8 Souls by Rachel Rust

Author:Rachel Rust
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled, Teen, YA, Teen Romance, YA Romance, Paranormal Demons & Devils Romance; Nordic Myth & Legend Fantasy eBooks; Mythology & Folk Tales; Dark Fantasy Horror; Paranormal Ghost Romance; Teen & Young Adult Action & Adventure eBooks; Teen & Young Adult Fantasy & Supernatural Mystery eBooks; paranormal; spirits; Haunting; mysterious; small town; murder; teen romance; YA Fantasy; YA Mystery; Ghost story; Young Adult Paranormal; Ghosts;
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Teen)
Published: 2019-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

David chews his fries with a slight grin, watching me absorb the impossible information.

“You’ve been born seven times?” I ask.

After a sip of his drink, he chuckles. “Don’t freak out on me okay? Are you alright?”

I can’t do much else than nod. He looks at my plate. “Why don’t you eat, and I’ll explain as much as I can.”

I pick up two fries. The physical rumble of my stomach competes with the appetite-reducing shock roiling through me. I blurt out the only four words pounding through my mind. “Did you kill them?”

My voice is louder than intended and carries through the restaurant. A few heads turn our way.

“Shhh,” David demands in whisper.

I don’t apologize, but I do lower my voice. “Tell me! Did you kill them? All those years ago in 1912…was it you?”

People are still looking our way, but I don’t care. I’m not the bad guy here. Though a pang of guilt sweeps through me because the only “killer” people are interested in today is the one who took the missing little girls and drowned one in the river. My fingers unlatch from the fries and they drop back onto the plate.

“Oh god,” I whisper. “Those little girls…”

David’s eyes widen. “What? You don’t think that I have anything to do with that, do you? Jesus, Chessie, who the hell do you think I am?”

“I have no idea who you are!” I snap back. “Did you kill them? Any of them…the Moore family, the little girls who are missing…did you do it?”

“No.” He leans forward and whispers, barely audible, “I have never killed anyone. Ever.”

I study his face—his eyes wide and pleading, his jaw set. “You said you were responsible for the deaths of the axe murder victims.”

He sighs. “Yes. I’m responsible.”

“Then you killed them!” I yell in a whisper.

“No!” He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. After a few deep breaths, he clasps his hands together on the table in front of him and his voice softens. “Responsible yes, because I might have been able to stop the killings but didn’t. I’m responsible because I knew who killed them but didn’t tell anyone. I was there the night the Moore family was killed. I know who killed them because I was standing outside the house. I knew the family might be in danger, but I was too scared to stop it. And afterwards, I didn’t say anything.”

His gaze drops as he speaks, seemingly unable to look me in the eye as the truth spills out of him. It’s as if he’s unable to fully come to terms with what he did, even decades later. Minutes pass and we say nothing. The family with the crying baby leaves. Rhonda refills our drinks. The kids on the jungle gym pedal off on their bikes. Old Man Zach is now fully asleep, head hung down. Hopefully not dead.

I eat a few fries and take a bite of my BLT to feign normalness. It works and David takes a bite of his cheeseburger.

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