Like, Follow, Kill

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I cleared my throat and clasped my hands in front of me to keep them from trembling. I hadn’t drunk a drop today, and my body was feeling it …

  “I would like to say I’m sorry for what I did. I know that taking Chris’s remains was disrespectful and wrong, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to do that. I know that now. But I wasn’t thinking. Still, there’s no excuse. I feel ashamed for my actions. And I’m willing to face the consequences, whatever those might be.”

  Bonnie Brown rolled her eyes at me, while Chris’s siblings wouldn’t even look me in the eye at all. Their faces were mashed up in disgust.

  I smiled my imitation-Valerie smile, slow and charming, then I turned around to face the judge.

  He gave Bonnie Brown a sympathetic smile, then his eyes hardened on me.

  “Grief is a funny thing,” he said, his voice solemn and low. “I lost my wife a few years back and at first, I was coping without her just fine. But then, one day, it just hit me like a load of bricks. And you know what I did? I went out and bought a motorcycle. My wife would have killed me for it …

  “Now, what you did, Ms. Brown … that went way beyond an impulsive purchase, but I do think that some people can understand the out-of-body experience and the unencumbered pain that comes with losing a loved one, especially in your case. Your husband’s death was so sudden, so horrific … and the ashes have been returned to your mother-in-law, intact, correct?”

  “Yes, they have, Your Honor.”

  “And you still deny taking the vase, or the pot …?” The Judge ruffled through papers from his high perch on the bench.

  “Your Honor, respectfully, if my client admitted to stealing the ashes, then she would have gladly admitted to stealing the pot … and might I remind you that Ms. Brown also accused my client of taking a gun. But that gun was later found at Bonnie Brown’s residence, in her late son’s truck.”

  My attorney was a tall, Amazonian woman, with black hair and big bushy brows. She had a voice that instilled fear in people, including me, and I decided then, that she was worth the three grand I’d paid her. Selling the truck had been hard, but I’d do it again if given a second chance.

  “Very well, then. Ms. Brown, I am going to let you off easily today. I hope that as you move forward, you will consider undergoing some kind of counseling, perhaps seek out some group support …? There are groups you can attend for bereaved spouses … they helped me tremendously. And with that said, I’m ordering you to pay a 500-dollar fine. That is all.”

  A chorus of groans rang out behind me, but I didn’t look back. I refused to give them the satisfaction. They have their damn box back, what more do they want?

  I shook hands with my lawyer and thanked her repeatedly. Then I waited for the Browns to file out, one by one, before walking out of the courtroom alone.

  I couldn’t help feeling like I’d gotten away with murder.

  Chapter 25

  One year later …

  Moving boxes were stacked in the corner of the cabin, collecting dust. I needed to unload them, but there was no reason to rush … I had my furniture in place and most of the things I needed, and I didn’t plan on having company over any time soon.

  The sun was rising over the mountains, an orange, seeping glow that cast rainbow prisms all over my new home.

  One good thing that came out of my trip to Tennessee: I’d fallen in love with the mountains, and the subdivision where Chris Jared had once lived.

  I opened the front door and stepped outside, letting the warm Tennessee sunshine color my face. Sometimes, for a split second, it feels damn good to be alive. Lately, I’d been consumed by these flashes of euphoria, like everything was finally coming together. Pieces of a jigsaw falling in place.

  This was my favorite time of day—the rustic scent of fir trees and magnolia blossoms in my backyard, and the fact that there were no neighbors around for miles.

  It was quiet here—but not the kind of quiet that gave me the creeps. It felt like silence … the peaceful kind. Up here in the mountains, you could hear a pin drop. You could also scream and never be heard.

  I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and smiled at Hannah’s text:

  Hannah: Good morning, Milly! How are you enjoying the new place?! I’ll have to set a date to come visit soon. Guess what came in the mail today?!

  Cell service out here was spotty at times, and it took several minutes for the picture she had sent to load.

