Number Seventy-Five by Ashley Fontainne Read Free Book Online Page A

including most of the population of Bainsville, just hunkered down in our homes and waited for the skirmish to end. The local restaurants mysteriously ran out of food when reporters walked in. The two motels were suddenly full. Doors remained closed and mouths shut.
    I would lie awake at night locked like a prisoner in my house and peek through the blinds, waiting for the moment they packed up their shit and left after hitting the “small town” wall that had been erected. That didn’t happen quickly enough for me--or the entire town--so I took a proactive stance and let the bloodsuckers feast for a few minutes. I held an impromptu press conference on my front porch and gave them what they wanted—the gory details.
    Soon after, the annoying trucks lumbered out of town, off to intrude and invade on the lives of the next poor “headline” newsmaker. A collective sigh of relief swept through the town when the last van disappeared out of sight.
    But not through me.
    I had taken a leave of absence from my job at Mercy General, unsure when, if ever, I would return. Sleep evaded me. It had been replaced by continuous pacing inside the walls of my home. My emotions ran the gamut, flipping violently from one end of the spectrum to the next. When the betrayal took center stage, I felt the urge to grab my parents and simply move to another town; away from the agony and memories of what happened. Away from the torture that continuously ripped at my heart, knowing my near death was orchestrated by my closest friend. Add on top of that, the shame I felt from not only joining a dating site, but then the stupidity of meeting a stranger face to face. I struggled with not only the betrayal, but my feelings of humiliation.
    Another fun emotion that visited often was guilt. I had been a caregiver my entire career. I had devoted my being to saving lives, not taking them. I didn’t know how to live with the fact that I killed Samuel, even if it was thrust upon me in a split second, life-or-death situation. Kill or be killed didn’t ease the heavy sense of remorse for his death. The Bible didn’t leave an exclusionary clause under the commandment “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” I had been grappling with that baggage, so how would I handle actually plotting out and committing cold-blooded murder? Would my psyche survive? Would my soul be forever damned?
    Then the rage would take over. As the red-hot fury burned through my thoughts, it wiped out everything in its path. This wasn’t just about me or my pain. There were seventy-four women who silently screamed for vengeance from their graves. Seventy-four women murdered and whose families now wore the permanent scar of their untimely and violent death. Seventy-four mounds of black dirt that haunted my dreams. These women deserved for me to be their voice of justice, so my rage won out and smothered all the other emotions in one giant gulp.
    The cab pulled into the entrance of our bungalow, the jarring stop shaking me back to reality. My decision had been made, and the time had come to execute it.
    “My God, Mandy. This place is amazing! You spared no expense, did you?”
    I smiled as we exited the car.
    “Nope. I wanted this to be the vacation of a lifetime!”
     

     
    THE FIRST TWO days were spent frolicking on the beach, drinks in hand and backs slathered with oil. While our skin cooked to a deep copper brown, our conversations were minimal and topics lighthearted. The deeper conversation that both of us secretly pined for would happen on our upcoming hike.
    The hotel had put us in touch with a mountain guide who spent two hours telling us about our options. Which trail we should take. What we should expect to see on each one. He warned us of what dangers lurked on the steep climb, vehement that we not veer from the clearly marked path. We filled out the registration papers and each nodded and smiled, thanking him for the maps and headed back to our bungalow.
    “I believe he thinks we are