“Well, why not? She’ll tell you how crazy he is. She’s the one who handpicked my manuscript to give to the bastard. She—”
“Janine’s dead.”
I fight the tears building in my eyes. Poor Janine.
“According to the decomposition of her body, she’s been dead for months.”
“That’s not possible,” I whisper.
A sharp twinge shoots through my head, and I close my eyes. For a fleeting moment, I remember the look of horror in Janine’s eyes when that ax came down on her face. I can hear her screaming and wailing. But I push that thought away. It’s not true. It’s not.
“It’s not true…” I mumble.
Dr. Roberts leans over her knees and takes a deep breath. “Elizabeth?”
I don’t like her calling me that.
“Elizabeth, why did you keep her in that shed? All the others you discarded, but Janine… you kept her.”
“I… uh…” Sweat builds beneath the collar of my jacket. I can feel it seeping from the pores above my upper lip. “I…”
Another memory of Janine flashes through my head. Her purple-and-black bloated body is slumped over in the corner of that shed, and I’m pacing the floor, talking to her. Yelling at her about my shitty reviews. No—that is a mirage because that cannot be a memory. Surely…
Dr. Roberts leans down to pick up a manila folder from the floor. She sifts through documents before pulling out a bundle of papers bound together. Exhaling, she flips through the pages, folds several back, then shoves the manuscript in front of my face, her finger hovering over a highlighted paragraph. My eyes scan the text.
It's late evening, and I'm alone at work. The best thing about this bookstore—the Little Novel Bookstore off Fifth and Main—is it's hidden away in a crappy part of town. Hardly anyone ever comes in here. There's only a single small window at the front, and once the sun goes down, the store becomes dim and gloomy, the perfect place for me to lose myself in my books. No people and a nice little reading retreat—well, it’s the perfect place to work, isn't it?
The bell over the front door dings, prompting me to bookmark my spot in Mercer's The Dark Deceit. It's the fourth time I've read it, and it still makes my heart race as much as it did the first time. I peer over the cramped shelves. I see no one, but I hear the soles of their shoes padding over the tile floor.
I nervously clear my throat, pushing a bit higher on my tiptoes. My heart slams against my ribs as I frantically glance around to see who walked in and why they're hiding. I have a habit of letting my imagination get the better of me, as I’m told most writers do—
I glance up from the paper. My stomach kinks and knots, bubbling with anxiety. “Where did you get that?”
“It was on your laptop. The one that was in the shed with you when Detective Peralta found you.”
I swallow hard and close my eyes. This cannot be true.
“From the files saved, it looks like it was around August when you started your novel featuring Miranda Cross, a creative writing student from Emory, and a male author-turned-serial-killer, a fictional man you named Edwin Allen Mercer.”
“No.” I shake my head. “He killed prostitutes. He fucked them… I couldn’t possibly…”
“Exactly. And how did you know that?”
My jaw hangs open as I fumble for a logical answer. Because there must be one. “I… well, I-I mean. I mean…”
Another barrage of images floods my mind. Chastity on the bed, facedown and bound. Me behind her, pulling her hair and fucking her like I was a man. The image skips like an old movie reel, and I see myself in the diner, that greasy, nasty diner, and I am alone, the men across the counter staring and whispering because I’m talking to myself, the night we went to dinner—only one plate of food was delivered because he wasn’t real. He wasn’t real….
“But it’s not the…”
Dr. Roberts takes a deep breath. “Elizabeth, you really have no recollection of these things? Of all the people you killed in that shed? The shed you built specifically to kill in? What do you think we should…”
Her voice fades into the background, just an annoying hum of noise within my cluttered mind. Did I kill all those people? Did I imagine all those things? Can I be that insane yet feel so sane?
I hear the latch of the door behind me open, then I feel fingers brush across my shoulders, my skin prickling.
“She doesn’t understand, Miranda,” Edwin whispers, his warm breath blowing across my neck.
I glance up at him, my pulse hammering in my temples and sending a jolt of adrenaline throughout my body. Slowly, I look back at Dr. Roberts, wondering if she notices him.
“What?” she asks. “What is it?”
I turn to face Edwin again, and he holds his finger over his lips. “Don’t tell her. We have to finish the book first. It’s almost done, but”—he nods toward Dr. Roberts, who is busy making notes—“she’s in the way. She’d never let us finish it, my dear Miranda. And they must read our words.” A devious smile crosses his lips. “They must read all of our wicked little words.”
But I smile even deeper than he does because I know a secret—they did just finish reading. Every. Last. Fucking. Sentence.
