Lib Novel Page 140
My body turns cold as I’m beginning to understand what really happened to Rita’s husband.
The next paragraph confirms it.
“I was no match for Elmer. At least, not physically. But he always was a fool. Far too trusting. All it took was one vial of the toxins; once he realized what was happening, it was too late. He was already paralyzed. I needed him to feel that pain. He died suffering, awake through it all. But all this time, I thought I had covered my tracks. How did that brat find out?”
That brat? That has to be the person who messaged Rita! The one who claimed to know her secret.
“What he’s asking of me isn’t that complicated. It’s a simple thing, really. And if he is willing to preserve my secret for this, it’s not a big sacrifice. But I’m worried. I’ve always known that the wolf existed, but here, in this town? Is that why there’s a witch’s barrier surrounding Oakrest? I’m going to make first contact next week. Let’s see who I’m dealing with.”
The next few pages have been torn out.
Rita doesn’t mention anybody by name in her entries. If she did, it would be easier to figure out who she’s referring to.
One of the later entries is scribbled, almost as if she was in a hurry.
“I’m starting to regret this. He’s told me portions of his plan, but he’s not somebody I can trust. And the girl. I’ve never been one to stray from a mission, but does she deserve this? I’m handing her over to a monster. She’s being groomed. And the people in this town, they know. The pack security knows the truth. At least some of it.”
I can’t completely understand Rita’s rambling.
“I was careless. I slipped up. I got too caught up in everything and didn’t realize how twisted his plan was. I can’t let this happen. I have to put a stop to everything before it’s too late. But she’ll never forgive me. She will never forgive me. She trusted me, and I betrayed her trust.”
That’s the last entry in the diary. Most of the other pages are torn out.
I’m beginning to feel that same itch in my brain, as if I am on the cusp of something, as if I know something, but I just can’t reach out and grab it. The pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fit together, but I feel like my brain does not want me to see the full picture. Not yet.
I should go.
I tuck the diary in my bag and then hesitate when I see the cactus. If I leave it here, it’ll be thrown away or damaged. I can’t bear the thought of that. Grabbing the plant, I carefully place it in my bag, as well. I will leave it at Rita’s grave. A housewarming gift and a goodbye gift.
As I’m walking out of the study, I see a stack of magazines lying untouched in a corner of the room. I stare at them for a full minute before realizing why they are standing out to me so much. Rita read magazines, but not ones about sports. I don’t even know where she got these from; they’re not sold locally. I walk over and pick up one of them. Almost as if possessed, I start riffling through the magazines. One by one, I check them all. Rita was a spy—maybe she hid something…
I can only call it luck when something falls out of the second-to-last magazine. It’s a photograph.
A picture of Eve.
I stare at it, stunned into silence. Crouching down, I pick up the photo and then turn it over. There is some scribbling on the back. I turn back to the picture, and I notice where it was taken. At the bar. Rita must have taken it when Eve was working. The writing on the back doesn’t make any sense, though. It’s a bunch of dates.
Not knowing what to make of it, I take the photo with me.
Now it’s really getting late. I use the front door to leave and, stepping around the three guys still lying unconscious by the trees, begin running through the forest in the direction of my apartment. I don’t slow down or take a break, as the fear of being followed is hanging around my head like a noose.
In my haste, I forget about the men surveilling my apartment building. I’ve just exited the trees across the road from my building when I hear Wyatt’s voice shout my name. I stop in my tracks.
“Well, well, well.” Wyatt approaches me menacingly. “And where have you been?”
If I go on the defensive, he’s going to wonder what I’m trying to hide. So, I do what I did last time. I turn around to face him, looking annoyed. “And that’s your business because…?”
“It’s my business because I’m making it my business,” he declares smugly.
“What I do and where I go is not your business.” I give him a disgusted look. “Unless there’s a curfew in this town I don’t know about, I can come home at six in the morning if I want, and nobody has the right to question me.”
He clearly doesn’t like my answer or that I’m not quivering in fear before him.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says dangerously. “Where the hell were you?”
“Not your business.” I enunciate each word.
To my shock, he lifts his hand, clearly enraged. But before his hand can descend on my cheek, his claws out, somebody grabs his wrist, stopping him.