Snuff by Melissa Simonson Read Free Book Online

clenching mine, I realize I can tell when he’s lying, too.  I must know him as well as he knows me. 
    He says I’m like Red Bull with a splash of crack cocaine, a rush of blood that makes his head swirl.  In contrast to my supposed eccentricities, he’s predictable and safe, like a quilt my now-dead grandmother made.  He keeps me warm and doesn’t ask where I’ve been, who I’ve been doing it with, or why I’m even awake at such a late hour.
    Though I don’t feel like Red Bull at present.  More like liquid Valium—slow and stupid.
    “What happened, baby?  You weren’t—?”
    “No.”  I wish all that happened was rape. 
    “Thank God.” 
    Is that who I should thank? 
    Jack sees all kinds of living, breathing horror stories of rape during his intern rotations in the hospital.  Girls with necklaces of bruises are in and out of the ER day and night.  They leave with wet eyes and white paper bags full of preventative STD meds and Plan B. 
    He runs a hand through his black hair.  It’s grown out in the weeks I haven’t seen him . “I love you so much.  God.  I always knew I loved you, but it never hit as hard as it did when you were gone.”
    My heart twists like the spines of his old med school books.  I try to tell him I love him too, but the words strangle on my tongue.  I’m not worthy of his affection.  I haven’t seen myself in weeks but I’m betting my outer layers match my hideous insides. 
    “I was pissed when you didn’t come home.  I thought you’d decided to work a double and didn’t tell me.”  His eyes snap shut, and his forehead seals against mine.  “I was going to propose when you got home. I had that rosé you like.  My grandma gave me her engagement ring.”
    Abby’s wedding ring needles my knuckle.  I can feel it riding loose on her skinny finger when I clamp my hand around hers. 
    “Five years is a long time,” I say, for lack of anything better.  My longest relationship before Jack was zero days. “ I’ve never had a boyfriend that long.  People get tattoos, and I think that’s too big of a commitment.”
    A laugh that she can’t fully execute gurgles in her throat.  “Getting married was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
    Vomit rushes my throat.    

SEVENTEEN
     
    “Let’s get this over with.” Sergeant Jennings slammed herself into a swivel chair in a conference room the hospital set up. 
    John slid into the seat beside her.  “ Go through everything in chronological order.”
    “No shit, Boss.” 
    “It’s John.”
    Her scowl slipped a little before she slapped it back into place.  “Lisette,” she grudgingly offered, and turned to tap at the keyboard of a laptop. Four side-by-side photographs popped up. 
    “This is Beth Grant and Rebecca Adams.  They were reported missing two days apart, a little over three months ago.  Their phones and purses were found at the abduction sites, but we think he took their wallets; we couldn’t find them anywhere.  No signs of a large struggle. We found Rebecca on the side of the road in Boyle Heights.  She was holding Beth’s body and a cell phone.  It wasn’t hers—it was a burner he bought for her to use.  Came up with jack shit tracing where he bought it, so it had to be cash. Rebecca was catatonic and didn’t use the phone. Taxi passing by called it in a little after three a.m.  She never spoke, and a few hours later she hung herself in the hospital bathroom.  Beth’s official COD was strangulation, but she had multiple stab wounds.  A lot of them were too shallow to kill, but the deeper ones centered around the genitals.  Beth’s parents say they can’t find a necklace she always wore, so he might have taken it as a trophy.”
    Rebecca must have fit his needs—her appearance hadn’t been altered.  Deep brown complexion, almond-shaped eyes, tall, lanky body type.  She squinted into the sun in the photograph, wearing track shorts and a tank top.  In the