Are You Scared Yet?, page 40
The End
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing Are You Scared Yet? by Hunter Morgan. We hope you enjoyed the story and will leave a review at the eRetailer where you purchased the book.
If you enjoy getting free and discounted ebooks, we announce our book sales and freebies through eBook Discovery. You can get eBook Discovery's free Daily eZine and Special Offer alerts to limited-time free and discounted ebook deals by signing up here.
Happy Reading,
ePublishing Works!
Want more from Hunter Morgan?
Page forward for an excerpt from
DON'T TURN AROUND
~
The Beginning of the End
I didn't start out as a killer. It was not an aspiration. I don't fit the profile routinely shared among law enforcement agencies.
As I reflect, I carefully remove each item from the small duffel bag, my heart thumping in eager anticipation.
She never saw me coming.
I am a white male from an upper-middle-class family. I am attractive. Fit. I was never abused as a child, not sexually, not emotionally. In fact, I was loved by my family.
Duct tape.
I came into the world without complications. I attended good, safe schools. I was permitted to participate in extracurricular activities. I was a bright child.
Zip-ties.
I was placed in accelerated classes, and though I was smarter than my classmates and they knew it, I was well liked.
A spool of #4-gauge wire.
I dated in high school, and while I was never the most popular boy in my class, I had my pick of girls.
A box of disposable latex gloves.
I dreamed of being a psychiatrist. I understood people. I could empathize, but more importantly, I could see them for who they really were. Perhaps it was because I always knew myself so well.
Wire cutters.
I always knew what I was.
Garden shears.
For a long time, it was enough to simply know how smart I was. Then I began to resent the stupidity around me. My amusement turned to anger. Eventually, that anger found a way to channel itself. Now, I am simply amused again.
Hand towels.
I run my fingers over the cotton fabric and imagine the ample capacity for mopping up her blood.
Hacksaw.
As a young adult, I learned how to handle a gun.
Disposable shoe covers.
The first time I held up a convenience store, the exhilaration was incredible. The look on the counter guy's face when I shoved the barrel of the pistol between his teeth reminded me just how stupid he was. How smart I was.
Hunting knife.
And the first time I ever saw one of my crimes in the pages of a newspaper... I experienced an amazing high. Unidentified suspect. How I loved that phrase. Still do.
Mentally, I go through the list of items that do not fit in my bag.
Shovel.
That first convenience-store robbery opened up so many avenues to me. Sometimes I would steal things from the homes I invaded. Other times, I would just watch the occupants while they slept.
Plastic sheeting.
A sound taps my attention and I glance down. I pause. Listen. I hear nothing but the throaty voice of Pavarotti.
Just nerves. The woman is silent.
I place each item back in the bag, gently, lovingly. She won't be silent for long.
The Beginning
The phone woke her on the first ring. She was used to calls in the middle of the night, either from the hospital or, more recently, from the assisted-living facility, where her father was a resident. As she reached for the phone in the dark, she prayed he hadn't wandered away again.
Even though she was used to the interruptions of her sleep, her heart still thumped in her chest as her fingers found the cordless phone on the nightstand. Calls in the middle of the night were never good.
"Hello."
"Casey?" a female cried on the other end of the line. "You got to help me."
Casey reached for the lamp switch. Her heart raced faster. She recognized the voice, but still half asleep, she couldn't put a name to it. "Who is this?"
"It's Linda Truman."
Casey thought she heard a thump in the background.
"Do you hear that?" Linda pleaded. Her voice trembled on the verge of hysteria. "Casey, you got to help me. He's back."
Casey threw her feet over the side of the bed. At last, she located the switch on the lamp. Light flooded the room.
"Linda, who's trying to break in?"
"It's him," Linda gasped. "It's Charlie. I know it's him."
The terror in Linda's voice became Casey's terror. She had seen the woman's battered, bloody face two weeks ago in the ER. She'd held Linda's hand while an intern had applied a cast to her broken wrist. Casey gripped the handset. "Doors and windows locked?"
"Yeah. But it sounds like he's got a crowbar or somethin'. He's tryin' to get in the back door."
"Did you call the police?"
"No. No, I called you." She was crying so hard now that her words were nearly indistinguishable. "You... you said I could call you any t-time day or n-night."
Casey's bare feet met the rug on the floor beside her bed. "Listen to me. You have to calm down. I'm going to hang up, and—"
"No! No, don't hang up," she begged, sniffing. "Don't leave me!"
"I have to hang up and call 911. The police will come, Linda." Casey grabbed a pair of dirty jeans off a chair. "They'll be able to get there faster than I can."
"No, don't hang up," Linda sobbed. "Don't leave me alone with him. He's gonna kill me."
"Linda," Casey said firmly. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she stepped into her jeans. "We both have to hang up so I can call 911, but I'll call you right back. I'll call you from my cell phone so I can talk to you while I'm in the car."
"You swear you'll call me back?" Linda's voice sounded smaller than before.
"I swear. Now, where are you right now? In the living room?"
"He's at the back door. It opens into the hallway."
"Can you get to a bedroom or a bathroom, Linda? Somewhere with a door and a lock?"
There was another loud noise in the background. Casey thought she heard splintering wood and she fumbled to zip up her jeans.
"Linda!" Casey repeated, grasping the phone again, as if she could somehow physically reach the terrified woman. "Are you listening to me? Answer me! Can you get to a room with a lock on the door?"
"Yeah. I... I think so. But... the front door. Maybe I should go out—"
"No. No, don't go outside. You don't know where he is."
"He's at the back door!" Linda shrieked.
"But he could run around to the front. You're safer inside. Go to the closest room. Lock yourself in." Casey gripped the phone tighter. "Now run, Linda. Take the phone with you and run! I'll call you right back. I swear."
Casey hit the "end call" button on the phone. Hearing a dial tone, she punched in 911, trying to catch her breath as the call clicked through.
"This is 911. Is this an emergency?" came the practiced voice on the other end of the line.
Casey took a deep breath. This was not the first time she had had to call 911. She knew how to do this. She just had to stay calm. She took another deep breath. "This is an emergency."
~
To purchase
Don't Turn Around
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Hunter Morgan's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/HunterMorgan
~
Discover more with
eBookDiscovery.com
Hunter Morgan has been writing and publishing books under various pseudonyms, in different genres for thirty years. With more than 130 books in print, she's written romance, mysteries, suspense and women's fiction and has been published world-wide and in multiple languages.
You can email Hunter through her publisher at
HunterMorgan@ePublishingWorks.com
Hunter Morgan, Are You Scared Yet?
