Read Online The Haunting of Secrets by Shelley R. Pickens - Free Book Online Page B

light, when the lightning
illuminates something outside the double windows directly in front
of me above the sink. I move further into the kitchen to have a
better look out the window and crouch down a bit when I reach the
sink. At first, I see nothing, thinking it must have been all in my
mind. Fleetingly, I wish I had the power to see in the dark. So
much cooler than seeing memories, but then I remembered that they
had already invented night goggles so who would need a worthless
power like that?
    My wandering thoughts are interrupted a few
seconds later when the darkness is again illuminated by the
lightning from the storm. There is no mistaking the outline of a
figure beside the old willow tree in the middle of our back yard. I
fall to the floor and put my hands over my mouth to stifle my
scream. I will the dark figure I saw to go away. Part of me wishes
that it was just Logan again, lurking out there, playing around
with me, just caring about my safety. But the irrational side of me
knows better. The side that holds the bastard’s memories is
practically humming. It can only be him out there stalking me,
waiting for me to make my move. From his memories, I can tell he’s
a planner. And he’s waiting for the opportune time to strike.
    I am not a coward, but I am no Jack Bauer
either. Mary used to watch that show ‘ 24 ’ all the time and
if I was bored, I would watch it with her. That badass killed at
least a dozen people every episode. Most of the time he did it with
his bare hands; not to mention he did it in only twenty-four hours.
Having shunned all human contact for as long as I can remember, I
never did learn how to fight. I’ve never had the opportunity to be
brave. My first instinct is always self-preservation; running is
usually the best option.
    Like always, the desire to flee consumes me,
but I’ll be damned if I’ll let that stop me this time. It isn’t
just about me anymore. There are others I love and a life, as
pathetic as it is, to protect here in this small town in the bowels
of Georgia. But before this former coward goes up against a
seasoned killer, I’m going to need a weapon.
    As stealthily as I can, I crawl on all fours
until I reach the drawer that holds the sharp knives. I open it and
feel around as best I can for a weapon. I prick my finger on a
knife and wince from the pain. I am sure there is blood, but that
is the least of my problems right now. Finally, my fingers land on
the large cutting knife. I curl my fingers around the hilt, take it
out, and close the drawer. I take a deep breath for courage, stand
up, and walk to the kitchen door. My hand freezes as it grips the
doorknob, fear practically oozing from every pore. My palm is
sweaty and I’m second-guessing my decision to be courageous. Maybe
this is what the killer wants? Maybe he knows I’m a coward and
wants to lure me into a trap so he can kill me like he killed other
countless girls. Or what if he isn’t after me at all? What if it’s
Mary that he wants to kill, to punish me for absorbing his secrets?
The thought of Mary alone and helpless, sleeping, fills me with
anger. With anger comes courage. As irrational and stupid as it
might be, I have to go out there and face him; distract him so he
can’t go after Mary. I unlock the back door and step out into the
dark rain, the knife held in front of me like a sword.
    “I’m here, you bastard!” I spit into the
darkness with uncharacteristic bravado as rain falls in sheets
soaking me through almost instantly. “Come out and face me!” I am
met with silence, but I’m not convinced he isn’t still out there
just waiting for me to get closer. Slowly, I make my way around the
yard to the tree where I saw the figure from the window. I hold the
large knife out in front of me, ready to strike at the first sign
of movement. The storm rages up above and rain pelts my face, but
I’m oblivious to it now. My only focus is staying alive and
protecting Mary. Finally, I reach the