Shakily, I stood—staring down at the blood-soaked nightgown and the filth on my feet and the withered husk of Jacob’s body that was quickly crumbling to ash.
Jacob had been a monster, and now, so was I.
My gaze slowly rose to the blue and white sign, that just a few minutes ago, was a beacon in the night, a place to seek refuge. Now it was nothing but a glaring reminder of what I had just done.
I couldn’t go to the police. I couldn’t go to Aunt Julie. Not if I could do to her what I’d done to him.
All I knew for sure was there was a grave in Whispering Pines Cemetery with my name on it.
Maybe it would be a good idea to just stay dead.
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