  My lips curled into a warm smile as I stared at an image of my sister holding a book in her hands. She was covering half of her face with it, but I could see in her eyes she was proud.

  The cover was haunting and beautiful, but my favorite part was my name etched in gold at the bottom. FOLLOW ME, the title read. By Camilla Hilbro. I’d decided to use my maiden name, and seeing it emblazoned across the cover now, I knew it was the right decision.

  I wrote back to Hannah:

  Me: So glad it came! I really hope you like it. Now you know why I was hiding indoors all that time … I was busy writing! I still can’t believe I pulled it off.

  I didn’t have any of my own copies of FOLLOW ME yet, but truthfully, I didn’t need them. My favorite version of the story was the real one, the original—hundreds of milky-white pages written in Valerie’s neat little scrawl. There were three black-and-white notebooks full of words—the story she’d been writing for years.

  No one will ever know I didn’t write it. It’s not like Valerie can tell them.

  The truth was, I did write some of it. In Valerie’s version of the story, a lonely, heartless girl does anything to gain fame. It’s pathetic, really. She makes the world fall in love with her, one follower at a time.

  The story wasn’t finished when I found it, tucked inside her pink-and-white Jan Sport backpack. My guess is that the story would have had a happy ending—the girl gains the notoriety she always wanted. All her well-laid-out plans produce the fame she desires, and she goes on to live happily ever after … blah. Boring. I expected more from her, honestly.

  But in my version, the girl’s greed became the sword she fell upon. Valerie didn’t get the fame she wanted, not by a long shot, so why should her book character?

  Valerie did ninety percent of the work for me, but that ending … personally, I think my ending is what made the story.

  As popular as Valerie was online, no one seemed to notice her absence in real life. Her YouTube channel never came to fruition, but she did make one final Instagram post:

  A mesmerizing picture of her, eyes haunted and dark, standing by a lagoon in the Phi Phi Islands, in Thailand. Valerie was right: perception is everything! And it’s amazing what you can pull off using apps like Photoshop.

  It’s time to disconnect for a while and focus on my writing. I won’t leave until I finish my epic novel, even if it takes forever. Hope you guys understand!

  #metime #byebye #sorrynotsorry

  xoxoxoxo

  Valerie

  The photo received a few likes (including one from yours truly) and one comment from Valerie’s Aunt Janet:

  I will miss you, Sweetheart. But I’m so proud of you for focusing on your art and I can’t wait to read your book someday.

  Little did poor, resurrected Aunt Janet know—Valerie wouldn’t be writing any books at all. Janet deserved better anyway—after all, Valerie had used her phantom death as a ploy for attention …

  Although I’ll miss following Valerie online, she’s with me all the time now. In fact, I feel like some of her magnetism floated out of her body and slipped into mine. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see her face staring back at me. We do sort of look alike, I think.

  Now she’s my muse in the corner, always smiling, and as I get to work on book two, I know she’ll stick around to help me.

  Back inside the cabin, I stared down at the pile of boxes. Just thinking about unpacking made my limbs ache. Maybe I could unload one box today.

  First, I popped a couple pain pills. I had Vale
rie to thank for my pill stash as well—her little black bag of pharmaceutical samples had held me over all year and would for a few more months …

  I’d labeled each one of the boxes, to make them easier to sort through.

  I dug through the pile until I found the one labeled “Chris”.

  “Home sweet home,” I said, slicing the packing tape from the lid and taking out the beautiful, ornate water pot. It was heavier than it used to be, now that Chris was inside.

  I’d returned the box to Bonnie Brown, that much wasn’t a lie. But I’d carefully swapped out Chris’s ashes for some other ones. You wouldn’t believe how many hours you have to burn a body before it turns to ash. Especially when there’s more than one to deal with …

  Since I’d re-sealed the box, Bonnie would never know the difference.

