BooksBarbecue
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
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  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

I’d fallen asleep in the woods behind the Hornne’s backyard late that night. Hours later I woke up to screaming. The sky was white with light. I smelled like blood and dirt. My neck itched with sweat.

A woman and a man were screaming and shouting, rushing frantically around the backyard.

“Get the ladder, get the clippers,” the man screamed. He stood under this gorgeous maple tree, his knees bent and his back leaning awkwardly backward, his arms in front of him. The strangest stance. What was he doing?

A body. He was holding up a body, trying to lift it.

Someone hung themselves in the Hornne’s maple tree.

The mother, hysterically crying and screaming, in her nightgown, fought with the ladder to set it down. The ground was bumpy with tree roots, and the ladder tipped and fell. She picked it up and set it straight, screaming, “Becky,” her voice animal and screeching. She climbed the ladder, holding hedge clippers with the sharp end up.

Becky Hornne.

Seconds later the girl’s body fell onto her father, both of them tumbling into a heap, a flash of dark hair, pale flesh, limbs. I looked away.

A little girl stood off to the side, holding yellow-orange leaves in her hands, silently watching her parents and her sister.

I’d turned away from it and walked deeper into the forest, suddenly sorry for all I’d done to their family.

73

73

HEATHER

I dreamed of cats licking my cheek, their rough tongues scraping and scraping until my skin peeled away. I dreamed of the cold dewy grass cradling me. Of a pulsing black sky. Of a handsome man leading me through the jungle, a machete in his hand. Of Desiree’s sharp canines slipping out as she smiled and bit my hand hard. Instead of crying, it got me laughing. Her saying, I love you. I do. You will barely feel it.

Here came the cat again, purring, baritone vibration, tongue licking me. Hot breath. A bad smell. Fish and worms.

I opened my eyes to Tracy Summer’s dog panting in my face, looking at me with those sweet, dumb eyes.

Low lighting and wood paneling. A scratchy wool blanket on me. Two small windows set above the couch, both offering picturesque views of grass. I was in his basement.

What the fuck?

The dog was so close, her hot breath was pulsing on my face. She licked my cheek. What was her name? Rhonda? Marley?

“Eww,” I said, and sat up fast, my hand aching, my body tender. My hand was bandaged. I stared at it. What happened to my hand?

“Oh, good. Chicago’s awake.” Tracy Summers. Camo pants. Something clinking. A spoon against a glass. A metallic smell.