The Mindf*ck Series

Chapter 2

𝘉𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴.
- 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦

𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗔

Alyssa Murdock grimaces as she takes a sip of her drink, unaware that I’m watching her through the trees. Every time her shirt rises up, I see the bruises on her back.

Hearing it and seeing it are two different things.

Very few of my victims have children. Alyssa is the only offspring who isn’t an adult.

At eight, she’s still a child, with far too many bruises in her history, and too many scars on her heart. Despite the shit-hand life has dealt me, I never once felt the strike of my father’s anger. He never hit me. I was doted on and loved. As a child should be.

But Greg Murdock has hit his daughter too many times.

He gets bumped up on the list because of that.

Turning away and leaving her to hide her bruises in front of her friends who are playing on the treehouse with her, I pull my hood back up and leave my lurking shadows.

Hadley’s number silently flashes on my screen again, and I ignore her call once more. My eyes flit over her text, and a twinge of guilt hits me, even though no other emotion is infiltrating the barrier I have in place right now.

𝗛𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗬: 𝗟𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗻 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝘀!

I know she’s worried, which is why she keeps calling. But right now, in this moment, I don’t trust myself to speak to anyone.

Since Jake left earlier, my tears have all dried up, and my heart keeps garnering a new layer of ice with each passing moment.

I’m back in survival mode, shutting off everything to keep from drowning in the pain. If I allow myself to feel right now, I’ll never stop crying.

And there is no time for tears.

𝗠𝗘: 𝗜 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄. 𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳. 𝗗𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗲.

𝗠𝗘: 𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴.

My finger hovers over the option to send that last message, but I finally press it and turn my phone off, removing the battery. Then I head back toward the house we’ve commandeered, courtesy of the Dalia family that only lives here during the Christmas season and summer.

It’s secluded, the house hidden from the main road by a veil of thick trees. Only a slender driveway leads to the home, and we have sensors in to alert us if anyone passes over them.

The end is coming.

But I almost don’t even care anymore.

My dispassion is just one repercussion of turning numb to survive.

A car rolls by me as I walk down the long driveway, and I glance over, seeing Jake’s eyes meet mine through the window. I cut my gaze away, because he’s searching me, watching me, worrying about my intentions now that the light is officially gone.