  Just the thought of the Browns clustered together in their living room, worshiping their precious box, while I enjoyed my beautiful pot full of Chris, gave me butterflies of delight. Not only did she have evidence of my crimes right under her nose, but she also had the murder weapon. I didn’t return the gun to its original spot beneath her bed; it would have been too risky, breaking in with those cameras out front. This time, I parked at the bottom of the hill and bypassed the cameras completely. I went to the back, to Chris’s old Dodge. I used the key I still had to unlock it, and I placed the gun under the driver’s seat. No one would know I put it there—except for Bonnie, of course. She claimed someone moved it—someone being me, of course—but since she’s so old, no one will ever believe her.

  I placed the pot on my fireplace mantle, making sure it was centered. A posy of daisies—Chris’s favorite—rested beside it. It’s perfect.

  My life is perfect.

  I’d used my book advance to put a down payment on the cabin, and eventually, I’d have enough money to hire a good plastic surgeon to fix my face. Then, I’d really look like Valerie …

  Inside my bedroom, I took my cell phone back out and pulled up the picture of Hannah holding FOLLOW ME. I sighed with pleasure.

  “Would you like to see a picture of our book?”

  I knelt down in front of Valerie on the floor and held the phone up in front of her face. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  Valerie was gagged—harder to smile that way—her hands chained to the radiator. Her big blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she stared at the picture.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the ending. But, hey, heroes are overrated, don’t you think? And just between me and you … you’re not as nice as your main character was. Not even close.” Valerie was trying to say something, jerking her arms back and forth, muffled words coming through the scarf in her mouth.

  “What’s that, now? I can’t hear you,” I said, smiling.

  I’d been hopeful that we could be friends … that after a while, I’d grow on her and she’d learn to accept our life together. But truth is, it was her that wasn’t growing on me … pretty soon, I might have to let her go. Just like I did with Chris and Lincoln.

  It’s amazing what you can order online these days—dog cages big enough to hold humans. I’d kept her in a cage until the move; I thought she’d be happier here in the mountains, where she could move around more, with no fear of being seen.

  But alas, her reaction was disappointing. Who knew that Valerie Hutchens could be such a dud?

  She was still talking, struggling to voice her concerns through the thick cloth, but I was listening to something else. A sound that didn’t belong here in my isolated paradise.

  Gravel rumbling beneath tires brought me to the window. I peeked through the side of the blinds at a beat-up truck in my driveway. Could it be …?

  “You better stay quiet, or I’ll kill you. You understand?” I pointed a finger at Valerie, my eyes wild and serious at the same time. She nodded that she understood.

  I closed the door to my bedroom and tried to detangle my hair with my fingers.

  I wasn’t expecting any visitors, but I knew who it must be. Besides Hannah, he was the only person I’d given my new address to: Chris.

  No, not one of the Chrises I killed, but a new one. Chris Payne.

  Chris: Chris that I met on a dating app. He’d been pursuing me relentlessly, despite my mangled face in my photos.

  I admit—it was his name that caught my attention. But not only that—he kind of looks like my Chris. I just can’t get over how much they look alike …

  I opened the door, excited to see him, but also irritated by his abrupt visit. Don’t people have manners anymore?

  My smile faded, my brain scrambling to place the familiar face …

  “Hello, again. Long time no see.” We had barely spoken when we were younger, but I recognized his voice. He was older now, his face more chiseled, his body more defined. Luke. What the hell is he doing here?

  “What do you want?” I squeaked.

  “You know what I want. I want to know where Valerie is. I enjoyed our little talks online.”

  He thrust a sharp bowie knife at my belly and I leapt back in surprise. He pushed his way inside the cabin, closing the door with a thud behind him.

  “It was you on the dating app?”

  Luke winked, then started looking around the cabin suspiciously.

  “What do you want?” I asked, quietly.

  “I knew when you posted an excerpt of your new book that it didn’t belong to you. She let me read it, did you know that? All these years … she sent me pages and pages. I read them so many times that I could recite them in my sleep.”

