Chapter 3
"What have I done?" The words escaped Jake's throat in a whisper, his voice barely recognizable in the blood-soaked kitchen. The question hung in the copper-scented air, demanding an answer he couldn't give.
His hands shook uncontrollably as he stared at Paul's body. The sight made his stomach lurch violently, bile rising in his throat. This couldn't be real. This couldn't have happened. But the evidence was everywhere - splattered across his walls, pooling on his floors, dried under his fingernails.
Jake pressed his palms against his temples, trying to squeeze some memory from the void where last night should be. The Ambien and vodka had stolen eight hours from his life, leaving only this nightmare as proof of what he must have done.
A fragment surfaced- Paul stepping out of the shadows, nothing like his profile photos. Older, heavier, completely different. Jake remembered the surge of anger.
Could he really have done this? Could months of suppressed fury have turned him into a …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Powell House Press to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.