Nobody Knows Me Here: A Psychological Thriller Novella by Nina Bowen

Author:Nina Bowen [Bowen, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spinning Door
Published: 2019-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

8

Sunshine woke me the next morning. My stomach turned and the inside of my mouth was bitter and dry as a crushed pill on the tongue, but it didn’t matter. I was alive. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, the TV on and still blaring away—some rerun of an old sitcom shooting bouts of canned laughter into the living room.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and entered the kitchen to fix myself a cup of coffee, carrying my cell phone with me. No missed calls or messages from Emily yet. It was just past 8 a.m. She should contact me soon, and then I could deal with the news of George.

I drank from the faucet in the kitchen while I waited for the coffee to fill the pot. Twitching the curtains aside afforded me a view of the back yard and Chase, who sat on his porch, reading the paper with a mug of coffee in his hand.

It was such a normal thing to do, it made me want to scream and throw something at him. Force him to show his true colors. Except maybe this was who he was. I hadn’t trusted a man since my father had left my mother, and I hadn’t loved one in years, either.

And George? My little obsession with him had taught me a sickening lesson about people. We were all monsters on the inside, whether we liked to admit it or not. Every one of us, capable of doing terrible things, whether it was to protect or satiate our own sick desires.

And what do you desire?

The question was whispered in a corner of my mind. Spoken by a voice I didn’t recognize as my own. Maybe I really was going crazy.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at my kitchen table, watching Chase from afar, studying his movements, convincing myself that he would do something strange soon. And I would be the one to catch it and report it.

Chase finished his coffee, rose and stretched, the hem of his T-shirt lifting. A smattering of hair trailed toward the waistband of his PJ pants, tracing a line along his tight, tan skin. He moved back inside the house, and I walked through mine as well.

An urgency to follow him and understand what he would do next had risen in me. I hurried up the steps to the second floor and entered my bedroom. The light was on. I switched it off, promising myself that I’d call an electrician sometime soon.

I’d only put it off for fear that the electrician would be male and would have to enter my house.

I moved to my bedroom window, twitched the curtain aside, and looked down at the street and my view of Chase’s house. His car, the SUV, was parked in his driveway, gleaming and clean. That disconcerted me even more.

George had been painfully clean too. Most likely because he’d been meticulous about deleting any evidence of his crimes or the women he’d murdered having been in his car.

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