  He stepped closer with the knife. The bright-yellow sun was pouring through the drapes, reflecting off the shiny metal of his weapon.

  “Oh, Luke. You weren’t special. Valerie just has this way of making everyone feel like that … it’s an act. And you’re wrong about the book. I wrote most of it. She gave it to me; she asked me to make sure it got published …”

  “Oh, bullshit. Valerie would never share the limelight with a loser like you. And you’re wrong about me and her … she was in love with me. Always has been.”

  I watched as Luke drew the blinds. My perfect cabin suddenly felt like a tomb. My tomb.

  “You’re pretty isolated out here,” Luke said, smiling with all his teeth. In the bedroom, I could hear Valerie’s muffled, hope-filled screams. Luke glanced over at my closed bedroom door, his eyes glowing with pleasure.

  He pressed the cold, hard knife to my belly.

  I guess that old saying is true—what goes around comes around.

  As the blade tore through my skin, it felt warm … nothing like I had imagined. Slowly, I opened my mouth.

  It’s time.

  The scream started in my belly and erupted from my throat. I’d like to think it echoed through the mountains for days …

  Finally, sweet release.

  THE ONE NIGHT STAND – COMING IN 2020

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  Chapter 1

  NOW

  When I think about Delanie, I think about Dillan.

  Three pounds, two ounces. The delivery nurse held her out to me in the palm of her hand, like a baby bird in its mother’s nest. And right on cue, my tiny fowl had opened her eyes and mouth, changing my life forever.

  She’s alive. Delanie is going to live, I’d thought. But in those beady black eyes and chirpy pink lips … I still saw the son who didn’t make it: Dillan.

  There’s Delanie, but no Dillan.

  “Only one twin survived.” That doctor’s words would haunt me for the next fifteen years, and probably longer. She called it something … twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. In layman’s terms, she described it as one twin donating blood to the other. My beautiful Delanie … she was head-strong and iron-willed, and it didn’t surprise me that she was the stronger of the two. Dillan’s tiny heart couldn’t sustain the blood loss and he died.

  So, when I woke up to find my fifteen-year-old daughter standing over me, her eyes like shiny black marbles glowing in the moonlit shadows of my room, the fir
st thing I thought about was Dillan.

  Even now, Dillan is still one of my first thoughts each morning. I wonder what he would have looked like now, as a teenager. Would he look like Delanie, with black hair and eyes, only more boyish …?

  “Mom!” Delanie hissed, tugging the blankets from my chest. It’s the hiss that did it—a warning sign, that Delanie’s about to scream, or in the very least, get angry and throw a few things.

  “W-what is it, honey? What time is it?”

  My eyes fought to stay open, my contact lenses that I wasn’t supposed to sleep in at night, sticking to the backs of my eyelids.

  Delanie was standing up straight now, her skin so pasty and pale that it was almost translucent in the low-lit room. She had this funny look on her face.

  I know that look.

  Not anger, which was her go-to emotion these days … and not sadness, which was probably the runner-up … no, not either of those.

  Delanie is scared. My baby girl is scared, I realized with a start. I sat up, too fast … my head swimming as I reached for her.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Delanie’s eyes were fixated on my bed, but she wasn’t looking at me.

  “There’s a stranger in your bed,” her words like shivery little whispers in the dark.

  My scalp prickled with fear. I leapt from the bed, nearly knocking her backwards as I stared at the shape of a man. He was lying on the usually empty side of my bed.

  What the hell?

  He had long legs, so long they were hanging over the end of the bed. Hairy toes poked out from beneath the blankets.

  He was buried beneath the sheets, except his gangly toes and a few blond pokes of hair pricking out from the top …

  My brain tried to catch up with what my eyes were seeing, but Delanie cut in: “Who the hell is he?” She took the words straight out of my mouth.

  No longer was she that scared little girl I remembered from her youth … she had transitioned back into her usual mood: angry at times, and don’t-give-a-fuck mostly.