Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Even knowing what I know now about him, I’m still not sure I would have noticed the signs that he was a monster.” Deep breath. “But he’d been internet stalking me since . . . since I was living at home. It escalated when I left, went to college. And the pictures I would post, having fun at parties or entering short-term relationships . . . it incited him. Later, I found out from the police there were folders on his computer filled with saved pictures. Short stories that amounted to fantasies about what he would do to me one day as payback for not taking him seriously.”
Burgess remained quiet. Listening. Watching her intently. His chest moving up and down, faster as she moved toward the worst parts of the recounting.
“He waited until Josephine went home for Thanksgiving to visit her parents in Palm Beach. My family doesn’t really celebrate the holiday, so I stayed behind and . . .” She wet her parched lips. “I was in the hallway getting my mail and I felt someone come up behind me and put something over my mouth. A terrible smell and then . . . black. I blacked out. Waking up in the dark is the next thing I remember. I didn’t realize until later that I was locked in his closet. He was pacing on the other side. I could hear him muttering, saying these disgusting things about me. This guy from the neighborhood. My supposed friend. I think . . . honestly, based on some of the things he said, I think the plan was to kill me before I ever woke up, but he lost his nerve.”
Burgess cursed. Put his hands on his hips and turned in a circle, like he suddenly found himself confined, just like she’d been. “Oh my God, Tallulah.”
“He didn’t let me out for almost two days.” Eight words to gloss over forty hours of sustained terror and uncertainty, fear and discomfort and helplessness. Somehow, however, Burgess seemed to pick up on that. He stopped moving, holding eye contact with her, like he wanted to absorb the worst of her memories. “It was like the entire building was empty except for us, because of the holiday. It didn’t matter how much I screamed. Eventually I couldn’t anymore. My voice gave out. Someone came to the door—a friend of his—and Brett left with him, probably afraid he’d hear me. I spent an hour prying up a loose floorboard and when he finally opened the closet door, I swung as hard as I could. I knocked him out. And I just started running. I ran until I found someone coming out of a restaurant who could call the police for me. I still couldn’t speak, but I wrote down what happened and . . .” She stopped to gather herself, kind of surprised she’d made it to the end of the story. “He went to prison on a five-year sentence, but he didn’t make it that long. As I understand it, another prisoner attacked him while in line for the shower.” Her gaze turned another shade of serious. “I don’t celebrate his death. I also have no idea how I would have lived when he was released, you know?”
“No. I can’t imagine. Going through that. Then waiting around for the day he walked free. I just . . .” He huffed an unsteady breath. “I’m not as big a person as you, apparently, because right now I’d like to shake the hand of his killer.”
Tallulah nodded in understanding, because she’d been there herself at one time. And in a way, his outrage and shock over what she’d been through was comforting. She’d made the choice to keep her trauma to herself, but sometimes it hurt to watch the world continue on as usual, as if it never happened. He was acknowledging that it happened and it was horrific. Something about that was . . . a relief. An overdue one. “I won’t let him put an ounce of hate in my body. He’s already put enough fear. But . . .” She gave a jerky shrug. “It’s nice to have someone angry for me. I don’t feel like talking you out of it.”
“I don’t think you could.”
But she wasn’t quite at the end of her story, was she? There was more. And it caused shame to trickle into her bloodstream. “I promised my sister, Lara, that I wouldn’t let what happened make me live in fear . . . but I did. I took internships, found comfort in labs. I hid. I haven’t . . . God, I haven’t seen my family in almost four years. I can’t face Lara knowing I didn’t keep my promise.” Saying it out loud made her neglect of the vow more egregious. “I used to be fearless. I’d try anything once, travel, party with the best of them . . . but I’ve stopped living. Experiencing. I’m suspicious of men and their intentions. I’m afraid of letting go and enjoying myself, only to be blindsided. I was supposed to try and I haven’t. At all.”