“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.” –Stephen King
WHITE PAWN - Coming January 16th, 2017
US: http://amzn.to/2e7iDAV
UK: http://amzn.to/2e8St2X
CA: http://amzn.to/2eltogy
AU: http://amzn.to/2eliCv2
At first you may think this is a story about love, well, it's not. It's not at all. It could have been. It had the potential to be, but he fucked all that up. I loved him. I loved him to the point of hate. With that said, maybe this is a love story of sorts, because surely to be obsessed with someone there must be a love story somewhere within the madness.
I haven't always been crazy...I swear. It's all his fault. Everything bad in my life is because of him. Justin fucking Wild...
1. Now that you have finished Wicked Little Words, how do you think the character’s interactions, or lack thereof, tied into the ending?
2. What role do you think Jax played in the unraveling of “Miranda’s” mental status?
3. Whose story do you believe you actually read? Miranda and Edwin’s? Elizabeth’s?
4. How did the ending make you feel? What impact did the last sentence have on you as a reader?
5. Now that you’ve read the story, do you recall certain things occurring throughout the story that make more sense now?
6. Did you find any similarities between Edwin and Miranda?
7. How do you think Jax feels at the end of the book? How do you think what he discovered about Miranda will affect him?
8. Do you think there is any redemption for “Miranda” in Jax’s eyes?
9. Do you think it is possible for the imagination to muddle reality and fiction until a person is no longer certain what their reality is?
10. Do you think EA Mercer’s success drove the author insane, or do you think it was something much deeper than that?
There are many people who have helped with this book, but a special thanks goes to Heather Roberts for all of her hard work in promoting and helping keep me on track. You are a wonderful friend and publicist, and must have the patience of a saint to deal with me.
Thank you Joy Editing for the wonderful editing and proofreading job done by Cassie and Devon. And thank you, Leigh Stone for the beautiful formatting job (and for being an amazing person all around).
I’d like to thank Cara Gadero, Lucy Taylor, and Jen Lum for being such wonderful people and always offering support and advice. Love you ladies!
Taylor, it’s been amazing writing this book with you. You’re a talented writer and a wonderful friend.
Thank you to LP Lovell for being an amazing friend who will always be there when I have a mental breakdown. I know I have found a rare friend in you, my British Boo.
Stephanie T., I love you more than you could ever kn
ow. You have always encouraged me. I can’t thank you enough for loving me the way you do.
AJ, I couldn’t think of a better person to be my sea turtle.
Panda 1: I love you and our bamboo forest.
Angela, you make my heart smile.
Finally, to all the amazing bloggers and readers who support these books, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Without you, there would be no reason to write these words. Thank you for letting me do what I love.
I have to first thank the Lord. It’s been a long road, and one I’ve veered off of frequently, but His love and guidance has never wavered. I will never forget the second chance at life He gave me.
Major David Gladney Taylor, thank you for being you and for the sacrifice you and your family have made for this country. You are in my thoughts always.
Michelle, Jake, Joanne, Joe, and Kay, thank you so much for accepting me into your incredible family. I feel honored and blessed to know you. It means the world that through such a tragedy, I was at least able to meet some of the kindest, strongest, most generous people I’ve ever met. Love y’all!
Pops, Brad and Britto, you are my strength. I know, without a doubt, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for your love and support. I love you guys more than anything and can’t thank you enough for sticking it out with me.
To my boys (and girl!), Rob, Krotch, Andrew, and Beth, thank you for always having my back. You know I’ve got yours forever. Same goes for my VETSports crew, Kevin, Margaret, Jennifer, Jenifer, Johnson, Randy and Bryan.
Stevie, what can I say? You’re an amazing co-author and an even better friend. This has been a wonderful writing experience and I look forward to many more.
To my book family, Golden, Michael, Harper, Heidi, Christopher, Reggie, Shauna, Mikey, Amy and of course the other R&E Frat bros, Michael, Daryl, SD, Seth and Eddie, y’all are amazing! This beautiful industry has been like a second family to me and it’s because of you all. Thanks for all that you do, and more importantly, all that you give to others.
To Cat and Cara, thank you for all your hard work and for taking on the complicated job of keeping me in line! You two have been game changers. It’s a true pleasure to work with you and an honor to have you on my team. I of course can’t forget the other 3Bs who work tirelessly to get the right words out of me. Your dedication and commitment is unmatched and so very appreciated! Thank you Jen, Holly, Jenn, Lucy, Amy, Nikki, Blue, Stefani, Angela, Jennifer, and Kristen!
Last, but most certainly not least, a massive thank you to my readers. I never thought people would be interested in reading my stories. I never thought my words were worthy of sharing. You’ve instilled in me a total belief in myself and God’s plan for me that I never had before. Without you, I’d be lost. You mean so much to me and I’ll spend the rest of my life declaring it loudly. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!
Wicked Little Words Page 17
