Page 143 of Dead Pretty

And he’s dead.

Ah, shame.

I missed watching him take his last breath.

I do enjoy that part. Almost as much as watching the blood … the life seep out of them.

Oh well. That’s what I get for talking too much about myself.

You live and learn.

Sighing, I stand and tuck the knife in the front waistband of the sleep shorts I’m wearing. I go to the kitchen, put the gun down, and wash Jack’s blood off my hands. Then, taking the gun with me, I go to Jack’s bedroom. I clean it up with my clothes, getting rid of any blood or fingerprints that might be on it, and then put the gun in the drawer in his nightstand.

I return to the living room and get the bloody cloth and jewelry off the windowsill. I glance around for a place they could have been hidden when Audrey accidentally discovered them.

I see a high cupboard in the kitchen.

I take the jewelry and cloth with me. Reach up on my tiptoes and open the cupboard.

It has some paperwork and a first aid box.

Perfect.

I grab hold of the first aid box and carry it over to the coffee table. Placing it down, I open it up. Shifting things around, I put the jewelry and cloth in there, leaving it open.

I remember the gloves stuffed down the back of the shorts I’m wearing. I have nowhere to put them. I can’t leave them anywhere here in Jack’s apartment. They’re covered in my prints and DNA.

I shove them further down the shorts, into the panties I’m wearing. I’ll dispose of them later.

I turn to Jack, looking at him.

I almost feel bad for this one.

Almost.

And only because I know this will hurt Audrey.

But she’ll get over it.

She’ll have to.

Knowing what I need to do next, I take a deep breath. Because, last time, when I cut this skin, I was doing it to Audrey, so I didn’t feel a thing.

But this time, I’m cutting myself. I can’t let Audrey come back right now. I have to play Audrey and see this thing through myself.

She won’t accept this.

She won’t understand.

I walk over to Jack’s lifeless body, standing in front of it.

I see movement from the corner of my eye and notice the cat—Jack’s cat—walking casually into the living room.

It stops and stares at me.

“Suppose you heard all of that. Not that you’ll be telling anybody.”

God, look at me, turning into Audrey, talking to a damn stupid cat.