Girl Next Door Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Important message from the Author to Kindle Unlimited readers

  Prologue

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Part II

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Part III

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Part IV

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Books by the Author

  What Hurts the Most (7th Street Crew Book 1)

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Order your copy today!

  Copyright Willow Rose 2018

  Published by BUOY MEDIA LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Cover design by Juan Villar Padron,

  https://juanjjpadron.wixsite.com/juanpadron

  Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque

  http://janellparque.blogspot.com/

  To be the first to hear about new releases and bargains from Willow Rose, sign up below to be on the VIP List. (I promise not to share your email with anyone else, and I won't clutter your inbox.)

  - Tap here to sign up to be on the VIP LIST -

  Tired of too many emails? Text the word: “willowrose” to 31996 to sign up to Willow’s VIP text List to get a text alert with news about New Releases, Giveaways, Bargains and Free books from Willow.

  Follow Willow Rose on BookBub:

  Connect with Willow online:

  Facebook

  Twitter

  GoodReads

  willow-rose.net

  [email protected]

  Important message from the Author to Kindle Unlimited readers

  Before you begin…Are you reading this book in Page Flip mode? If you do, I won't be paid. The way things are right now in Kindle Unlimited, Amazon pays the author per pages read, so every time you flip a page, I will get a small amount of money. But not if the Page Flip mode is turned on.

  So could I ask you to please turn it off, or just don’t use it while reading my books? Then I can continue to write the books that you love so much.

  Thank you for your support.

  Willow

  Hell is empty

  All the devils are here.

  - William Shakespeare, The Tempest

  We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere.

  - Ted Bundy

  Prologue

  February 1974

  “It was a perfect day. The air was crisp, the wind chilly as it blew from the north where they had a snowstorm. It didn't mean it got cold in Cocoa Beach; it just meant the air felt fresher and lighter than usual. It also meant I got to wear my jeans to school and the new hoodie that my mother had bought for me at the mall a couple of weeks ago. Everything up till this point was perfect. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my mother the great news. It never occurred to me that this would be the darkest day of my life.

  “I remember how I clutched the envelope between my hands, feeling giddy with joy, thinking about the future.

  “Full scholarship. A full ride.

  “The words still clung in my head, as they had since they had fallen from my student counselor's mouth earlier in the day. I had barely been able to breathe inside his office as he showed me the letter containing the key to my future.

  “My hard work had finally paid off.

  “It had been a few tough years since we moved to Florida from Ohio two years ago. I wasn't used to hard times. I had always been a straight A-student. I had always been outgoing and easily made friends. But since the move, I had found myself a little off balance; it had been harder than I expected. My grades had slid slightly during my first year here, and no one seemed to want to be my friend. But over the past few months, things had been shaping up. I had made a few good friends, and my grades were back to where they used to be. It was just like my father had always told me: All good things come to those who wait. And then he would add: and work hard. You have to work hard to get anything in this life.

  “Life hadn't been easy for my parents. Both came from poor backgrounds. But my father had worked his way up in the world. He had worked hard all his life to provide for my two younger siblings and me. Still, I had always known that they would never be able to afford for me to go to college. It was simply not doable.

  “Until this very day. Until the counselor had called me out in the hallway and asked me to come into his office. A future leader, he called me when handing me the letter. As I walked home from school, I remember I still had that tickling sensation in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it.

  “Mom is going to be so proud. No one has ever gone to college in our family before me.

  “I hugged the letter and couldn't stop smiling when a girl from my street rode up behind me on her bike.

  “‘Hi, Steve.’”

  “I turned briefly but continued to walk. The girl walked up next to me, pushing her bike.

  “‘Hi, Juanita,’ I said.

  “‘What you got there?’ she asked and looked at the envelope containing my letter.

  “‘Just a letter for my parents,’ I said.

  “I didn't want to tell anyone yet, especially not Juanita, whose parents would never be able to afford college for her either. I didn't want to rub it in her face. She lived across the street from us with her five siblings, and we both knew that once we graduated this summe
r, she was going to help out at her dad's restaurant and she would probably end up doing that until she married and had children. It was expected of her. Even though she was a genius at math. There was no way her dad would ever let her pursue anything else.

  “‘So, what did you get on your biology paper?’ she asked, probably just trying to make conversation. I knew she liked me, but I had no time for girlfriends. Especially not now. I can't afford the distraction.

  “‘Let me guess. An A…as usual?’ she said.

  “I answered with a smile while still hugging the envelope. Juanita chuckled, and we stopped as we reached the entrance to my driveway.

  “Juanita smiled too and was about to say something when she paused.

  “‘Say…isn't that your dog?’

  February 1974

  “I stared at the dog in the neighbor's yard. It was lifting its leg against their daughter's bike and relieving itself.

  “‘Dylan!’ I yelled.

  “The Doberman lifted his head and looked in my direction but didn't come to me even though I called. Who had let him out? I wondered. We never let Dylan out of the house alone. Not since he bit the Freidman's eight-year-old son from down the street. That was the third time the dog had bitten someone and, after that, my dad had told us not to let the dog out on its own again.

  “‘He must have escaped somehow,’ I mumbled.

  “I put my backpack down and put the envelope inside of it, to make sure nothing happened to it. Then I walked toward the dog in the neighbor's yard, hoping and praying they weren't home yet.

  “Juanita put down her bike, and we approached the dog together. Dylan started growling as he saw us come closer.

  “‘Dylan,’ I said, harshly. I needed to show it who was boss, my dad always said. ‘Come here!’

  “But the dog didn't budge. It walked across the grass and then squatted and relieved itself again, this time in a more solid manner.

  “‘Eeeww,’ Juanita said, while I sighed, annoyed. I knew that I would have to pick it up before the neighbors came home. The neighbors hated our dog and always complained that it barked at night.

