King's Hill: A Horror Novel by Josh Hanson & Wicked House Publishing

Author:Josh Hanson & Wicked House Publishing [Hanson, Josh & Publishing, Wicked House]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wicked House Publishing
Published: 2023-10-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, Sadie re-read both notebooks and then reread the whole collection. She had a confession of murder from Mills, but that was pretty weak. He was a convicted serial killer. But Mills put the knife in Grace and Childs’ hands over and over again in his narrative, with that last one—the one Mills participated in—seeming rather specific. At least one person was still out there who had never answered for their crimes.

And she had to admit, he’d gotten her. He’d led her on just long enough for her to hope that he wasn’t the killer they said he was, that he was simply a not-so-good man who got drawn into the gravity of some really bad people. But it was like there was something missing. Like a switch was flipped. Mills spent pages describing his remorse and guilt over the death of this “Jenny,” and then he’s thoughtlessly pushing a dagger through a woman’s chest. The idea that he was simply chasing that next high, or that he was somehow under Grace’s sway, didn’t wash with Sadie. He made a choice. A whole series of choices, and that’s where they led him. She’d always been a little freaked out by Mills. Now she was angry at him.

She opened her phone and did what she’d done the day before, too: typed in “Edward Joseph Mills” and then clicked on the “news” tab. The most recent article was from 2019, when Mills had sat silently through a parole hearing, refusing to answer even the most basic questions. So, at least he was likely still living. Was it shitty that she cared more about getting the rest of his story than for his personal wellbeing? Yes. Did it change the fact? Not at all.

Trevor came in, just on his way out to work.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Do not miss another class because of me. I’m much better.”

“And you’ll call and make that follow-up appointment, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Like now?”

“Almost immediately, yes.”

“Alright. Text if you need anything.” He leaned over the bed and kissed her.

“Love you,” she said.

“Love you, too.”

Then he went out the door, and she could hear his shoes on the walkway outside, fading away. She thought of their conversation a couple of weeks ago. His assertion that it was a supreme act of will—a constant internal battle—not to just snap and go wild, tear down the world. What if he was right? What if Mills, who had never been particularly good at restraining that inner monster, had simply found an outlet for all of that rage? What if Grace had simply channeled it, directed it, pointed it like a gun?

It was Friday already, and she needed to figure out how to get information on Childs and—more importantly—how to track down Grace. She opened her email and found the draft she’d written in a half-drunken haze at the Albatross. Dear Eleanor Childs, I think your daddy is a serial killer. Please respond. Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but its brevity sounded awkward.

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