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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
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  69. 64
  70. 65
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  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

She tapped her finger on her chin. “Your father, well, he was overwhelmed. We offered, and he accepted. I think he thought that having another girl to play with would be good therapy for you. And it was.” Her face lit up. “I don’t mean to shove you out, Heather, but I have an appointment. Let me wrap this sushi for you. I hardly have an appetite as I get older, and I hate to toss it in the trash.” She grabbed the platter and headed into the kitchen.

I brought both glasses to the kitchen, set them on the island. True to her word, she already had a foiled rectangle ready for me. “So nice to see you, Heather.”

She followed me down the hallway. “Oh, these are my children. Photos in the room on your left. When they were teenagers.” I peered in the study. Huge mahogany desk. Bookshelves. Tidy. Framed black-and-white photos on an evergreen-painted wall. One of their entire family, and one of each child. My breath caught as I recognized one.

“No grandchildren yet,” she said. “Hopefully one day I’ll have photos of some little ones up on the wall.”

“Thanks again.” I hurried out to my car, the gentle rain feeling cold and prickly. I was trembling with new anxiety, new confusion. One of her children was the man I’d hit with my flashlight. The man who parked in front of my house, threatened me.

Brandon.

Donnie.

Her middle child. The entrepreneur. Her wild child.

The toddler I’d played with when I’d lived here.

“What is the purpose of the brainwashing, the Satanism, you might ask? I think they want a population of people who will prostitute themselves, smuggle drugs, all sorts of lucrative and degrading acts. You know there are even ties to powerful people in government. I don’t want to name organizations, for my own safety.”

Doctor Clifford Paulson, PhD Psychology
Transcripts from the Sixth Annual Conference on
Adult Manifestations of Childhood Trauma

THE RADISSON PLAZA HOTEL, CINCINNATI, OHIO

56

56

TREVOR

I waited in my car in the parking lot of Paul Bunyan’s bar. Drizzle had turned to rain. I squinted at my windshield, searching for his car.

All because of Dawn.

I had loved her like crazy. Man, that feeling, being sixteen and my heart thumping so hard for her, it was bursting. I had wanted to cover her mouth with mine and never let either of us come up for air. I wanted to bite her bottom lip because it was too soft, too irresistible, and when her blood mingled with my saliva, it would taste like communion.

That night, Dawn had told me to pick her up from work, that we’d make another fire by the river. It was a good night for a swim.