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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
  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

And with each passing year away and on my own, I’d felt more relaxed, less ashamed, and less of a moron. I’d realized, yes, I was sort of odd, but it was them, not me. My parents and Holly were all that was left, and Holly and I were never close. It wasn’t a difficult decision. I no longer wanted to be found.

15

15

I pulled into the Stop-N-Go to call the police.

Desiree was either in shock or she was crazy. Her boyfriend’s brother, whom she sometimes fucked, could be drowning, and she’s laughing? She’s crazy.

You, though, are not. You have to call the police. You have everything to lose.

Two topless skeletal guys loitering outside in front of the Stop-N-Go warded me off as if they weren’t real people but skulls staked into dusty forbidden ground, an omen of warning. Americans who looked like they were starving scared me. Even when I was homeless, I ate the colors of the rainbow. If you’re not afraid to get dirty, grocery store dumpsters hold treasures of unattractive produce and one-day expired yogurt, milk, and cheese.

I pulled out of the lot again, telling myself I’d call when I got closer to home.

I reworked my way back to the bridge, reminding myself, River Road, Chokeberry, Meridian, Crane, New York.

After the bridge, I slowed down.

Please let him not be dead. Please let him have climbed up the embankment and driven away.

No headlights behind me or in front of me, I eased along at ten miles per hour so I wouldn’t miss his sedan.

A rusty beater would have fit my narrative better. When he gets high, he likes to get rough. But her boyfriend’s brother drove a silver Infiniti. New and shiny, like he’d run it through a car wash this week. Like he wanted his car to look nice for his respectable job at Hunther South Bank or Oak State Insurance.

Please let him not be dead.

My headlights washed over the Infiniti, and my heart pounded.

I slowed to a crawl.

What if he’s gasping for his last breath right now?

You’re not going to stop and climb down that embankment. Don’t even think about it.

I inched past his car.

A figure stood at the rear of the car, both hands on the trunk, head hung, clothes filthy and clinging.

My pulse pounded in my head.

It was him.

He lifted his head, and our eyes connected. I froze, unable to move fast enough. Oh, God. His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw. He looked pissed. I pressed down on the gas pedal and sped down River Road, slowing only when I realized I was doing ninety miles per hour.

Well, at least you didn’t kill him.

Yeah, but what if he holds grudges?

16

16

TREVOR

It was still dark out.