Page 122 of A Stop in Time
Not only has he made me into a murderer, but now I’m a freak, too.
A piercing lance of pain assaults my head, and bitter anguish washes over me, threatening to drown me. I drag in deep breaths, forcing myself to push past it and turn the page.
I need to make this stop. But how? He’s using my mind against me. He takes over my mind, and I’m powerless to stop him. I lose the ability to remember that I even have a power.
My fingers shake as I struggle to absorb the written confession. As I move to the next page, my eyes absorbing each word, all oxygen leeches from my lungs and a strangled sound of anguish is wrenched from my throat.
Stop going to the trial. You need to remember this! They’re all working against you! They’re reinforcing everything!
You never went to school there in Mandarin Springs. You didn’t know a Callahan Otis or work for him at the salvage yard.
They imbedded memories in your mind that are false! Working on cars was a hobby you enjoyed that somehow didn’t get erased from your memory.
They planted you in Mandarin Springs because they knew you’d be the scary, scar-faced outsider in a small town. Isolated. Unapproachable.
They manipulated you to believe the people reject you and hate you so you’d feel unwelcome and wouldn’t try to get to know anyone.
My heartbeat accelerates and my breaths emerge as harsh pants while I stare down at my own writing, paralyzed with shock. My life has been a lie.
A sick part of me wants to shove this notebook away and pretend it doesn’t exist. But I can’t bear it. I need to know the truth.
I flip the page and swear I sense the tangible conflict from when I wrote this. Tears gather in my eyes, and my throat grows swollen and scratchy.
I’m not a murderer. I’m a good person…or I used to be. I think? God, I don’t even know anything for sure anymore.
Can a person still be good even if they’ve done terrible things?
I trace my fingers over the last question I’d written, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip until it throbs. Clumsily, I turn to the next page, but it’s blank. So is the next. I page through one after the other. They’re still all blank.
My whispered words are shaky. “This can’t be all of it.”
“It is.”
The man’s voice has me jumping, inadvertently flinging the notebook off my lap. My eyes are snared by distinctively pale ones. The same ones from earlier.
“How…” I trail off, gawking at where he hovers in the closet doorway.
His features an emotionless mask, his eyes cut through me like cold steel. “You can either ask me stupid questions or make a decision once and for all.”
After a millisecond pause, his lips flatten. “Your mind is resilient and wants to recover. But you have to want it badly enough. Will you let him turn you into more of a monster? Or will you fight back?”
“But how?” My voice quakes with defeat as I gesture to the notebook. “He knows how to use my own mind against me.”
Bracing his palms against the doorway, he narrows his eyes on me. “How?” His voice grows muted but possesses a lethal undertone that sends chills coursing through me. “You embody the murderer he’s made you. And you kill him.”
Sinking my fingers into my hair, I clench the strands so tight my scalp burns. “Noooo. I can’t.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing this were all a nightmare I’ll wake up from at any moment.
“It’s not a nightmare. It’s your life.”
My eyes flash open at his words. What the fuck? Can he read—
“Yes.” His single answer is spoken with a wealth of impatience. “I can read your thoughts.”
He bends at the knees, bringing us nearly at eye level, and holds out one hand. My eyes dart between the object in his palm and his unsettling gaze. “If you choose to wear this, we believe it will diffuse not only ultrasonic sound hypnosis, but other energy and sound manipulations, too.”
With slow, cautious movements, I reach for the necklace. It’s surprisingly lightweight but not the least bit stylish. “Pretty sure this’ll clash with my lazy-chic look I’ve got going on.”
“This isn’t a joke.” His tone is biting, and it has my defensiveness ratcheting up tenfold.