clear: The currentowner, famed author Sarah Slade, is not who we thought she was.
A source has come forward insisting on a closer look at the author’s certifications. Slade has been employed at Mercy Community as a self-development therapist for eleven months. Before that, according to her book bio, she “graduated with honors with a degree in psychology.”
But in a strange twist of events, it seems that her certifications are fraudulent. Slade has never listed her alma mater. The source claims Slade once said that she studied at the University of Sydney in 2015. Another source claims Slade said that she graduated from Macquarie University in 2016. But there is no record of a Sarah Slade graduating from Macquarie University, nor is there evidence of her studying at the University of Sydney in 2015. We’ve reached out to Mercy Community, but so far, there has been no comment from Slade’s employers.
More strangely, there’s little record of Sarah Slade before she published her bestselling book,Clear, Calm, and in Control.Slade worked atSabrinamagazine in New South Wales from 2015 to 2018. She developed her fan following there and moved to Victoria two years ago. Her history beforeSabrinais unknown.
A source said, “She’s always been sketchy about her past. She never really gave any answers about where she grew up, or her family, or any of that.”
Another source said, “She doesn’t have a degree in psychology, so what qualifications did she have to write her self-help book, then? She’s a liar, and she should be exposed.”
Slade’s bestselling book has been in and out of the top10 nonfiction list for over two years. It was an instant hit when it was published in July 2018, and fans have eagerly awaited another Slade book. But it looks like fans may not be seeing another.
Chapter 12
SarahSlays.com
Guess what I found in my mailbox today?
A rat.
A dead fucking rat.
Around its bloated neck was a rubber band, and tucked inside it was a charming note:
Welcome to the neighborhood, you rat bitch.
I lean back in my office chair, rubbing my temples with icy fingers. I swear I can still smell the rat on my fingertips, even after I scrubbed my hands over and over with lemon soap. I found it this morning when I left for work. Its tail was dangling out of the mail slot like a piece of yarn. It must have been left there overnight. I hurled the damn rat out of the mailbox, along with the note, and decided against telling Joe. Or the police. I don’t need the shitty publicity. What I need more than anything is to hurry up and get the renovations done. We’ll smash through them, put the house on the market, and move the hell away before the next buyer realizes their mistake.
I reach for the water bottle next to my laptop and notice my handsare shaking. I drink long and deep, closing my eyes and resting my head against the plush white leather.
A dog. That’s what we need. We need a big, hulking bastard of a dog on our property. That’ll stop anyone from trespassing. I rock slowly in the chair, wondering how I can casually mention the idea to Joe. Not that he’s even speaking to me. He slinks in and out of the house like Reaper. Speaking of that bloody cat, I haven’t seen him for two days now, and I’m starting to worry. He hasn’t touched the food I left him, and it was the fancy $4.99 tin stuff he likes.
Unwillingly, I glance at the screen. It’s 5:15p.m.My last clients left ten minutes ago.
Firmly, I hit the delete button until the post is blank and waiting. I need to update my website for real, but it’s getting harder and harder to fake it. I find myself opening it and just unloading the truth, and out it all comes like gushing blood. I’ve never kept a diary before, but I can see why people do it. It’s lonely keeping secrets, but a blank page is secure and safe, and I’ve never had a safe place before.
My head pulses in pain just as someone knocks softly at my door.
