Twisted Truths

Chapter 9: Twisted Games

I don't even know how I managed to fall asleep. After everything—Christine's arrest, the murder, the security guard, and then... well, then James. I should've been a mess, my mind spinning with a thousand different thoughts. But I must've dozed off, the adrenaline from our rough, primal sex finally draining me, leaving me limp and exhausted.

When I woke, the bed was empty. James was gone. The sheets still smelled of him, though—clean and sharp from his shower, mixed with the raw musk of sweat and something else. Something darker.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. My body still buzzed from earlier. James had never been like that before. Just a few nights ago, he was the pale, skinny, pathetic excuse for a man I had gotten used to. But today? Today, he had been something else. He had been exciting. Raw.

The thought of it made my heart race a little. The way he had taken control, the way he had made me feel so completely consumed... I could feel myself warming to the idea of him. The new James.

My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. The sudden sound jolted me out of my reverie. I threw on a robe, tightened it around my waist, and made my way downstairs.

When I opened the door, the detective stood there, an envelope clutched in his hand. He had a serious look on his face, one that instantly put me on edge.

"Ms. Anderson," he said with a nod. "I have something you'll want to see."

I stepped aside, letting him in. We moved to the living room, where he handed me the envelope and took a seat across from me.

"What's this?" I asked, sliding my finger under the seal and pulling out a few sheets of paper.

"It's the surveillance I've been conducting over the past few weeks," the detective replied. "There are things you should know about."

I froze for a second, the papers halfway out of the envelope. I had forgotten all about the surveillance. I'd hired him to dig into James weeks ago, back when I had first started suspecting something. But everything with Christine had thrown me off course.

"Go on," I muttered, pulling the papers out fully now. My hands were trembling slightly as I flipped through them.

"James has been spending a lot of time with Christine," the detective began. "They've met up on several occasions over the past few weeks. He's been staying at her house for hours at a time."

I felt my stomach churn. Christine and James... what the hell were they up to? My grip on the papers tightened. A photo fell, the two of them in bed, taken from the street. I growled internally.

"And there's more," he continued, leaning forward. "Two nights ago, James was seen heading to the new premises on Slater Street. He was dressed all in black. About twenty minutes later, he was seen running from the building. Something's going on, Ms. Anderson."

The pieces started to come together in my mind, slowly at first, then faster, like a horrible jigsaw puzzle that suddenly made sense.

Christine. James. They had been in this together all along. The games, the mind tricks, the factory... it had all been them. They were the ones messing with my life. Playing twisted games. Manipulating me.

I clenched my jaw, anger bubbling inside me like a volcano ready to explode. They thought they could play me?

I wasn't going to let them get away with this.

"Thank you," I said stiffly, shoving the papers back into the envelope. I needed to deal with this myself. "I'll take it from here."

The detective gave me a look, like he wasn't quite sure he should leave me with this information, but I didn't care. He eventually nodded and left.

As soon as he was gone, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police station.

"Christine Singer," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Would there be any chance I could get an update, I am her sister...Casey?"

There was a pause, then the officer on the other end confirmed what I already feared.

"Yes, Ms. Singer has been released on bail,"

Of course she had.

I hung up and grabbed my car keys. My mind was racing. I needed to confront her. I needed answers.

The drive to Christine's house was a blur. My thoughts swirled with anger and betrayal, the image of James and Christine together—plotting, scheming, laughing behind my back—burning itself into my mind. I pushed the steering wheel again and again, snapping an indicator stick clean off. I raged!

How long had this been going on? How much of my life had they been messing with? And for what? To humiliate me? To ruin me?

I'd make them pay for this.

When I arrived at Christine's house, I didn't even bother knocking. I stormed up to the front door and barged in, my heart pounding in my chest.

And there they were.

Christine and James, standing in the dining room, talking. James was dressed all in black—the same outfit he had worn in the factory that night. Christine's eyes widened when she saw me, but James didn't flinch. He just stared at me, a strange, unreadable look on his face.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The room was charged with tension. Everything I had suspected, everything I had feared, was standing right in front of me.

They've been playing me.