The Writer: A totally unputdownable psychological thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense by Miranda Smith

Author:Miranda Smith [Smith, Miranda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

All I want is to get away from Banyon’s Bridge. My chest wheezes with each harsh inhale, my boots tapping against the gray cobblestones. I’m alone, seemingly, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been duped. Whoever left the envelope with the black heart on it is one step ahead of me, could still be here, watching my stunned reaction.

Layla isn’t something I talk about. Ever. Not even with Crystal, the one person in my life who experienced the brutal ordeal alongside me.

The most notorious true crime stories have an aura of mystery surrounding the cases. The straightforward murders—girl meets boy in a bar, he attacks her and is swiftly arrested—are easily forgotten. The name Layla Williams still lingers in some true crime circles, but not widely, because of its quick resolution. This article was left strategically, and whoever left it not only knows my past, but is threatening me with it.

Thankfully, my connection to the crime seems to have been forgotten, except, most notably, by whoever has been sending me black hearts for the past ten years. The implication behind the symbol is clear. My stalker blames me for Layla’s death, tries reminding me of it at every major turn in my life, as though I could ever forget. They’ve thrown a series of slurs at me in the past decade—Fraud, Abandoner, Cheat. And what hurts the most is that the black hearts stalker is right. Layla’s death was always my fault.

I slam the car door shut and crank the engine, holding my frigid fingers in front of the heating unit, waiting for warm air. I believe I know who left the message behind on the bridge, the same person I was following in the first place, the culprit I’ve been hoping to catch in my carefully laid trap.

Marley.

I realize now what’s bothered me about her since our first meeting. She reminds me of Layla. Their flowy maxi skirts and layered accessories. The way both their hair is a tangled mess of curls and bohemian braids. Even the small tattoos—a black sparrow and a black heart. When I first saw Marley, standing beside my table at McCallie’s Pub, it was like seeing a ghost, a long-lost friend I’d expected to never see again. Marley didn’t belong, just like Layla has never belonged in the avoidable tragedy that took her life.

Could it be yet another coincidence? Two college students, a decade apart, with similar styles. If Marley left the article and the black heart at the bridge, it means she knows about my past. Her intentions might be darker. Maybe she’s purposely dressing herself like my deceased best friend, another way for her to get under my skin.

Once my fingers are warm, I wrap them around the steering wheel and reverse onto the street. It’s foolish to confront a could-be killer at all, let alone after midnight. Yet, anger overrides my logic as I drive in the direction of Marley’s apartment.

There’s ample street parking across from her building. I remain inside the car, peering out the window at the old-world apartment complex.

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