The world thinks Chanel Cothern is dead. The only person who knows she isn't...is her killer.
⚠️⚠️Trigger Warning: Violence, Murder & eventually Strong Sexual Content⚠️⚠️
"Chanel, I'm going out after while so if you want something you better tell me now because when I get back I don't want to hear it," Joe said walking through the kitchen.
"I needed some fruit so I can cook for Christmas tomorrow but after what happened when I sent for them the day before Thanksgiving, I don't trust your judgement."
"I got it from the farmers market, just like you asked..."
"Yeah but those sweet potatoes were dried up and on their last leg when you brought them here. I couldn't do anything with that which is why I opted for a pecan pie instead," I replied. "Knowing you, you probably just walk up to the booth and start grabbing. Next time ask questions like how long has it been here, are they fresh, are you expecting another shipment today before I get these...etc."
Joe looked back at me with a blank stare. The same stare he always gives when I start to ramble. "I honestly don't care enough to do all that so if you want all those questions asked you better go get dressed."
"I can? It's daytime and you do realize how busy it will be, right?" I ask. Joe was getting comfortable letting me out of the house but only during evenings and night. I'd ride with him sometimes when he was just doing surveillance. We'd occasionally go out to eat at dimly lit restaurants and bars. He even let me come face to face with the FedEx delivery guy when a package needed to be signed for. He's supposed to be taking me to the movies sometime next week to see No Way Home.
"Yes, it's the day before Christmas. Those who are out will be scrambling for last minute gifts. Nobody will be focused on other people trying to figure out who they look like."
"Okay, I'll go get ready then."
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As I was doing my makeup, something on TV caught my attention.
"Joe!" I yelled out. "Joe!"
I heard his rapid footsteps up the stairs and headed in my direction. When he appeared in the doorway, his hand was gripping something under his shirt. "Chanel?!"
"Look," I pointed at the television. "He's back."
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