Page 303 of Sinister

Fear accumulates in my gut.

What if I am next?

I somehow ended up in the tunnels without any recollection of how I got here. It’s dark. I don’t have my phone or any means to contact Sin.

I am helpless.

But I’m not evil!

The deal was for Agatha to deliver five evil souls. Although I don’t know what Edwin or Harry did, it’s clear François did have some skeletons in his closet. It makes sense why he was chosen.

But me?

I’ve never done anything bad in my life—or at least nothing I would categorize as evil.

Maybe it’s something I did in my past life? Is that it? Perhaps because I did kill Snowden in the past. That technically makes me a murderer, but is it enough to brand my soul as evil?

Anxiety spears through me until I find it hard to breathe.

Oh God, I’m going to die, aren’t I? I’m going to die in these goddamn tunnels, and I never even told Sin that I forgive him, that I love him regardless of everything he’s done—perhaps I love him in spite of it.

Because no matter what happened, he always put me first. He made sacrifice after sacrifice to get to me, to be with me. He killed people to get me back.

And what have I done?

Nothing.

I’ve just been on the receiving end of everything.

Guilt slams into me as I realize how unfair I’ve been to him. Not only with my harsh words but also in my thoughts.

My last words to him were that I needed time. Seeing how I am now trapped in these dark, dank tunnels, time is exactly what I may not have.

“Sin, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, though I know he cannot hear me. Hopefully, he will disregard my request for space and will try to see me anyway. Then, when he notices I’m missing, he will look for me.

Oh, the irony. Just the day before, I was complaining that he was crossing my boundaries, and now I’m praying he does.

Until he comes for me, though, I can at least try to save myself.

A little wary of the darkness surrounding me, I place one foot in front of the other, feeling my way forward slowly.

So far, so good. But not for long.

“Fuck!” I curse aloud as I trip over something and fall. Immediately, I place my hands over my belly to protect it.

Yet instead of falling onto the cold ground, something breaks my fall. Still cold, but soft, and a little wet.

“What . . .” I mutter.

I move my hands around, trying to make sense of what I’m sitting on top of. But oh, how I wish I didn’t know.

At first I feel some soft material, silky and cool to the touch. But as I move my hands upward, the material becomes soaked in a sticky liquid.

“Ew!”

But that is the least disgusting thing. Already, a thought is starting to form in my mind that perhaps the thing I fell on—the thing I’m sitting on—might be a human body. That idea solidifies when I feel the shoulders of the body.

Moving my hands up, I note the tapering of the neck and then the jaw and . . .