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TWO
AMETHYST
I see Death, and I don’t mean the man I just murdered.
Adrenaline surges through my trembling fingertips, making it a bitch to claw out of this open grave. I’ve also tumbled down more times than Jack and Jill because the shoes I’m wearing won’t grip the loose soil.
My hands won’t stop trembling. Every time a worm slithers under my fingers, I flinch, and the breeze swirling through my sweat-soaked curls gives me a chill.
I reach the top and pull myself out, only to lock gazes with a six-and-a-half-foot tall wraith with glowing white eyes. Alarm punches my heart. The only thing worse than seeing the grim specter of death is him alerting the night shift workers of where I buried the corpse.
The moon vanishes behind clouds, plunging the cemetery into gloom. I scramble to my feet and hurry through the tombstones, finding my way back to the path.
Death stays close, his shadow swallowing the light. The only thing missing is a scythe.
This is… unusual. I haven’t hallucinated in over a year, and when I did, I only saw the men I’d personally killed. But now, Death dogs my steps and I have no idea why.
Shuddering, I quicken my pace.
An hour ago, an online troll pushed his way into my house. His name was JakeRake69, and he wanted to snuff out my life. I fought back, but he was too big, too strong, and too determined to choke me on my kitchen floor.
As the edges of my vision turned black, a dark figure appeared in the doorway, signaling my imminent demise.
That was the jolt of adrenaline I needed for my fingers to find a fallen knife and plunge it into Jake’s neck.
I thought saving my life would exorcize the apparition, but I only piqued his interest. Death trailed after me as I dragged Jake’s corpse down my backyard and through the thicket of trees that separate my home from the cemetery.
After hiding the body in an open grave, I thought I’d be free of the specter, but I was wrong. He waited for me at the edge of the burial ground with his head cocked to the side like an owl’s.
So that’s how I find myself trudging back home, stalked by the Angel of Death. Shivers seize my skeleton, and every fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end, but the sensation is nothing compared to being covered in dirt.
Dirt encrusts my fingernails and covers every inch of my skin. Dirt gathers beneath my eyelids and lines my nostrils. It wriggles through my ear canals and across my scalp. I want to shake it off and scream, but I don’t need to attract any more of that thing’s attention.
Ignoring him, I continue through the Douglas Firs that border my house. I’m so exhausted from fighting off a brute and digging his grave barehanded that my knuckles practically drag on the ground. Who would have thought self-defense could be so grueling?
As soon as I step out of the evergreens and into my narrow backyard, the weight of dragging and burying the man I killed lifts off my shoulders only to settle in my gut. I stare down the paved yard through my kitchen window to find flames flickering on the gas stove.
I don’t remember turning it on.
My home is a narrow, two-story townhouse wedged between a pair of larger buildings and has been my home for six years, eversince Mom and Dad marched me off my college campus in my first semester.
I’m sure Mom is sick of dealing with my mental issues and feels more comfortable with me on the other side of town. Dad says I should be more understanding because of what happened in my past, but I don’t have a single memory of anything that took place before the age of ten.
But I digress.
Because of me, a man is dead, and now I’m being shadowed by a specter. Worst of all, no amount of self-reflection or pity will clean up Jake’s blood. I step through the back door and into the kitchen, where my online troll tackled me to the floor and nearly ended out my life.
If it hadn’t been for that fallen knife…
Chills race across my skin as I turn on the light, finding blood all over the black-and-white tiles. It’s also probably spattered over the kitchen cabinets, but they’re a deep ebony wood that hides stains. With a sigh, I turn off the stove and trudge to the linen closet where I keep my supplies and grab a pack of paper towels.
Thank goodness I buy in bulk.
I lay them on the floor, taking advantage of their absorbency. Next, I open every sanitary pad in my home, unwrap each tampon so they can soak up the rest. After exhausting a three-month supply of period products, I move on to the toilet paper.
After wiping down the cabinets, I double bag the absorbent materials and hide them in the cupboard under the stairs. Next is a mop and bucket with copious amounts of bleach. This cleaning job won’t be enough to fool a forensic team, but I make a mental note to purchase hydrogen peroxide. One of the benefits of dating a killer is knowing how to clean up a crime scene.
Xero. Xero Greaves spent his last day on death row alone and miserable because of me and my cowardice.
