She is so sweet and soft looking, so young. Who could do such a thing to someone like this? And then to dump her like a piece of trash, leaving her cold, naked, wet, and alone in the darkness. Posing her with her hands neatly folded in prayer, as what? Some type of sick fucking symbol? The killer was trying to leave a message by posing her like this.
But what?
“You’re right, Officer,” I remark to the man in uniform hovering behind me, his presence lurking like a shadow. “This is gruesome.”
Leaning over the body, careful not to touch anything, staring into where the woman’s eyes should be as if her soul might still linger here, I try to wrap my head around what I’m seeing. Why brutalize someone so badly and then leave them here posed like this? It doesn’t make any sense.
“What do you think happened to her, Detective?” he asks me with hesitance in his tone.
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit.
One thing is certain, though—I want justice for this young woman, and I want it badly. Whoever did this deserves to be punished.
Staring down at the remains of the young woman beneath me, I can’t help but wonder aloud, “What happened to you, Allison?”
TWO
The Devil
Love is a weak word. Love is temporary, fleeting. People fall in and out of love every day. We love television shows and bullshit flavored coffee drinks. Love is a word used to describe a momentary infatuation.
I’d never say that I’m in love with her.Obsessedis a better word to describe this desperate need I have for her. Love is fluffy. Love is comforting. What I feel is painful; as if this burning desire for her has burrowed its way into the very fuckingmarrow of my bones, refusing to leave me be until I make her mine. This is an obsession bordering on insanity.
And yet, I willingly revel in this insanity. I wake every day thinking of her. I spend every moment of every day thinking of her. I fall asleep each and every fucking night to dreams of her. Everything I am and everything I have done has been for her. And soon, she will understand just how far I’m willing to go for this obsession.
Her soul calls to me, begging me to claim her and keep her, even if her mind doesn’t know it yet. I feel it deeper than in my heart or head—the consuming and constant need to make her mine. She’s the other half to my fucking soul. And she needs me to set her free.
Even death will not keep her from me. I will have her in this lifetime and all the lifetimes after. She is mine now and forever, even if she doesn’t know it quite yet. Soon, she will see me.
I’ve been watching her for a long time. At first, it was from afar, existing on the periphery of her life. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to be closer. I had to make sure she was safe, even behind locked doors. Safe fromhim. I began visiting her secretly at night while she slept, when the shadows and darkness of the nighttime hid my secrets. It was thrilling to watch her without her knowledge, to see her in her most private moments, completely vulnerable. I became obsessed with not just the idea of her, but with watching her. I would observe her doing simple things like lying in bed and reading a book. But I also watched her at times when I knew she’d want no one watching, times when she thought she was all alone.
Over time, I started to wonder if she knew I was watching. I imagined her putting on a little show just for me. When she walked around in just her panties and oversized sweater, bending over to pick something up, I wondered if that was for my watching eyes that stalked her figure from within theshadows. I knew she would never admit it, not even to herself, but she enjoyed me watching her and fantasizing about her.
Especially when by the light of day she had to pretend to be intohim.
Eventually, my need for her grew. I no longer got the same satisfaction by just watching her. I wanted more and I sensed she did too. I put cameras in her house to see more of her, to have more of her. It was simple enough to get into her home. I broke in when she was out, picking her locks with ease. The smell of her hit me as soon as I entered her room, sweet and floral. It was just as intoxicating as the rest of her. My lust for her grew to an almost unimaginable level just from her scent. I placed cameras, hidden carefully, around her house. I wanted to watch her every move. I couldn’t control her—not yet, anyway—but knowing that I could watch her whenever I wanted to gave me the power I craved.
But now, I sense my little love is ready for more, ready for us. The time has come for me to make my move. To right the wrongs of the past and to finally get the revenge I am owed. I am not a good man. Some might even call me a monster. But if I’m the Devil, then she is my Persephone. Whether she likes it or not, I will drag her to the depths of Hell with me.
Allison Clarke will be mine.
THREE
Allison
Before
Ishould not wake up this sore. Sore and satisfied and…confused.
I haven’t had sex in, well, in an embarrassingly long time. I know that your sex life is supposed to slow down after marriage—you get busy and stressed and life gets chaotic. But truthfully, I never thought that sex would be this rare. I can’t even remember the last time my husband touched me. Plus, Brody was gone last night, staying at his parents’ island house. Again. So, I read abook, drank some wine, and fell asleep early. I definitely did not have sex last night.
Then why does it feel like I did?
I’m sore in places I definitely shouldn’t be sore. And the truth of what happened is clearly evident as I slide down my purple panties.
Did I have a wet dream? I thought that only happened to twelve-year-old boys. Oh my lord, has it been so long since Brody touched me that my body has taken matters into its own hands while I sleep?
Embarrassment floods my cheeks, leaving a heated burn staining my skin. Swiftly slipping from the rest of my clothes, I hop into the shower to erase any evidence of whatever happened last night. I’m probably just being paranoid, like when I thought someone was following me. The warm water is a relief against my cold skin. The cold wet weather of the Pacific Northwest is not for me. The bone-chilling cold of this time of year always dampens my mood, leaving me in a bit of a funk. As much as I’d like to revel in the warmth of the water, I need to get moving. Teachers never get to be late for work.
