Shadows of My Past

Chapter 22

Exiting Teen Therapy, I clenched my fists in attempt to keep myself from slamming my head into the wall ahead of me. A wasted hour of my life that consisted of pointless, tedious questions;

so what brings you here today?

why don't you tell me more about this predicament?

how do you feel about this?

do you ever wish things were different?

have you ever tried analyzing problems from the views of your acquaintances?

Please. Just send me to hell.

Driving home, I couldn't help but think about Clay and what happened last night.

Some time during the night I snuck into his room to do a bit of digging through his phone, but came up empty. I peeked through texts, emails, recent calls, even search history- spotless.

Completely, abnormally, spotless.

Staring down the road I managed to tune out every thought, and focused solely on the humming of cars speeding past me on the highway.

I caught a glimpse of flashing lights and knew automatically it was an ambulance, followed by a herd of police cars. Glancing in the side view mirror I could make out only bits and pieces of what seemed to be a body being transported onto a gurney and hauled into the truck.

About as soon as I turned away from the scene, my phone rang. I answered, not exactly surprised it was Alec on the other line.

Without even starting the call with a "hello" he hysterically began ranting about "the news" and "found body" and "not being possible.

Somewhere in the mix, I heard London's name.

He was panting by the time he took his first breathe from talking. "Alec... please tell me you didn't actually say what I just heard."

"London... on the news... it can't be her.. there's no way she's..."

"Alec," I broke him off, "what. Happened."

"She's dead Phoebe. She was murdered. They found her body 30 minutes ago."

The body on the gurney.

My phone beeped indicating someone was trying to message me. Blocked ID.

Parking the car on the side of the road I paused the call and clicked on the attachment.

Nausea blanketed over me; it took every muscle in my body to keep from screaming as I stared at the gruesome picture displayed on my screen.

London's cold, bloodless body, lying in what seemed to be a hand-dug grave; a clean slash across her throat. 

And the caption below it just as grisly ;

"a little reminder of what i'm capable of, sweetheart."