  “‘Come here, Dylan; you're coming home with me now,’ I said and walked closer to the dog. I grabbed it by its collar and pulled it off the Hansons’ lawn. Juanita came up to me, and Dylan let out a low growl when he saw her. I pulled the collar again to make it stop, but that just made the dog snap at her and Juanita pulled back with a light gasp.

  “‘I'm sorry,’ I said. ‘This dog is impossible. He doesn’t like strangers.’

  “‘It's okay,’ Juanita said and backed up a few steps further. ‘I just wanted to help.’

  “‘I know,’ I said. ‘I've got him now. I'll take him home. He's lucky my dad won't be home till later or else he would face a bad beating. He knows he's not allowed outside on his own.’

  “Juanita nodded. ‘Okay. Guess I'll see you tomorrow then?’

  “I forced a smile. ‘Sure.’

  “I watched Juanita grab her bike, then send me a soft smile before taking off toward her own house. As I watched her ride off, I wondered if things had been different if I would be able to like her back. She was ever so cute, and I really liked her eyes.

  “In another place in time.

  “‘Come on, Dylan. Let's get you back inside the house before anyone complains. How did you escape anyway, huh? Maybe we should rename you the Great Houdini? Would you like th…?’

  “I suddenly stopped talking. As I looked at my house, I realized the dog escaping wasn't the only thing odd on this crisp afternoon.

  “The garage door was left open, and my mom's car was gone. To most people, that wouldn't be alarming, but to me it most certainly was. My mother was always home to greet my siblings and me when we came home from school.

  “Always.

  February 1974

  “The first thing I noticed when stepping into the kitchen was a half-made peanut butter sandwich sitting on the counter next to an empty lunch box with my younger sister's name on the side.

  “Baffled, I let go of Dylan and walked to the counter. The bread had gone hard on the edges, and the peanut butter that was only half spread on one side had dried up and sat in lumps. The knife was on the counter, still smeared in the brown substance that my sister loved so much, but I never took a liking to. It all gets a little blurry from there on, but I remember that I stared at the knife, dumbfounded, not sure what to believe. My heart rate was going up rapidly. My mom had clearly been making lunches for my siblings, but why hadn't she finished? Had something happened?

  “‘Mom?’ I called out. I could hear my voice quivering as the sound was returned to me as an echo.

  “‘Mom?’ I tried again, slightly shrill and anxiously.

  “But there was no answer. Why was there no answer? My mom always answered when I called. You have to understand. She was always there.

  “Always.

  “‘MO-OM!’

  “I felt how my legs went soft and wobbly beneath me as fear set in. Desperately, I walked to the stairs, called my mother's name, then my siblings' one by one, and then my father's, even though I knew there was no way he was home already.

  “But the thing was, his car had been in the garage, not my mother's.

  “I wondered. Was something wrong with my dad's car? Had he maybe taken her car instead? Could it be as simple as that?

  “‘Dad?’ I almost screamed.

  “And that was when I saw the blood. There was blood on the floor and up the stairs. I stared at it, my hands beginning to shake, while the dog took off. It sprinted up the stairs like someone had told it to go find a treat up there somewhere.

  “I followed. I walked up the steps, my legs heavy and my hands trembling. As I reached the top of the stairs, I heard my dog whimpering, half growling. I then rushed into my parents’ bedroom. In there, I first spotted Dylan on the bed; then I saw what the dog had in his mouth. He was pulling at it. The sight made me want to scream.

  “It was my mother's arm.

  “‘DYLAN!’ I yelled, then rushed to get the dog away from my mother, who was lying on the mattress. The dog let go, then backed up while I walked closer to better see what was wrong with my mother.

  “I stared at the face behind the plastic bag, and the first thing I noticed was that it wasn't moving. The bag remained completely still, as were my mother's eyes.

  “I turned my head and spotted my father's body on the carpet behind the bed. It was lying there just as still as my mother's, a belt wrapped around his throat, his face bloated and grotesquely swollen. Both of them had been bound with thin cords at the wrists and ankles.

  “I wanted to move. I wanted to do something, to pull the darn bag off my mother's head, but I couldn't. I was frozen in place. It was like I was trapped in a nightmare, but no matter how hard I tried to wake up, it didn't happen. I wanted to scream, to yell at my mother to get up, to take the bag off and stop playing games, that it wasn't funny, it was some cruel, cruel joke. I wanted to call to my dad to rise to his feet and stand up straight. But no sound left my lips. No part of my body would obey. Fear had me fixed to the ground. I couldn't move.

  “Not until I heard a noise. It was coming from my brother's bedroom next door. I stopped breathing as I realized that someone was in the house.

  February 1974

  “My pulse was like a heavy drum in my ears, drowning out everything else. I stormed out of the bedroom and slipped as I headed for the stairs. The perpetrator was coming up behind me. I grabbed the railing and rushed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Behind me, I could hear the perpetrator. I could hear the breathing, and I was certain I could even hear laughter.

  “Get to the door, Steve, I remember thinking. Just get out into the street and scream for help. Juanita might still be out there, or someone else.

  “The perpetrator behind me was closing in. I raced down the stairs, hearing the heavy breathing behind me as the person closed the gap, reached out a hand, and grabbe
d me by the hoodie. I was forcefully jerked backward, and the air was pushed out of my throat. I landed with my back against the steps and heard the sound of something cracking, followed by pain. As I lay there screaming, I opened my eyes and looked into those of the person holding me down. The face was covered with a doll's mask, picturing a woman with rosy red lips, light pink skin, and black painted eyebrows. The mask had deep holes where the eyes peeked out. Big steel grey eyes.

  “Like those of a wolf.

  “I screamed again as a fist was raised and slammed down on my face, each punch followed by a deep laugh.