together.
Brody’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and saw that it was Madison. Immediately, he tensed. Had something else happened? He shouldn’t have ever left her.
“Madison,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Look, I was wondering if I could see the suicide note, Brody. Something about it keeps nagging me.”
The suicide note? Now why would she want to see that? “I can make you a copy. How about if I bring it to Kayla’s place after work?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Against his better judgment, he called to her before she hung up. “Madison?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked gruffly.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Brody. Thank you.”
Why didn’t he feel reassured then?
* * *
Madison couldn’t stand being in her own house alone. But she couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Kayla’s house and staying there alone, either. So instead she collected everything she thought she might need—some clothes that she’d left in the laundry room, her camera, her appointment book—got in her SUV and started driving. The open road seemed safe enough.
But even on the open road she couldn’t outrun her memories. The feeling of the noose around her neck, the needle being injected into her neck, the panic that had raced through her began to close in on her.
Just what the killer wanted, probably. Death was too easy. Once it was done, it was done. But for someone twisted, playing these mental games could really give them their kicks.
How had her would-be killer gotten her cell-phone number? Whoever had done this had planned in advance. He’d left the noose in her room, he’d sent her that stupid egg timer, he’d probably studied her to see when she came and went.
This wasn’t a random act of violence. But why Madison? Why, of all the people in Seaford, had the killer picked her to torture? It just didn’t make sense. Did he have some kind of connection to her?
She just had to trust that God was watching over her, and rely on her faith to get her through this. Her faith had been her only comfort in life’s trying times. She knew it could sustain her now, too. It also helped to know that Brody was doing his job and would track down the madman. Trusting both God and Brody was all she could do. She wasn’t one to play detective herself.
Except she did want to see that suicide note. Something had been bugging her. She wasn’t sure what. But the killer had been specific about what she wrote. There had to be a reason for that.
She hadn’t been able to reach the baseball coach over at the high school, so while she was out she decided to swing by there. Kids were on summer break right now, but she knew that Coach Daniel would be at the school. She needed to talk to him about rescheduling.
The school had been a big client for her and she didn’t want to lose the business. Madison took all of the sports pictures for the school, as well as yearbook photos. Thankfully the baseball coach was someone Madison knew from church. Daniel only moved here eight months ago, but he, in some ways, seemed like the brother she never had. They had an easy, lighthearted friendship that Madison appreciated. The man was close to her age and was known for always wearing a baseball cap backward, she assumed to partially cover up his early hair loss.
Sweltering heat surrounded her when she emerged from her SUV. She hurried across the parking lot toward the baseball field. In the outfield Madison spotted members of the varsity team running through drills. She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked for Daniel. She knew he had a makeshift office beside the concession stand, so she decided to search for him there.
She stepped onto the concrete floor of the dimly lit building, bypassed the cabinets stocked with candy bars and chips and headed for the door on the far side of the room. Rock music blared from that direction. She tapped at the door, but heard no
Brody’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and saw that it was Madison. Immediately, he tensed. Had something else happened? He shouldn’t have ever left her.
“Madison,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Look, I was wondering if I could see the suicide note, Brody. Something about it keeps nagging me.”
The suicide note? Now why would she want to see that? “I can make you a copy. How about if I bring it to Kayla’s place after work?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Against his better judgment, he called to her before she hung up. “Madison?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked gruffly.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Brody. Thank you.”
Why didn’t he feel reassured then?
* * *
Madison couldn’t stand being in her own house alone. But she couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Kayla’s house and staying there alone, either. So instead she collected everything she thought she might need—some clothes that she’d left in the laundry room, her camera, her appointment book—got in her SUV and started driving. The open road seemed safe enough.
But even on the open road she couldn’t outrun her memories. The feeling of the noose around her neck, the needle being injected into her neck, the panic that had raced through her began to close in on her.
Just what the killer wanted, probably. Death was too easy. Once it was done, it was done. But for someone twisted, playing these mental games could really give them their kicks.
How had her would-be killer gotten her cell-phone number? Whoever had done this had planned in advance. He’d left the noose in her room, he’d sent her that stupid egg timer, he’d probably studied her to see when she came and went.
This wasn’t a random act of violence. But why Madison? Why, of all the people in Seaford, had the killer picked her to torture? It just didn’t make sense. Did he have some kind of connection to her?
She just had to trust that God was watching over her, and rely on her faith to get her through this. Her faith had been her only comfort in life’s trying times. She knew it could sustain her now, too. It also helped to know that Brody was doing his job and would track down the madman. Trusting both God and Brody was all she could do. She wasn’t one to play detective herself.
Except she did want to see that suicide note. Something had been bugging her. She wasn’t sure what. But the killer had been specific about what she wrote. There had to be a reason for that.
She hadn’t been able to reach the baseball coach over at the high school, so while she was out she decided to swing by there. Kids were on summer break right now, but she knew that Coach Daniel would be at the school. She needed to talk to him about rescheduling.
The school had been a big client for her and she didn’t want to lose the business. Madison took all of the sports pictures for the school, as well as yearbook photos. Thankfully the baseball coach was someone Madison knew from church. Daniel only moved here eight months ago, but he, in some ways, seemed like the brother she never had. They had an easy, lighthearted friendship that Madison appreciated. The man was close to her age and was known for always wearing a baseball cap backward, she assumed to partially cover up his early hair loss.
Sweltering heat surrounded her when she emerged from her SUV. She hurried across the parking lot toward the baseball field. In the outfield Madison spotted members of the varsity team running through drills. She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked for Daniel. She knew he had a makeshift office beside the concession stand, so she decided to search for him there.
She stepped onto the concrete floor of the dimly lit building, bypassed the cabinets stocked with candy bars and chips and headed for the door on the far side of the room. Rock music blared from that direction. She tapped at the door, but heard no
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