Page 115 of Pretty Nightmare

“Because Wendy is fucking smart. She smells it, Nick. She can sniff out betrayal like a bloodhound looking for dead bodies. And she knows what you’re doing. OK? You need to lie low—”

“Fuck that.”

“Listen,” I say. And now I’m growling. “I lost two friends this week because of you. Two very good friends. And she’ll go get Indie next. If McKay and Adam are here in Savannah, then that means Indie is at home with—”

“You get me Wendy. I’ll get you Indie.”

And then he hangs up.

“Fuck!” I want to throw my phone. But people are looking at me now. They saw that confrontation with Adam and hell, fuckin’ cops are probably on the way. So I check my anger, shove my phone in my pocket, and decide that if no one is gonna help me save Indie from those sadistic bastards down on the Old Pearl River, then I’ll just have to do it myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - DONOVAN

I halfheartedly log the sound of Indie and Maggie down in the kitchen for a few minutes, trying to process what’s happening. The sun is fully up now and when I look at the clock, it’s after nine.

I close my eyes and shake my head.

No. No, this isn’t happening.

Indie was right about the tape. The questions I recorded didn’t play. Or maybe I forgot to press record? That would be a logical explanation.

But then I saw the empty Brevital bottle on the floor.

Empty Brevital bottle.

It was three-quarters full when I took it out of my bag. And there is no way I used three-quarters of a bottle of Brevital. We’d be dead.

That’s when I saw the injection marks on my arm. Not one. Seven.

Seven injections.

Seven doses.

This would not only explain how a three-quarter bottle of Brevital could turn into an empty bottle, it also explains the time difference.

Did she try to kill me?

And did it record? So she erased the tape?

I did not want to go there. I did not want to fall down into that fucking rabbit hole again. So I pushed it away.

But then I got this urge. This feeling. That I should fast-forward that tape and see if there’s anything on there.

And there was.

Me. Talking.

Me answering questions that were never asked. A lot of imagery about running through a forest.

Then there was a pause. And some shuffling. And then I heard Indie.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Donovan?”

But she must’ve found the recorder still on. Maybe I was holding it?

Because it clicked off and that was the end of that.

“Donovan!”