Serial

Chapter Three

"Did Scarlett put you up to this?" I asked, this being the only explanation that would remotely make sense as to why two guys would be sitting in my living room, insisting that one of my customers had killed a bunch of women.

I got up and went to the kitchen to get some Advil and another bottle of water. My mouth was suddenly dry. When I came back, the two agents hadn't moved from their spots, but were watching me carefully.

"I can't believe she'd go this far just to try to get my part..." I muttered and then knocked back the pills with a swig of water.

"I can assure you, Miss Bryant, nobody put us up to this," Agent Landon said. It was like he was used to this kind of reaction. "We're here investigating a serial murderer. You were named in his personal diary. We need to find out what you know and what your involvement might be with our suspect."

Serial Murderer.

Suspect.

He was so matter-of-fact about the things he was saying, that it was getting hard for me to cling to the theory that they were just actors playing a childish prank on behalf of an immature teen with a vendetta against me. If what they were saying was true, that meant...

Well, I didn't want to think about that.

"How many times did Grafton visit your home?" Agent Walker continued. I'd zoned out for a second, almost forgetting he was there. The sound of his voice startled me and I nearly dropped my water.

"Uh...like, three times I think?" I answered, my head feeling fuzzy.

Could this be real? Were people really dead? And why were they acting like I had something to do with it?

"He wrote about me?" I asked them, in a whisper. "What did he say?"

The two looked at each other again, trying to decide what to tell me. When neither of them answered, I sat up straighter and said it again.

"What. Did. He. Say?" I asked, more forcefully this time.

Agent Walker swallowed and then grabbed at one of his fingers, fiddling with it absently before answering.

"Most of it's too...um, graphic to share with you," he said. "And of course, this is an open case..."

"But if he wrote about me, I have a right to know what he said," I argued, not knowing if legally this was true, but thinking it sounded right. It at least seemed fair to me.

Agent Landon sighed as he opened up his brown file, this time keeping the contents to himself. "Grafton talked about a particularly special night he spent with you, how you two made love," he said in that scratchy voice of his. I felt nauseous as he said the words. "He wrote about how happy he was in his relationship with you. That he was in love with you. And that you loved him, too."

Hearing him repeating what Kyle had supposedly written made me feel dirty, like he was accusing me of doing something wrong. And the fact that he was my Grandparent's age made it even creepier. Those kinds of words weren't supposed to come out of the mouth of a sweet, old, Grandfather-type.

Not that I'd describe the agent in front of me as sweet.

"None of that's true," I said, my voice a few octaves higher than usual. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks in embarrassment. "Things weren't like that between us."

"Why would he lie in his own diary?" Agent Walker asked evenly.

"Oh, I don't know," I said, starting to feel hysterical. "Wishful thinking, maybe?"