her throat.
That sick fuck.
I will hunt you down, you cocksucker. You will learn what pain is .
I don’t know how I managed to remain so calm and controlled for those few minutes following my discovery of Camille’s grisly murder scene.
The mind has a way of helping people cope when confronted with a crisis situation. Typical emotional reactions shut off until the crisis is over and one goes into survival mode.
A suitcase lay open on the floor. From the girly clothing that spilled out of the bag, it was pretty obvious it belonged to Camille. I grabbed a pair of her socks and slipped them over my hands before opening each of the dresser drawers, looking for other things of hers. They were mostly empty, except for a bit of lingerie. I stuffed it into the suitcase and zipped it shut.
I checked the nightstand drawers for anything else of hers, such as another journal. I found nothing except for the token copy of the Bible, which I was pretty sure had been placed there by the Gideons.
There was no men’s clothing or other evidence that her killer had been staying in the room with her. He must have been shaving and changing clothes elsewhere.
I was no forensics expert but it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened from looking at the room. The bastard had turned on Camille in a rage after I hung up on him. He slashed her throat, nearly decapitating her. She managed to flee into the bathroom as the life was draining from her severed blood vessels.
Cutting her throat hadn’t been enough for the sick bastard. He’d actually taken the time to slice her tits off and feed them to her.
My use of Camille’s old room at the White Surf Motel had made him think she was connected to whatever secret he thought the caller was threatening to reveal.
Making that phone call was a mistake – the biggest mistake I’d ever made, and my little blunder had cost Camille her life. I had murdered my own sister as surely as if I had wielded the blade myself.
Suitcase in hand, I climbed out the window and down the fire escape, keeping the socks on my hands until I was on the ground.
I made it back to my room at the Cobalt before I lost my mind. Once locked securely in with the door chained and the curtains drawn, I turned up the TV to full volume and locked myself in the bathroom.
The scream I had been holding at the back of my throat since I found Camille finally escaped.
I crumpled to the floor and screamed.
And screamed.
~ Chapter 9 ~
Losing my Marbles
I don’t know how long I lay on the bathroom floor, curled into the fetal position after my screams gave way to chest-splitting sobs. I had no voice left, but the tears showed no sign of stopping. Time stood still as I lay on the cold, grimy tile floor and bawled my heart out.
I wanted to be dead. I had killed my sister, my sweet Cammie. She was the other half of me; the good half.
The normal half.
Cammie made me feel like I was normal and gave me a reason to live. Without her I was nothing. I was a freak, a half-person.
Without Cammie, I wanted to be dead too. I deserved to be dead for what I’d done to her.
If only I hadn’t made that phone call. If only I hadn’t been so fucking stupid.
If only I had never been born.
I wasn’t sure if I had dozed off or simply shut down for a while but at some point I became aware of the need to piss. I slowly rose to my feet, stiff and sore from hours on the cold floor.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and faced Camille’s murderer for the first time.
The face that stared back at me had eyes nearly swollen shut from crying and the imprint of the tile floor on one cheek, but it was still her face.
Camille’s face.
I wanted to slash that face to ribbons so I would never have to look her in the eye again, but it would be too much like slicing Camille up all over again.
My punishment for killing my sister was having to look at her face every time I looked in the mirror, for the rest of my life. How much
That sick fuck.
I will hunt you down, you cocksucker. You will learn what pain is .
I don’t know how I managed to remain so calm and controlled for those few minutes following my discovery of Camille’s grisly murder scene.
The mind has a way of helping people cope when confronted with a crisis situation. Typical emotional reactions shut off until the crisis is over and one goes into survival mode.
A suitcase lay open on the floor. From the girly clothing that spilled out of the bag, it was pretty obvious it belonged to Camille. I grabbed a pair of her socks and slipped them over my hands before opening each of the dresser drawers, looking for other things of hers. They were mostly empty, except for a bit of lingerie. I stuffed it into the suitcase and zipped it shut.
I checked the nightstand drawers for anything else of hers, such as another journal. I found nothing except for the token copy of the Bible, which I was pretty sure had been placed there by the Gideons.
There was no men’s clothing or other evidence that her killer had been staying in the room with her. He must have been shaving and changing clothes elsewhere.
I was no forensics expert but it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened from looking at the room. The bastard had turned on Camille in a rage after I hung up on him. He slashed her throat, nearly decapitating her. She managed to flee into the bathroom as the life was draining from her severed blood vessels.
Cutting her throat hadn’t been enough for the sick bastard. He’d actually taken the time to slice her tits off and feed them to her.
My use of Camille’s old room at the White Surf Motel had made him think she was connected to whatever secret he thought the caller was threatening to reveal.
Making that phone call was a mistake – the biggest mistake I’d ever made, and my little blunder had cost Camille her life. I had murdered my own sister as surely as if I had wielded the blade myself.
Suitcase in hand, I climbed out the window and down the fire escape, keeping the socks on my hands until I was on the ground.
I made it back to my room at the Cobalt before I lost my mind. Once locked securely in with the door chained and the curtains drawn, I turned up the TV to full volume and locked myself in the bathroom.
The scream I had been holding at the back of my throat since I found Camille finally escaped.
I crumpled to the floor and screamed.
And screamed.
~ Chapter 9 ~
Losing my Marbles
I don’t know how long I lay on the bathroom floor, curled into the fetal position after my screams gave way to chest-splitting sobs. I had no voice left, but the tears showed no sign of stopping. Time stood still as I lay on the cold, grimy tile floor and bawled my heart out.
I wanted to be dead. I had killed my sister, my sweet Cammie. She was the other half of me; the good half.
The normal half.
Cammie made me feel like I was normal and gave me a reason to live. Without her I was nothing. I was a freak, a half-person.
Without Cammie, I wanted to be dead too. I deserved to be dead for what I’d done to her.
If only I hadn’t made that phone call. If only I hadn’t been so fucking stupid.
If only I had never been born.
I wasn’t sure if I had dozed off or simply shut down for a while but at some point I became aware of the need to piss. I slowly rose to my feet, stiff and sore from hours on the cold floor.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and faced Camille’s murderer for the first time.
The face that stared back at me had eyes nearly swollen shut from crying and the imprint of the tile floor on one cheek, but it was still her face.
Camille’s face.
I wanted to slash that face to ribbons so I would never have to look her in the eye again, but it would be too much like slicing Camille up all over again.
My punishment for killing my sister was having to look at her face every time I looked in the mirror, for the rest of my life. How much
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