Jennifer Lynne is a homicide detective working on one of the most horrific serial killing cases New York has seen in the last decade. When she and her partner get a lead on the suspect, they catch him with his seventh victim. But things go south and...
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The images of what I've done replay in my mind like a bad rerun. You've seen it many times to know the plot by heart, but the sight of it makes you sick. You want to move on, to see something else — anything else — but they only play that episode.
But instead of some cheesy sitcom, all I see in my head is blood and flesh and teeth.
I can't escape it. I'm held hostage with no ransom to pay. I've tried drinking, but there is not enough whiskey in the world to drown out the screams. So, I sit at my desk, staring at the Jackson case file for hours. I flip through the pages about the murders, reading the autopsies and crime scene transcripts over and over. I reach the end of the file and start back over again. But no amount of staring will silence the short films playing in my mind.
There used to be a time when I wanted to know what happened. I was so desperate to get my memories back. But I remember everything with Reese.
Reese. I shut my eyes and I see his face. But it's quickly washed away with the blood. His blood. I stabbed him. I fucking stabbed him. When his body hit the floor, I kept stabbing him. I stabbed until my arms hurt. Until his whispering stopped. And then I waited to bring him to the lake.
No. I shake my head. I can't go there. I need to stop thinking about it. My hands find the file before me and I think of Jackson. His face enters my mind with that cocky grin of his. Oh, how I loathe it. But as much as it pains me, he's the only source of information I have.
He's the only one who knows what's happening to me.
I shove my folder under my arm and grab my keys. I hate that I'm doing what he wants, but if this is the only way, then I'll just have to suck it up.
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By the time the guards bring Jackson in, I'm already seated. He waltzes in and smiles eagerly. I don't bother giving him the pleasure. But when his eyes search the room, his grin falls.
"What is it?" I ask him with a tilt of my head. "Were you hoping for something?"
His gaze finds me and he halts. The guards stop. "What —?"
"Yeah, it sucks doesn't it?" I laugh dryly. "I was disappointed when you left before answering my questions."
"I said to bring the file," he says lowly, a dark look shadowing his face.
