Murder at the McMasters' Residence

Chapter 11

I got to Chelsea's place a few minutes afterwards. She was yapping about Jared and shoving a bagel down her throat, I was too busy thinking about what was in the box. I was anxious about opening the box. What if nothing of great importance was in it? Like jewelry or a simple items from his childhood. Or if it held pieces to an unsolved mystery like a murder? The baby shifted in my womb at the thought of that.

Should I invade his privacy and open this?

That really shouldn't have been a question because I already invaded his privacy once by breaking in and searching the entire tiny square feet of his house. This was nothing compared to that. This would be beneficial to my knowledge. I had plenty of questions about Moss I couldn't dare ask him and maybe, just maybe this box of secrets could answer them.

"Hello! Earth to Aria!" Chelsea shouted, waking me from my reverie.

"Sorry,"  I replied, shifting in her suede, brown loveseat.

"What's wrong? You feel okay?" she asked concerned. "You've been pretty quiet since you got here."

I nodded, staring at the unopened box.

"We'll open it in a few. I know you're really anxious. I, on the other hand, find this very silly. I bet there isn't anything of significance in this old thing," she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

I shrugged, ignoring her comment. But then there is a possibility she could be right.

Finally, Chelsea finished her breakfast and the moment of truth was here. Chelsea got a hammer from her garage and hit the lock off.

"Open it," she insisted.

I took a deep breath then used my fingertips to lift the cover off gently. To our surprise, the box was filled with pictures of Moss as a child.

"Seriously?" Chelsea shouted.

I stared at the pictures in disbelief. This couldn't be it. The box was strategically hidden in the floor of his home. Moss was hiding something in this stupid box.

I emptied the box and more pictures fell out. However, they weren't of Moss alone.

The pictures were mostly of pregnant women and newspaper articles of slaughtered pregnant women.

Chelsea and I exchanged looks. 

"What the fuck?" we both whispered.

All the women looked alike. Average height, average weight, brown hair, brown eyes.. just like me.

The newspaper articles were from a decade ago until present with pictures of men that looked like a disguised Johnathon Moss.

The name Michael Wyatt stood out again.

However, one picture jumped out at Chelsea and I. It was a side-view, black and white photo of a naked, pregnant woman who looked extremely familiar in a very familiar bedroom.

Too familiar if you asked me.

"Who is this? She kinda looks like you," Chelsea muttered, taking the photo from my now shaking hands.

"Chelsea.. that woman is me," I whispered.

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There so many pictures of me in the chest, it could have filled a mini album. Moss was obsessed with me. Pictures of me in the kitchen, nude, in public. He followed me everywhere which explains why he wanted to work for us in the first place. There was nothing wrong with our lawn; he just wanted to be closer to us.
To me.
To my baby.
Chelsea and I spent the entire day reading the articles that Moss cut out and placed in his secret box. Apparently, Moss and these women were intimately involved according to the journalists. The pregnant women were slaughtered two months away from their due dates.
Like me.

"This is too much," Chelsea said, dropping a scrap of paper she was reading.

"Moss is a murderer," I whispered in disbelief.

A part of me wanted to prove that he was a danger to us but I was extremely shocked to discover this part of his ugly past. Not only was he a creep and a fake, he was a serial killer on the run.

"You have got to tell Sylvester about this before something terrible happens," Chelsea urged, pacing the floors frantically.

"I know," I replied, staring at the photos of me. "I need to get home now."

Chelsea helped me to put all the evidence back into the box. All this time I knew something was off about Moss but I had no idea that he would be this crazy. The thought of him watching my every move, invading my privacy, made me shudder. I wrapped my arms around my stomach.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Chelsea asked, very concerned.
I nodded, completely zoned out. "I should get home now."
"Call me when you get home," Chelsea shouted.

I grabbed my stuff, the box and car keys and headed for the front door. I had to let Sylvester know about this before shit hits the fan.

Michael Wyatt is going down.