Read Online Eight Million Gods-eARC by Wen Spencer - Free Book Online
Authors: Wen Spencer
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might be proof that the killer had access to Nikki’s files. The killer could have picked Gregory just because his name was close to George. The visa trouble might have been just coincidence; all expatriates faced endless visa’ struggles unless they married someone who was Japanese. She only had thirty days before she ran into the problem herself. Or maybe Gregory just had the bad luck to be home while someone—like Stewart from the elevator—wasn’t. Hell, her demented fan might have just rung doorbell after doorbell until a man answered.
The elevator stopped on fourteen, and the door opened. She hesitated until the door started to close again, and then she hopped out. Around the corner from the elevator, the door to 1401 had police tape across it.
At that point Nikki went into a major debate with herself. She should just leave. She was scared. She was in enough trouble with the police; crossing a police barrier to a murder scene where she was a suspect would be dumb. She could end up in prison just for breaking and entering. True, it meant someone else would pay for her housing and food, but she was fairly sure the food would be bad and the sheets would have a low thread count. And God, the hypergraphia in a true prison might be impossible to deal with.
The only way Nikki was going to see if her psychopath had copied her novel was to see the murder scene.
But she was scared.
It was scarier, though, to stay clueless to whether or not someone who could kill a man with a blender had full access to her computer files.
Oh God, I’m going into this apartment.
Nikki wasn’t sure if she had won or lost the debate; but that was always the problem of fighting with herself.
She took out her lock picks. It seemed to take forever to pick the lock, even though Nikki knew it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. It was the longest two minutes of her life. She kept expecting the elevator to ding, signaling someone’s arrival, or one of the neighboring doors to open. But she got the door open, slipped into the unlit apartment, and shut the door without being caught.
In the dark, the coppery smell of blood pressed in on Nikki, heavy and thick as a blanket. The stench was so oppressive it seemed as if she had to be standing in blood. Fear prickled the hair on her arms, and she shifted her feet, expecting a horrible stickiness underfoot. The tile under her feet, though, was clean.
Across the apartment, framed by glass doors to the balcony, the framework of the HEP Five Ferris wheel gleamed blood red like a giant demonic spider web. It was nowhere near as romantic as she had thought it would be.
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a foyer, with the kitchen directly to her right. A door to her left stood open to a bathroom dark as a cave. The apartment was all shadows and pools of darkness, evidence of violence—beyond the smell of blood—cloaked.
Nikki fumbled for the light switch, found it, and turned on the light.
More than the countertops had been white. The floor and the cabinets were white. Blood splattered everything, from the floor to the ceiling, dried to ruddy red, stark against the white.
Too scary . She turned the light off and then wiped it clean of fingerprints. It was a good thing she had just had a massive writing session, because otherwise she’d be digging for her retractable pen.
What was she doing there? What did she want to find again? Oh, yes, she was trying to see if the killer had copied elements of her book that she hadn’t made public. She leaned against the door, eyes closed, trying to figure out what she had written that could be copied.
In the kitchen with a blender: check. But she had posted that.
A man with the initials GW living in this building: check. But that she had posted that, too.
Sake cup on the counter.
Nikki fished her flashlight out of her bag to avoid turning on the overhead light. There was no sake cup on the blood-splattered counter. She felt relieved
The elevator stopped on fourteen, and the door opened. She hesitated until the door started to close again, and then she hopped out. Around the corner from the elevator, the door to 1401 had police tape across it.
At that point Nikki went into a major debate with herself. She should just leave. She was scared. She was in enough trouble with the police; crossing a police barrier to a murder scene where she was a suspect would be dumb. She could end up in prison just for breaking and entering. True, it meant someone else would pay for her housing and food, but she was fairly sure the food would be bad and the sheets would have a low thread count. And God, the hypergraphia in a true prison might be impossible to deal with.
The only way Nikki was going to see if her psychopath had copied her novel was to see the murder scene.
But she was scared.
It was scarier, though, to stay clueless to whether or not someone who could kill a man with a blender had full access to her computer files.
Oh God, I’m going into this apartment.
Nikki wasn’t sure if she had won or lost the debate; but that was always the problem of fighting with herself.
She took out her lock picks. It seemed to take forever to pick the lock, even though Nikki knew it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. It was the longest two minutes of her life. She kept expecting the elevator to ding, signaling someone’s arrival, or one of the neighboring doors to open. But she got the door open, slipped into the unlit apartment, and shut the door without being caught.
In the dark, the coppery smell of blood pressed in on Nikki, heavy and thick as a blanket. The stench was so oppressive it seemed as if she had to be standing in blood. Fear prickled the hair on her arms, and she shifted her feet, expecting a horrible stickiness underfoot. The tile under her feet, though, was clean.
Across the apartment, framed by glass doors to the balcony, the framework of the HEP Five Ferris wheel gleamed blood red like a giant demonic spider web. It was nowhere near as romantic as she had thought it would be.
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a foyer, with the kitchen directly to her right. A door to her left stood open to a bathroom dark as a cave. The apartment was all shadows and pools of darkness, evidence of violence—beyond the smell of blood—cloaked.
Nikki fumbled for the light switch, found it, and turned on the light.
More than the countertops had been white. The floor and the cabinets were white. Blood splattered everything, from the floor to the ceiling, dried to ruddy red, stark against the white.
Too scary . She turned the light off and then wiped it clean of fingerprints. It was a good thing she had just had a massive writing session, because otherwise she’d be digging for her retractable pen.
What was she doing there? What did she want to find again? Oh, yes, she was trying to see if the killer had copied elements of her book that she hadn’t made public. She leaned against the door, eyes closed, trying to figure out what she had written that could be copied.
In the kitchen with a blender: check. But she had posted that.
A man with the initials GW living in this building: check. But that she had posted that, too.
Sake cup on the counter.
Nikki fished her flashlight out of her bag to avoid turning on the overhead light. There was no sake cup on the blood-splattered counter. She felt relieved
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