someone. My roommate never liked Felix and doesn’t care that he’s gone.
I knew you would understand. How are Scooter and Belle? I hope they’re doing well.
By the way, I’m thinking of transferring to Atlanta Tech in the fall. I applied in the computer engineering department and my professor here gave me a terrific letter of recommendation. Do you know anything about AT? If you don’t, that’s okay.
Talk to you later, I’m going to take Felix’s food and toys to the SPCA, maybe they can use them. Maybe I’ll come back with another cat, though I don’t think anyone can replace Felix.
Your friend.
He signed off with his auto-signature and the avatar of a bouncing smiley face.
If this didn’t work, there would soon be a time when she would let him know everything. He’d make certain of that.
Angie had told him things because he was safe. She trusted him. And she betrayed him by whoring around.
Slut.
He glanced up, wondering if he’d spoken out loud. But no one looked at him. The library was quiet, everyone studying. Normally he wouldn’t go to the library to go online—he didn’t have to, he had a great setup at home—but there was a pretty girl he liked to look at. She worked part-time Tuesday and Thursday nights.
Becca. Not as pretty a name, not as pretty a girl, as Elizabeth, but she was close. So he came to the library when she worked just to look, to hold her image close to him so when he went home he could picture her. Her wide mouth, red lips, sweet smile. He wanted to kiss her, but he never approached her. Twice, she’d come to him to gather books off the table. She smiled at him, murmured hello, complimented his shirt.
When he first met Angie, she was also nice to him. She talked to him, actually seemed interested in what he had to say.
She was a liar. When he’d found her MyJournal page the fantasy that was sweet Angie vanished. He was devastated, livid. She was a whore, a slut, just like the woman who’d turned against his father.
They were all better off dead.
His laptop computer beeped that an e-mail had arrived.
Elizabeth.
Heart pounding, he turned his gaze from Becca working the desk and opened the message. It wasn’t from Elizabeth. It was an automatic e-mail alert.
MyJournal tracker has found a recent update on your track list. Click the link below to be taken directly to the updated content.
MyJournal.iloverealmen.com
Angie’s journal.
For a brief moment, a split second, he felt every eye in the library looking at him. Of course they weren’t. They didn’t know what he’d done, they didn’t know who he was. Becca didn’t even know his real name.
He almost clicked on the link. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead he packed up his laptop, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He rushed out, heard Becca ask behind him, “Is something wrong?” He just shook his head at her and left the building. Ran to his car, heart pounding. Drove home. Fast. Too fast.
Slow down. Slow down or you’ll get a ticket.
He eased up on the accelerator a bit, but his head ran through every possible scenario.
That Angie wasn’t dead, that she was alive and the police would be waiting for him at home.
That she was dead and writing from Hell.
That she was alive but didn’t remember anything.
You’re dead! You’re dead!
In the glare of headlights, he saw her ghostly body, her bloody mouth open, accusing him.
You raped me.
You’re dead. You can’t tell anyone what happened. You can’t say a word. You’re dead, you slut!
His heart continued to vibrate between his ears, a loud ringing, and he couldn’t hear anything but his internal organs working, working. Heart pumping blood through his veins, his head swelling, filling with certain knowledge that he would be discovered.
He escaped home. Locked, bolted the door. Ran into his bedroom, slammed the door as he tossed his laptop onto his bed. Angie’s soundless scream vibrated in his head and he sank to the floor.
You’re
I knew you would understand. How are Scooter and Belle? I hope they’re doing well.
By the way, I’m thinking of transferring to Atlanta Tech in the fall. I applied in the computer engineering department and my professor here gave me a terrific letter of recommendation. Do you know anything about AT? If you don’t, that’s okay.
Talk to you later, I’m going to take Felix’s food and toys to the SPCA, maybe they can use them. Maybe I’ll come back with another cat, though I don’t think anyone can replace Felix.
Your friend.
He signed off with his auto-signature and the avatar of a bouncing smiley face.
If this didn’t work, there would soon be a time when she would let him know everything. He’d make certain of that.
Angie had told him things because he was safe. She trusted him. And she betrayed him by whoring around.
Slut.
He glanced up, wondering if he’d spoken out loud. But no one looked at him. The library was quiet, everyone studying. Normally he wouldn’t go to the library to go online—he didn’t have to, he had a great setup at home—but there was a pretty girl he liked to look at. She worked part-time Tuesday and Thursday nights.
Becca. Not as pretty a name, not as pretty a girl, as Elizabeth, but she was close. So he came to the library when she worked just to look, to hold her image close to him so when he went home he could picture her. Her wide mouth, red lips, sweet smile. He wanted to kiss her, but he never approached her. Twice, she’d come to him to gather books off the table. She smiled at him, murmured hello, complimented his shirt.
When he first met Angie, she was also nice to him. She talked to him, actually seemed interested in what he had to say.
She was a liar. When he’d found her MyJournal page the fantasy that was sweet Angie vanished. He was devastated, livid. She was a whore, a slut, just like the woman who’d turned against his father.
They were all better off dead.
His laptop computer beeped that an e-mail had arrived.
Elizabeth.
Heart pounding, he turned his gaze from Becca working the desk and opened the message. It wasn’t from Elizabeth. It was an automatic e-mail alert.
MyJournal tracker has found a recent update on your track list. Click the link below to be taken directly to the updated content.
MyJournal.iloverealmen.com
Angie’s journal.
For a brief moment, a split second, he felt every eye in the library looking at him. Of course they weren’t. They didn’t know what he’d done, they didn’t know who he was. Becca didn’t even know his real name.
He almost clicked on the link. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead he packed up his laptop, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He rushed out, heard Becca ask behind him, “Is something wrong?” He just shook his head at her and left the building. Ran to his car, heart pounding. Drove home. Fast. Too fast.
Slow down. Slow down or you’ll get a ticket.
He eased up on the accelerator a bit, but his head ran through every possible scenario.
That Angie wasn’t dead, that she was alive and the police would be waiting for him at home.
That she was dead and writing from Hell.
That she was alive but didn’t remember anything.
You’re dead! You’re dead!
In the glare of headlights, he saw her ghostly body, her bloody mouth open, accusing him.
You raped me.
You’re dead. You can’t tell anyone what happened. You can’t say a word. You’re dead, you slut!
His heart continued to vibrate between his ears, a loud ringing, and he couldn’t hear anything but his internal organs working, working. Heart pumping blood through his veins, his head swelling, filling with certain knowledge that he would be discovered.
He escaped home. Locked, bolted the door. Ran into his bedroom, slammed the door as he tossed his laptop onto his bed. Angie’s soundless scream vibrated in his head and he sank to the floor.
You’re
Similar Books
